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The morning Adam turns 27, Ronan wakes up at the crack of dawn and drives into town. It’s not a long drive – the house they bought is far enough from the centre to have its own plot of land, but still a reasonable distance from Adam’s office – but he still honks viciously at every single unfortunate soul that is driving too damn slow, fuck it, because he’ll be damned if he can’t get back by the time Adam wakes up.
When he arrives at the shelter, the woman on duty greets him sleepily and a little grouchily. He had to pay a hefty bonus to ensure she’d be there at ass o’clock in the morning, but it’s worth it. Of course, it would have been easier if he could just have dreamt the puppy, all set and ready to go in the comfort of their own home – but he knows it wouldn’t be the same. Adam would not go for a dream puppy when there are dogs already waiting at a shelter, abandoned and mistreated and mistrusting, but still so full of affection and loyalty, hoping for someone to adopt them. Adam would never pick the easy option, and Ronan loves him for it.
The hound puppy is, to be honest, ridiculously cute, even though it cowers fearfully when Ronan tries to pick it up. It takes some coaxing from the shelter lady before it relaxes in Ronan’s arms long enough that he can carry it out to the car.
As the sun rises in the sky, Ronan drives back home breaking every speed limit, and the puppy barks joyfully. Ronan thinks they might just get along fine.
He feels less magnanimous about things later, as he’s walking upstairs quietly, trying to shush the puppy’s excited and curious yipping.
“Be fucking quiet,” he tells it gently. “We’re surprising Adam, okay?”
The puppy yips even louder. Ronan groans, but he’s not actually worried, because Adam sleeps like a fucking log once he’s out, and if he’s slept through Ronan’s worst electronica mixes, a puppy dog’s barks are not going to wake him up any time soon.
Nor, for that matter, is the summer morning sun shining directly in Adam’s face, softly lighting his freckles and turning his brown hair shades of burnished gold.
Ronan sits at the foot of the bed and just looks at him, as grateful as ever that he’s lucky enough to call this amazing man his own. He waits for Adam to wake up, stroking the puppy as it, too, dozes on and off.
When Adam finally wakes – and okay, Ronan may have been nudging his foot for the past ten minutes, but how long can he keep a tiny dog still and quiet, really? – he smiles sleepily up at him, and Ronan’s heart flips into his mouth, which is just ridiculous, considering they’ve been living together for over a year now.
“Hi,” Adam greets, drawing the vowel out drowsily.
“Hi,” Ronan replies, smiling in what he suspects is a horrifyingly smitten way. “Happy birthday,” he adds, and turns fully around to reveal the puppy, which, with perfect timing, is waking up at the sudden noises.
“Thank—” Adam starts, but the ‘you’ dies in his mouth as he spots the puppy and his eyes instantly go saucer-sized.
“Oh my God”, he says softly, and then, even softer, repeats: “Oh my God.”
The puppy crawls towards Adam’s extended hands, tripping adorably over its own paws and the bedsheets, and Adam makes a pained, squeaking noise.
There’s a tense moment before Adam actually pets the puppy’s small head, when it looks as if the puppy might actually shy back, but Adam’s always had a way of dealing with lost, frightened fledgling creatures – Opal is living proof of that. Adam holds his hand above the puppy’s head for a few moments, letting it sniff it out, not pushing, not demanding anything, until the puppy gives it a tentative lick and a headbutt – and just like that, Adam’s gone, in a puppy-induced state of bliss.
Ronan might as well have left the room for all that either of them is noticing him, which is both amusing and a little upsetting but was, ultimately, the goal of this. Adam loves the puppy, and the puppy very obviously already loves Adam – which is not unusual, since dogs unfailingly take to Adam in a heartbeat.
“Oh God, Ronan,” Adam whispers reverently, his eyes glued to the puppy currently happily snuggled against his chest. “His ears are so floppy.”
“Jesus, you’re such a nerd,” Ronan replies, but he can basically feel his heart growing three sizes in his chest.
Adam waves the barb away, busy very gently petting the dog’s ears.
“What are we gonna name him?” he wonders, looking actually lovestruck.
“Jackhammer,” Ronan promptly replies.
“Like fuck. We agreed no more power tools.”
“Ugh. Fine, name him something lame then, see if I care.”
“I’ll name him whatever I want, thank you very much. Maybe I’ll name him Fluffy.”
“Fucking hell, Parrish, I’ve worked so hard to create a brand here and you’re just gonna destroy it like that?”
Adam rolls his eyes, somehow managing to look both bitchy and adorable at the same time. “Relax. I’m not actually naming him that.”
“I still vote Jackhammer.”
“Definitely not.”
“We can shorten it to Jack. Here, Jack! Good boy!”
“Don’t you dare train him to respond to that, Lynch.”
Ronan laughs, raising his hands in defeat and scooting up the bed to sit down next to Adam.
“You better not start loving this mutt more than me.”
“Impossible. I already love it a million times more than I’ve ever loved anything under the sun.”
“Ouch, fucking rude,” Ronan puts a hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded.
“But seriously,” Adam says, sobering up. “Thank you. This is… I don’t even know. I love you so much.”
“Love you too, birthday boy,” Ronan replies, fondly. Then adds, in a cooing voice: “And I love you too, Jackhammer.”
Adam shoves him off the bed.