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Henrietta had much of nothing so it was surprising that there was a dingy dance studio that opened up a few blocks down from Adam’s old elementary school. It wasn’t large or glamorous, the front walls were made of glass with stale advertisements taped on top and Adam visited almost every second day since the moment he’d discovered it in the third grade until the summer before his first year at Aglionby started.
Adam remembered finding it for the first time, when his parents had either forgotten or refused to pick him up from school and was forced to walk home. He hadn’t yet memorized the route to the trailer park and found himself wandering in the opposite direction, where he stumbled upon the studio. He bumped into the owner, a kind lady whose hair was bright and whimsical, to which her smile matched. Adam wasn’t sure how but he ended up with a permission form to take lessons free of charge. His mother had signed it in secrecy when Adam’s father was too occupied with the tiny boxed T.V placed on a creaky old stool and his pre made microwavable dinner. Adam felt grateful at the time, his mother hushedly whispering to never let his father find out. Adam realized now that she didn’t care where he was or what he was doing, as long as he was out of their way.
There were multiple styles of dance the kind lady, Lindsey, had taught him. Ballet was the only kind that truly resonated with him.
Now, he was a senior at Aglionby juggling work, school, ballet and his budding friendship with Richard Gansey the Third.
Gansey sighed in annoyance. “Ronan, please. Adam is a kind, hard working individual. If you just took the time to talk with him-”
“-not fucking likely.” Ronan snorted.
Gansey glared at him and continued. “You would see that he is a good person and a good friend.”
“Too bad I’m not looking for anymore fucking friends.”
“He’s interesting, Ronan. He works three jobs, he’s at the top of all his classes, he’s an excellent dancer-”
“Wait.” Ronan shot up where he was slouching across the couch at Monmouth. He grinned gleefully. “Parrish fucking dances?”
“Yes. You know, at that studio down the road by that exquisite cafe we’ve enjoyed extensively.”
“You mean he dances at the run down garbage dump next to the mediocre coffee shop we went to once?”
Gansey gracefully ignored him. “Apparently he’s been dancing there for ages. He’s also a part time instructor. It's his third job alongside the factory and as a mechanic.” Gansey spoke jovially, listing Adam's jobs with admiration.
“That’s fan-fucking-tastic for him. I don’t care.” Ronan looked ready to saunter back into his bedroom and brood for the rest of the night.
Gansey hastily interrupted him. He shoved his glasses up from where they had slid down the bridge of his nose. “Wait, Lynch. We’re meeting up tonight to discuss Glendower. I’ve found some truly thought provoking notes regarding the ley lines.” He gestured vaguely towards his rugged stack of old notebooks, no doubt filled to the brim with handwritten notes scattered in the margins. “You’re picking up Adam from his dance session and meeting Noah and I at Ninos.”
“What? Why can’t you do it since you’re so fucking in love with him?”
“Because I promised Noah I’d pick him up from wherever he disappeared to.”
“No thanks. I’m not going.”
Ronan spit the words out maliciously, stomping towards his bedroom. He felt Gansey anchor a hand on his shoulder.
“Ronan, please.” Gansey said earnestly, pleading slightly.
Ronan felt all the energy drain out of him at the words. Fucking Gansey.
“You’re a dick, Dick.”
Gansey beamed and returned to his work. “I’ll see you tonight then. Adam said his session would be finished by 5 at the latest.”
Ronan sighed. “Sounds fucking great.”
Even though Ronan left purposely late, he was still early when he arrived at the studio. The place was as tiny as he remembered but it had obviously undergone some renovations. He couldn’t see Parrish through the windows and let out an irritated breath before roughly exiting the car. He entered the air conditioned area, the door jingling to signal his arrival before storming up to the receptionist's desk towards a young woman who looked up at him curiously.
“How can I help you?”
Ronan glared. “Where’s Parrish.”
“Adam Parrish?”
“Yes, Adam Parrish.” Ronan seethed.
The receptionist did not look impressed. “Adam doesn’t teach classes on Thursdays but you can usually find him practicing.” She smiled faintly before warily adding, “3rd door down the hall.”
Ronan didn’t bother thanking her. He grunted and then made his way down the narrow corridor. He could hear the slight murmur of music as he got closer to the room that Parrish was apparently too busy parading around in instead of waiting outside like the punctual asshole Ronan knew he was. He gripped the door handle and peered through a slight crack before opening the door completely.
The room wasn’t too big but there were grand windows that let sunlight leak in, swallowing the room in a dewy gold. There was an old CD player reciting a lyricless symphony of piano. It was bare, crushing music. Ronan could hardly focus on the details of the room with Adam in the center, who moved with a grace and dexterity that Ronan had never been privy of witnessing. The sunlight glimmered off of the mirrors that covered one wall and made Adam’s skin look even more iridescent, the sweet honeysuckle of the room showering Adam brilliantly, making him look unreal. Like he was trapped in a sepia photograph. Adam was too focussed on his routine, whatever the hell he was doing, because he hadn’t noticed Ronan’s presence.
Ronan watched as Adam moved. Gansey had never specified what type of dance Adam had done. Ronan also didn’t care. He’d noticed Parrish of course, it would’ve been impossible not to notice the quiet boy when he first entered Latin class but he would’ve never imagined that Adam Parrish was a fucking ballet dancer.
It was both nonsensical and strangely, insanely, weirdly perfect.
Adam moved gracefully. His leg was arched in the air, curved, toe severely pointed while he spun on his other leg. His motions were fluid and succinct, arms slightly lifted above his head. Ronan noticed the way Adam’s legs flexed as he leaped consecutively across the length of the room.
All at once, it ended too soon. Adam was in the midst of another complicated move that Ronan had no idea what the fuck was called, when his eyes abruptly caught onto Ronan’s. Adam stumbled, slightly flailing in surprise.
It would’ve been hilarious if Ronan wasn’t too occupied thinking about the way Adam whirled on one leg, foot arched, while his other leg swept across the floor. Ronan suddenly felt too out of depth and it made him inexplicably annoyed.
When Adam found his bearing he squawked indignantly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Driving your sorry ass to Ninos.” His voice sounded too rough. Ronan cleared his throat. “You knew I was picking you up at 5, right?”
“Shit. Fuck. I didn’t realize the time -” Adam paused mid sentence, shutting off the C.D player. He haphazardly grabbed his bag and carefully toed off the new pointe shoes he had been working extra shifts for. He ran a hand through his hair. Ronan followed the movement. “I thought Gansey was picking me up.”
“He had to get Noah. We’re meeting them there.”
“More Glendower stuff?” Adam asked, pensively. He was zipping his bag up after pulling on an old hoodie. His face looked abnormally flushed.
“I hear it’s quite thought provoking.” Ronan mimicked in a terrible impression of Gansey’s voice.
“Right. I’ll meet you at the car. I’ve gotta,” Adam waved his hand awkwardly, throwing his bag over his shoulder, “check out and stuff.”
“Whatever. Don’t take too long.”
Ronan stalked back the same way he came. He could hear Adam sighing roughly in the background. He threw himself into the car after racing past the receptionist, who he blatantly ignored, slamming the door with a sudden ferocity.
Once in the safety of his car, he let out a deep breath. He closed his eyes and thought about the way Adam danced. He thought about the passion that burned in each concise step. He thought about the way Adam’s face looked when he moved, how different it was from his usual exhaustive, unamused expression of perpetual wariness. At least that was the expression Adam had when directed at Ronan.
He thought of the way the sunlight highlighted the plethora of freckles that adorned Adam’s cheekbones.
He could see Adam now, exiting the studio, throwing a casual wave back, presumably towards the receptionist. He was smiling slightly, the breeze running its greedy fingers through Adam's hair, rustling it beyond repair so that it tumbled over his forehead.
Ronan blasted his electronica to a volume he knew would piss Adam off.
He was fucked.