Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m not going to your fucking party.” Ronan hissed in reiteration.

Declan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ronan, please, stop acting so immature.”

“Guys, c’mon.” Matthew squeaked.

Ronan growled, glaring at Declan. “Why the fuck would I need to go to your goddamn party anyways? I’d rather not talk to your prick associates.”

“It’s a very important function, Ronan,” Declan sighed exhaustively, his words layered in thick condescension. “There are going to be potential business partners, representatives. I need the whole family to be there to establish a good image. You’d need to drive down Friday, help with arrangements, possibly meet some associates. You can hide in your hotel room afterwards until Saturday night for all I care. Over all, you’d only need to be there and act like a decent human being for three hours at most.”  

“The whole family wouldn’t be there.” Ronan said, darkly.

“You’re being difficult.”

“Sorry I don’t feel like fucking parading around-”

“Do you think if there was any possibility of you not being there, that I wouldn’t have taken it?”

“Dec, stop it.” Matthew placed a gentle hand on Ronan’s elbow. His eyes were impossibly large, lips pouting in a way he knew was foolproof. It could’ve been a horribly well constructed tactic but Ronan knew that this was just how Matthew was, faultingly genuine, the glue that had held the brothers together following their parents death. “It’s just for an evening. Please can we just do this. Pal?”

“Fine,” Ronan bit out, simmering.

Matthew smiled widely.

“You’ll need to be presentable.” Declan lifted his pointer finger as if he was checking boxes from a mental list. “Full suit and tie, polite, if you can manage it, cordial at the least-”

“Don’t push it.”

“You’ll also need a date. Particularly not the snarky little girl. Violet? Though I suppose if you’re desperate, I can-”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“You can’t possibly go alone, wreaking havoc or sulking in the corner, Ronan.” Declan said Ronan’s name exasperatedly, like he was a nuisance, like he couldn't understand why Ronan was being so argumentative over the prospect of bringing a date. He probably didn’t. They’ve always been disconnected, each yielding sharp blades that cut each other, not enough to die but enough to bleed. “I, myself, will be bringing Ashley.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic” Ronan spat out venomously. “I’m not bringing a date."

“Stop being such an asshole, it’ll look better than if you arrive alone. Someone respectable at the very least.”

“God forbid we don’t look completely wholesome.” Ronan seethed. “We’re the perfect fucking family, right?”

“Ronan,” Matthew said, helplessly.

Ronan shot him a disbelieving glare, waving his hands in the general vicinity of his older brother. “He’s being a dick.”

“I know doing the bare minimum isn’t a foreign concept to you based on your school grades so you can do this for me. You need a date to be somewhat presentable.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Ronan gritted his teeth. Matthew patted his arm.

“If you need help finding a suitable date for the night, I know a few modest ladies who might be willing to suffer your company for a few hours.”

Ronan had never explicitly said he was gay. He wasn’t hiding it necessarily, he just didn’t feel like announcing it to the world. He also didn’t think that Declan deserved to know a damn thing about him. Still, the fact that Declan had assumed Ronan would want to bring a female date to his dumbass party grated at his nerves. He curled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the palm of his hand, undoubtedly leaving crescent marks. It was the only thing keeping him grounded.

The thought of having to facade around as a phony idealized version of himself that he should've been, the version that Declan would’ve wanted, made his stomach churn in harsh fury .The lie came rushing out of his mouth before he had the ability to grab the words and stuff them back in.

“I already have a fucking date, thanks.”

“What?” Matthew chirped, eyes as wide as silver dollars. Declan looked just as surprised. It satiated a little pit of satisfaction in Ronan’s gut despite the foretell of dread. “You’re dating someone?”

“You’ve been seeing someone?” Declan mimicked. He spoke in the same smooth, fabricated tone he had when he arrived but the slight twitch of his eyebrows was telling of his curiousity. “And you didn’t think to let us know?”

“I don’t need to tell you everything,” Ronan said, irate. He masked his distress with vague annoyance.

“You do if you’re fucking them. Who is it? Do we know her?”

“No,” he snarled, “you don’t fucking know him.”

Declan froze at the implications of the sentence, floundering. Ronan was coiled tight, arms wound to his sides, breath sharp.

Matthew was the first to break the silence. “Well, I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend then!”

Words caught in his throat. Ronan didn’t give a fuck about what Declan thought but he cared about Matthew. Matthew, who looked at Ronan like he hadn’t just come out in the most cumbersome way and smiled, blonde curls gleaming.

It was relieving, finally saying it aloud.

“Well, bring him then.” Declan’s voice was hoarse. At Ronan’s defensive glare, he raised his arms. “I don’t care who you date.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. It looked like he cared a whole lot thirty seconds ago.

“Whatever,” Ronan spit out, “you can meet him at the fucking party. Are we done here?”

Declans lips were pursed firmly together but he nodded nonetheless. Ronan stormed away, keys fisted in his grip. There was a harrowing ache in his chest and he flung himself inside the BMW, blasting lyricless electronica at a deafening volume before speeding away.  

It was late when Ronan returned to Monmouth. The sky was blanketed in an obsidian slate, stars invisible and hidden. Despite the desperate drive, gunning down the empty roads, the thrum of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Ronan felt unsteady.

He thundered inside, not properly greeting Gansey when he looked up from where he was crouched next to his cardboard setting of miniature Henrietta. There were dark circles under his eyes and the way he was sitting must have been uncomfortable but he looked extensively relieved.

“You know,” Gansey started. Ronan groaned obnoxiously from where he was grabbing a beer from the fridge. “You could let me know if you’re going to be staying out late.”

Ronan popped open the can of beer, lounging across the couch and shrugged noncommittally.

Gansey continued, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You have a cell phone, Lynch. It wouldn’t hurt to use it.”

“I do. It makes a good paper weight.”

Gansey blew out an irritated breath. “You can’t just disappear all hours of the night.”

Ronan stayed silent, stonily staring at the ceiling.

“Seeing your brothers didn’t go so well, I suppose.”

“Nothing gets past you, Dick.”

Gansey exhaled quietly and Ronan braced himself. He knew a nervous Gansey when he saw one and he shut his eyes in trepidation.

“Ronan, I wanted to talk with you.” Gansey hesitated. “Declan called me earlier-”

“Christ.”

“-to interrogate me about your boyfriend."

"Christ."

“I told him that if he wanted to know about that, he’d have to ask you himself.” Gansey looked to Ronan, abandoning his notebooks and came to rest near the arm of the couch. It was Gansey’s guileless expression, the Gansey-way he chewed on mint leaves and ran a nervous thumb on his bottom lip. “Either he’s disillusioned or you’ve been lying. To me.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Ronan said with finality.

Gansey sighed. “What sort’ve mess have you gotten yourself into now?”

Ronan growled, hurdling off the couch. “Nothing that I can’t take of myself, thanks Dick.”

“Ronan, please. Let’s just discuss-”

“Leave it alone.” Ronan snatched his keys, leaving his beer unfinished on the floor.

He should’ve known it was a bad idea. To lie to Declan, to come to Monmouth to forget about it. He could’ve barricaded himself in his bedroom, he had a mini fridge filled with beer beside his bed. But he wanted to feel okay. He found himself storming out the entrance, Gansey sighing behind him, arduously making his way towards his car.

He already knew where he was going.

It took a few minutes before Adam groggily answered the door, dressed in a tattered old shirt and boxers. He looked severely annoyed, haphazardly running his fingers through his messy hair, and for a brief second Ronan let himself feel guilty for waking Adam up. Adam probably got less sleep than any of them even though he deserved it the most.

“Rise and shine Parrish.”

“Christ Ronan,” Adam groaned. “It’s three in the fucking morning. And I wasn’t sleeping.”

Vaguely, as Ronan stepped inside, he noticed the dim light near Adam’s desk and notes sprawled over the surface. It was hard to find time for everything, especially when Cabeswater was demanding of Adam's attentions. Adam crumbled on his desk chair, refocusing on the scrawled print and Ronan watched as long, slender fingers reached for a dull pencil.

It was mesmerizing. The way the pencil rolled between Adam’s fingertips with ease when he was concentrating. The way his hand skated across the sheet of paper, elegant and steady, the telltale furrow of Adam’s brow when he was beginning to understand a difficult concept. Ronan pressed against the wall opposite of Adam, sliding down until he was on the floor. He watched the way Adam’s figure was hunched over the desk and Ronan tilted his head, so that the back of it was touching the wall and closed his eyes.

Ronan spoke, after minutes of listening to Adam’s soft breaths, roughly scratching down equations. “You’re going to have fucked up posture by the time you’re twenty.”

Adam snorted. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Why the hell are you doing homework this late.” It was a stupid question.

“Some of us like to actually get our work done, Lynch.” Adam said witheringly. “If you’re not going to leave me alone, then get out.”

After that, conversation ceased. Ronan gnawed at his leather bands, thinking about the conversation with his brothers. With Gansey. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

After twenty minutes of unfalteringly silence, Adam looked over his shoulder, the chair creaking in protest at the movement. Ronan’s eyes were still closed and his lips were curved downwards, eyebrows crinkled.

Suddenly, like he knew he was being watched, Ronan spoke. “Thought you were doing homework.”

Adam rolled his eyes despite Ronan not being able to see it. “I finished the work sheet and looked over my answers. I might get a head start on world history though.”

Ronan opened his eyes to where Adam was pulling out a worn textbook. It was overused to the point where the spine was held together with three struggling pieces of tape. Adam held it carefully, dextrous hands sliding down the cover. Ronan needed to close his eyes again.

“We don’t even have world history until Friday. Take a breath, Parrish. It’s three fucking AM.”

“If you’re so damn tired, go to sleep.” Adam snapped. He was still sitting on the chair but he turned so that he was facing Ronan, folding his legs in front of him and placing the textbook on his lap. He took a steadying breath. Don't fight with Ronan. “How was visiting your brothers?”

“Fucking wonderful. Declan was a dick, as always.”

“Wonder where he gets it from.”

“He takes it to a whole new level. He’s a fucking asshole.”

Ronan crossed his arms, his eyes fluttering open. Adam tried not to pay too close attention at how Ronan's dark eyelashes left swooping shadows along marble cheekbones. He looked down at his textbook, words blending into other words, not really comprehending.

“How was Matthew?” Adam asked softly.

Ronan relaxed a bit at the mention of the youngest Lynch. “He’s a goddamn ray of sunshine. Apparently he’s now really into soccer and won’t shut up about it.”

“A Lynch described as a ray of sunshine? I don’t believe it.” Adam quirked a quiet smile.

“You haven’t met him yet. He’s the best of us all.”

Ronan brought his wrists to his mouth to chew on his leather bands. It was his nervous tick and as secretive as Ronan liked to portray himself as, he wore his heart on his edgy, raven-black sleeve.

“What else happened?”

“Nothing.” Ronan bit out.

Adam tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his lower lip, in faux contemplation. “You’re a lot more twitchy than usual.”

“I’m not fucking twitchy.”

“Whatever Lynch,” Adam sighed. It was the same feeling of insecurity that washed over him. The same small voice that said that he would never be Gansey, he would never be able to know Ronan and Gansey as well as they knew each other. He was Adam Parrish: an outsider, trespasser, unknowable and unknowing. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“It’s Declan,” the words dragged out of Ronan in the same way boat shoes would from Gansey’s formidable grasp. He was staring stringently at the floor. “And this stupid, dumb-ass, stupid-dumb-ass party he’s hosting this weekend.”

“It must be tough having to hear about your brother throwing away money on an excessive party.”

“He fucking forcing me to come. And bring my date.” Ronan groaned.

Adam peered up from his textbook. “Oh, I didn’t, I wasn’t aware that you were-”

“I’m not.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not coherent enough for this.” Adam rubbed his eyes. “You told him you were dating?”

“Well he was throwing shit around about getting me a date, knowing Declan, more pretentious than Dick. And now I have to bring a date because I can’t fucking show up without one. He thought I might bring fucking Sargent but-”

“-you’re not a lamp person, I know.”

For a second, Ronan lifted his gaze and made eye contact with Adam. “Right.”

Adam figured Ronan was going to bring Gansey. He’d already met the Lynch brothers, he was intelligent and charming and had enough money to buy each of the party-goers a large boat. Gansey, who was a prince, a king, who could sweet talk a calendar in one of his pristine, unblemished suits. Gansey, who had experience with lavish parties and extensive knowledge on utensil etiquette and knew the right republican bullshit to spew.

He tried to quell the unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Gansey and Ronan together.

“Fuck it,” Ronan muttered. He anxiously stood up, angrily stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to be my boyfriend for the weekend or whatever.”

Adam gaped at him in surprise. He snapped his textbook shut, despite it’s fragility, and placed it on his desk.

“You want me,” Adam said incredulously, “to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“Just for the weekend.” Ronan stressed.

Adam looked at him witheringly, continuing in a flat, bewildered tone. “Let me get this straight. You want me to fake date you at your brother’s fancy party so you can make some sort of idiotic statement.”

Ronan shrugged. He was trying for disinterest. “If it’ll get Declan off my fucking back then yes.”

“And this is the only way you can think of to achieve that?”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not forcing you to, I’ll just-” Ronan huffed. He looked seconds away from storming out.

“Hey, wait,” Adam paused, standing to reach out for Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan looked visibly distressed, raking his fingers across his scalp. He seemed genuinely distraught over the entire idea, awkwardly hovering beneath Adam’s palm. It was the only reason why Adam blurted out his next words. “I didn’t… say no.”

Adam knew that he would need to change all his shifts around, he’d need to work extra to make up for the hours lost and that facading as Ronan’s boyfriend in front of his brother would most likely be awkward and uncomfortable. Still, there was a part of him that was interested to see what it would be like to be worthy of the title of Ronan Lynch’s boyfriend. He knew his decision - impulsive and reckless and overall stupid- was already made.

“Fine. I’m in.”

Ronan jolted. “What?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t do it?”

“I don’t know.” Ronan spluttered. “This isn’t a regular fucking thing you ask people.”

“No,” Adam said, quiet. “But I know you make some pretty stupid decisions especially when Declan is involved. I don’t mind having to pretend around your brothers for the weekend.”

“What about work?”

“I’ll pick up some extra shifts this week and switch my shifts this weekend around.”

Normally, Adam would not do this. If Gansey had thought to berate Adam, even considered the possibility of asking Adam to skip a shift, Adam would have stormed out as quickly as he had arrived. They were both aware of this but no one brought it up.

“Okay," Ronan nodded in disbelief. "Fine, cool. Great. Thanks, I guess." He added, casually.  

There was no way Adam would be able to concentrate on school work now. 

He sighed. “I'm exhausted. Get the light, would you Lynch?”

Adam collapsed on top of his thin mattress, tossing a blanket to Ronan, who peeled off his tank to use as a pillow. Despite the way his tired eyes ached to close, Adam felt uncomfortably awake, a vivacious energy thrumming under his skin. Adam never felt vivacious in his life. He knew he had a shift in a couple hours, he knew that he would regret not taking advantage of the few hours of sleep that he could get. Still, he was aware of Ronan laying silently beside him, rustling every few minutes. Adam’s mattress hardly lifted off the floor. It was almost as if they were sleeping next to each other.

Adam did not break the silence. Neither did Ronan. Eventually Adam managed to fall asleep, a feat not entirely too difficult.

By the time his alarm went off, Ronan was gone, his blanket folded neatly. And placed on top was a silky navy tie.