Chapter Text
Adam woke to the dim morning light filtering in through the curtains. He was warm, sunken deep into the cushions.
It took him a moment to fully register the pleasant pressure of Ronan’s leg against his own. Ronan’s head lolled towards Adam, as if it had recently been resting on his shoulder. He felt heat spreading across his cheeks, a swooping in his stomach.
Should he wake Ronan? Should he try to extricate himself? What did he want?
His hammering heart slowed. He wanted to stay right here, in this moment, forever. The moment where he was not tired. The moment where he was warm and comfortable and felt—
Well, he felt love. He felt loved.
Ronan shifted, his eyes blinking open.
“Morning, Lynch,” Adam’s heart picked up it’s hammering.
Ronan stretched his arms above his head as a lazy yawn escaped him. The exposed gap of skin between his shirt and pajama pants ignited something wild inside Adam.
“What time is it?”
“Not sure, but I think it’s still pretty early.”
“I’ll scour the pantry for something edible for breakfast. Want to build the fire back up?” Ronan said as he rose from the depths of the couch.
Adam nodded and watched him pad into the kitchen. He pulled the thick blanket tighter around his shoulders before moving to the hearth.
Once the fire was blazing again, he wandered over to the window. Snow had piled up all around the sill, and the glass was partially frosted over. The world outside was blanketed in white. Flakes were still falling and showed no indication of slowing down.
When was the last time they had gotten this much snow? He tried to fight the gnawing feeling that this had something to do with the ley line.
A cacophony of crashes and bangs emanated from the kitchen, bringing a smile to Adam’s face. Then a door slammed and he suspected Ronan had gone outside. Maybe he was going to hunt? The image of Ronan chasing a deer through the woods danced around his head.
He turned back to the couch and began shoving his hands between the cushions in an attempt to locate his phone.
Once procured from the depths of a crack, along with a pencil sharpener and what appeared to be an old bicycle bell, he checked his messages. He had ten unread texts, eight of which were from Gansey, and could be summed up as well-intentioned but overbearing. Adam rolled his eyes and moved on to the others.
One was from Blue—a kind message about staying warm and something about “not killing Ronan” that made him laugh. Not so long ago, seeing her name on his phone would have rubbed against a raw nerve inside his heart. He was glad that these days it filled him with something more akin to joy.
The last message was from the shop. Don’t bother coming in today, kid. No point in trying to brave the roads in that tin can of yours.
A wave of relief washed over him. He’d suspected that he’d be freed from any work responsibilities, but it was never something he planned for. There was a familiar twinge of panic in the pit of his stomach at the thought of missing out on a full day of work. A full day of weekend pay. He pushed it down, reminding himself that it was rare to have a free Saturday.
The smell of something sweet filled the air. He hadn’t heard Ronan return. His stomach growled, something he was accustomed to ignoring. Making his way to the kitchen, he hugged the blanket around himself. It trailed along the ground behind him like a king’s robe.
The counters were covered in what appeared to be flour. Ronan, hovering by the stove, was deep in concentration as he shifted from one foot to the other staring down at a sizzling pancake.
“Wow, I didn’t know you even knew how to turn on the stove.”
Ronan broke his intense stare to turn and scowl over his shoulder.
“Always so cutting Parrish. I suppose you think that soup from last night magically heated itself to perfection?”
Adam moved to stand next to him.
“You’re right. Who am I to question your obvious culinary prowess?”
He noticed egg shells discarded in a mess next to the stove. “Where’d you get those?”
“Chicken.” Ronan said, giving no indication that he would elaborate how farm animals were awake or alive here.
He knocked Adam with his shoulder, and the point of contact buzzed as though warm magic had burrowed beneath his skin. It reminded him of the power of Cabeswater, thrumming through his hands.
Their eyes met and something went oh inside of Adam’s chest.
The smell of burning wafted up from the pan and he reluctantly dropped Ronan’s gaze.
“I’m not trying to back-seat pancake, but it looks like you’re burning it, Chef.”
Ronan swore loudly and flipped it, revealing a bottom that had begun to char slightly.
“This is how I like them. Don’t question my methods. Go find me some plates.”