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“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Ronan says, cautiously. Ronan is hardly ever cautious, which makes Adam feel even worse.
“It’s fine,” he replies flatly, drying his palms on his jeans. Ronan, as always hyper-aware of Adam’s hands, gives him a skeptical look.
“I can see that. Listen, it’s not too late to cancel.”
Adam can tell both that Ronan doesn’t want to cancel, and that he would in a heartbeat.
“It is too late to cancel,” he says stubbornly. “We would lose the money.”
“I’m not exactly terrified, Parrish.”
Adam throws him a withering glance. “Some of us don’t have the ability to just dream up checks.”
Ronan shrugs. It’s not real, this sparring, Adam knows that, even though only a year and some change ago it would have devolved into an absolutely real and ugly fight. The calculated insolence in the set of Ronan’s shoulders means he’s putting on an act, pushing Adam’s buttons with the spoilt Aglionby prince attitude, in an effort to distract him from his nerves. Adam is a little awed – both at Ronan’s strange brand of thoughtfulness and at their ability to read each other so well. He guesses dating for a year will do that.
A year. He can hardly believe it. And yet they’ve lasted this long, in spite of demons, hit men, and the various obstacles of long-distance relationships. And that’s why they’re here, at an airport, waiting to board a flight to Paris for their first anniversary. Paris, of all places. That’s something else Adam can’t believe.
It was Ronan’s idea, because for all his barbs and sharp edges, he’s a hopeless romantic at heart, even if he’d deny it to his last breath. They’d been lying in bed, limbs tangled as sweat dried on their bodies, Adam’s fingers tracing the hooks and claws of Ronan’s tattoo, Ronan’s face buried in the crook of Adam’s neck.
“You’re a menace,” Ronan had said, non-sequitur.
“Oh?” Adam smiled.
“Yeah. You are. You make me absolutely fucking stupid.”
“Stupid how?” Adam asked, lips teasing the shell of Ronan’s ear, enjoying the resulting shudder.
“Stupid like—I want to do all sorts of mushy stuff for you. Buy you flowers and shit.” Neither of them bothered to mention that for all the times they’d woken up to a bed full of dreamt petals in every color of the rainbow, Ronan might as well have bought him a whole flower shop. “Write you songs. Take you to stupid Paris and kiss you on the stupid fucking Eiffel tower.”
Ronan’s face was resolutely buried in Adam’s neck, but it was easy to tell he was blushing furiously, his cheek hot against Adam’s throat. Adam’s heart was doing funny things in his chest.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I know. It’s a damn cliché. I said it was stupid.”
Adam didn’t think it was stupid. His life had been so bleak until he’d found them – Ronan and Gansey and Blue and Cabeswater and Persephone and Opal and magic – so utterly devoid of poetry, that romantic clichés had never really been an option. Between school, work, and avoiding his father, he didn’t have time to worry about much else aside from his next meal or stealing an extra hour of sleep. And yet there was part of him – the part of him that had sent Blue flowers, the part of him that had made Cabeswater play music for Ronan – that deeply longed for romance. But possibly even more overwhelming was the idea that Ronan wanted to give him that kind of stuff – that he thought Adam was worth being romantic over.
He ran through a few quick calculations in his mind, unable to completely shut off his rational side even with his heart beating unsteadily against his ribs. He had time off from school, and a part-time job at the library that paid well. It could work.
“We could go to Paris,” he said, trying for offhanded and missing by half a mile.
Slowly, Ronan lifted his head to look at him. “Are you messing with me?”
“I’m not!” Adam protested. “I’ve never been to Paris.” Which Ronan knew, because, well – Adam had never been out of Virginia, period.
“I thought you were terrified of flying,” Ronan pointed out.
“I’m not terrified,” Adam argued, his ears going slightly warm. “I just don’t like it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point. I don’t want us to celebrate our first year together by doing something that you’re not going to enjoy. You don’t have to go along with it just because I want to.”
Adam shot him an unimpressed look. “And based on what you know of me, how likely am I to do something I don’t want to do just to please other people?”
Ronan laughed and kissed him. “Not very, you beautiful bastard.”
“Exactly.”
Ronan shook his head, still smiling in a slightly awed way. “Are you sure?”
Adam’s mind conjured up images of beautiful buildings he’d only seen in movies, of old monuments and new discoveries and adventure; he thought of walking with Ronan along the riverfront of the Seine at night, and kissing him in the soft glow of old streetlights.
“I’m sure.”
And he was. Present Adam, however, thinks Past Adam is a sentimental idiot and loathes him deeply. He dries his hands on his jeans again, leg jiggling nervously.
“Look, Parrish. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to hold your gross sweaty hand and everything.”
“Oh, wow, Lynch, that’s so generous of you. I mean, especially considering how much you hate holding my hand under normal circumstances,” Adam retorts dryly.
Ronan has the good grace to concede the point, but Adam is too nervous to even feel smug about it.
“Last chance to turn back, Parrish.”
“No,” Adam insists. “I really want to go.” And he does, despite how miserable he feels now. “Besides, Gansey would never forgive us. He dragged Blue and Henry there all the way from Iceland just so we could hang out on Saturday.”
Ronan rolls his eyes, but the mention of Gansey seems to remind him of something. “Hey, you know this is not going to be as bad as the helicopter, right?”
“…No?” Adam hates how small his voice sounds, but really, how would he know? He’s never been on a plane before.
“No,” Ronan smiles, “it’s much more stable. And nowhere near as loud. Plus, you won’t have to worry about Gansey’s sister kidnapping you or something.”
Adam scoffs at the ridiculous (but still admittedly flattering) notion of Helen’s interest in him, but he feels relief edge its way in, easing the knots in his stomach. Before he has time to start worrying again, they’re boarding.
Ronan, true to his word as ever, holds his hand as they taxi down the runway (“Nothing’s happening yet, Ronan.” “Shhh. I’m being supportive,” Ronan grins, pulling Adam’s hand into his lap). He doesn’t even complain when Adam nearly crushes his fingers as the engines fire up and they hurtle towards the sky.
Adam actually knows a lot about the mechanics of planes, because he likes knowing how things work. He’d gone on an extra research binge after they’d booked their tickets, thinking that understanding the hows and whys of aircrafts and flight would ease his anxiety, except he’d only ended up making himself more aware of all the ways things could wrong.
But then.
Then he looks out of the window, and just like that, he stops thinking of science and engines, of lift and thrust and gravity, and for a blessed, magical moment, all he feels is wonder.
He stares at the tiny buildings and trees underneath, at the clouds close enough to touch. The world is gradually fading away below them, and sure, Adam will never like being suspended mid-air – he’s an earthly creature, made of touch and practicality, likes having his feet on the ground and his hands busy – but right now, as the plane gently rocks up and to the side, he feels as light as a cloud himself.
Because he’s flying, and Ronan is holding his hand; because he never ever has to go back to the trailer park, because he saved himself; because Ronan loves him, and Adam finally believes himself worthy enough of it to love him back, and they’re going to Paris.
Adam is flying, and he’s not afraid.