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Gansey had been freshly resurrected for three months now. The first month had been spent with tiptoes, fragility and fear that if they looked away from Gansey for too long they’d look back and no one would be there. Or that Gansey would be there, but it’d be ‘dead-in-a-ditch’ Gansey, a corpse briefly animated only to return to its demised state in a cruel game of pretend with the universe.
Month two had consisted of smiles of relief and tighter spontaneous hugs. It consisted of hope that lost tentativeness with each passing day that Gansey remained warm, smiling and wearing his boat-shoes before them.
The third month is full of celebration, of sleepovers less for Gansey-sitting and nightmare-sharing, but more for laughter and boardgames and no sleep at all. They were joyful, they were young and alive— and now they truly let themselves believe it. And while grief and trauma still clung to them like fog clung to the Virginia mountains, they were insistent on spending the remainder of their senior year enjoying every moment they had together. Which is why they were here now, all of them— Blue, Gansey, Ronan, Adam and Henry— at a house, no a castle, on the outskirts of D.C. celebrating Gansey’s mother’s political win.
At least, Adam thought it was a castle. It possessed enough turrets fit for several princesses and princes in distress — all bigger than his room at St. Agnes. A fair number of regal stone carvings were inlaid into the walls which, in Adam’s opinion, made the building terribly scalable and, therefore, unlikely actually used as a protective fortress for royalty, but rather built within the last half century for this very purpose: to host grand events for those with the money for grandeur and an inclination towards regality and splendour. And for impressing their equally rich friends.
Though, to be fair, Adam thought as he stood on one of the six balconies within his current eye-line, he was very much enjoying feeling like a king this evening. Dressed in a fitted burgundy suit Ronan and Gansey helped him buy (helped because they were his friends and Adam had realised months ago, standing in that court room watching two of his best friends panting beneath their tucked in shirts, that help from them wasn’t due to pity) he felt like a ruler— in charge of his life and his future, his hopes and dreams that he now dared to have with as much abundance as stars in the night sky above him.
Looking out at the trees across the gravel driveway and intricate gardens, Adam felt a familiar pang of loss for Cabeswater— his first love, the reason why he even realised he could love— as he always would. As the branches of these non-magical trees waved softly in the wind, Adam raised his hand a couple of inches off the stone balcony railing and subtly, quietly waved back. It never hurt to be polite.
He still loved plants and nature and channeled his loss into gardening. Ronan had happily— eagerly— given him a sizeable patch of dirt at the Barns to use whenever he wanted. And, of course, practicing tarot with the ladies of 300 Fox Way had also been something he loves doing and found therapeutic, Persephone’s cards remaining a source of comfort.
Everything was going well for once. Gansey was still alive, his college applications were sent away and he got to see his best friends more regularly now that he’d quit his job at the trailer factory in exchange for helping Calla and Maura when they needed a third presence during readings. As grateful as he was for the equal cut of the earnings he received, Adam wasn’t sure why they didn’t just ask one of the many, many other ladies who lived at 300 Fox Way, but Maura had just muttered something about Persephone and ‘meant to be’ and Adam had decided not to open a barely healed wound.
Of course, he still lived in St. Agnes and had to count every dollar in keeping with his strict budget, but hopefully soon he’d be offered a full ride to one of his dream colleges and he wouldn’t have to pay for Aglionby anymore— which he still wouldn’t let Gansey touch, a suit for a one-off party was different than a year’s tuition.
His thoughts were cut off by the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses getting louder as a patio door opened below him. Adam leaned over and saw Ronan and Henry tumble out of the ballroom laughing at some woman’s monster of a hat that looked more fitting in a costume shop. Adam smirked. He, Ronan and Henry had been standing in the corner of the ballroom judging the very same lady from afar not ten minutes ago, before Adam had escaped for some peace and quiet to the first floor bathroom and, subsequently, this secluded balcony off the hallway.
“Oh, man, I think she heard you.” Henry laughed, doubled over, his perfectly straight hair now parallel to the ground.
“Fuck her,” Ronan was stood proud, valiant, shadows hugging his form as if trying to absorb him into the darkness. “She did look like a nutty Halloween witch and someone had to tell her.”
“I hope you weren’t insulting the Ganseys’ esteemed guests within their earshot, Lynch.” Adam called down in jest, enjoying making Henry jump and cause Ronan to startle enough that he lost his suave composure.
They turned and looked up. Ronan’s eyes lit up when they caught sight of Adam and he grinned, wild and luminous. “You know it, Parrish.”
Ronan Lynch. Ronan fucking Lynch with his ability to light Adam up from the inside out. Ronan was a master of light. His dream things were soaked in it. Beautiful flowers and gentle animals and kind brothers. Dream seeds for Adam to plant, dream fabrics for Blue’s creations, dream novels for Gansey to find new adventures— from the safety of his own living room for now.
They had almost kissed once. Before. After Adam had learned that he was capable of love and after he had recognised Ronan’s glances and gifts as actions screaming the words his tongue was struggling to. But before Gansey had died, however briefly, and before Ronan’s mom had died, wretchedly permanent. They had been sat on Ronan’s bed on his birthday, toy car wheels spinning and eyelashes flirting, when Matthew had bounded in saying he had found the tin foil. Ronan and Adam startled away from one another, not realising how close they had been leaning until they felt an ocean apart.
The chain of tragedy had begun the next day, and so the moment had passed. In the first few months that followed their focus was on recovery, Gansey and friendship. Adam would’ve felt selfish for insisting on time alone with Ronan for the sole purpose of examining the shape of his lips with his own while pure friendship felt so sacred and their cheeks were still salty with tears. Yet, they knew what Ronan’s glances meant and they knew what Adam’s light touch on Ronan’s shoulder meant, and now that over three months had passed and healing was well underway, Adam thought— hoped— the moment was circling back around.
Their friendship had only gotten stronger. Adam had held Ronan through the moments after a nightmare, running a hand over his shaved head. And Ronan had comforted Adam through moments of terror when he thought he saw his hand move against his own volition, playing with Adam’s fingers as if to say ‘see, theres nothing for you— or anyone else— to be afraid of.’
But then there were also the moments where Adam was swiftly reminded that while he loved, cherished and had pride in being one of Ronan’s best friends, what was between them was so much more.
Just two days ago during the suit fitting at Monmouth, Ronan had looked at him in a way that licked flames over every crevice of his body. When Ronan had suddenly stormed off to his room Gansey had looked bewildered, but Adam just shrugged. He hadn’t mentioned his feelings for Ronan to Gansey yet, though he was sure if Gansey was even a smidge more observant he would’ve caught on immediately from the inferno that encompassed Adam when Ronan stepped out of his room in an indigo black suit the colour of the sky at the Barns at night. The small flames that had tickled Adam earlier had exploded so brightly that surely even Gansey could’ve noticed their bonfire glow.
And now Ronan stood staring up at him wearing that very suit and a matching smile that spoke desire.
God, how he— how he was sure he—
“The fuck you doing up there?” Ronan continued, sharp edges cutting the light into patterns of black and gold.
“Just came out for some air,” Adam lowered himself onto his forearms so he could lean over the edge more comfortably.
“Okay, Juliet,” Henry snorted. “I’m going back in for another drink and to see if Blue needs saving from her future in-laws. You guys coming?”
“No,” Ronan replied without hesitation and Adam simply shrugged above him.
“Suit yourselves, see you guys in there later.”
And then Henry was gone and it was just the two of them, and Adam was happy and joyful, feeling playful on this night of celebration with the sight of Ronan in that suit, so he called down to Ronan with a Gansey-like accent, playing on Henry’s joke from before.
“'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?' Or should I say, 'Ronan, Ronan, wherefore art thou, Ronan?'” Adam laughed out loud as Ronan just looked up at him, arms crossed and eyebrows confused.
“What the fuck, Parrish?”
“Its from 'Romeo and Juliet', you shit. Its a famous line, surely even you’ve heard of it.”
“Sure,” Ronan rolled his eyes at Adam who continued smiling down at him the way he had on his birthday all those months ago, wide and elastic. “Uh, I guess I’m at a lame ass party, Juliet.”
Adam let out a burst of laughter. “Thats not what the line means dumbass—“
“—Nerd, you know I never went to English class—”
“—Also, I go by Julien.”
“Oh, sorry,” Ronan apologised sarcastically, unfolding his arms to wave them in exaggerated fake regret. “Didn’t realise you were so sensitive about your fragile masculinity, Julien.”
Adam convulsed in silent laughter.
“Does that mean you’re on a hunt for maidens then, Julien? Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got a dick and it’s not Gansey. Laters.” Ronan saluted at him and jokingly made as if to leave.
“Hold up, Romeo,” Adam’s cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so wide. “I’m cool with whatever, maidens or…otherwise.”
Ronan stared up at him again, seemingly cool and collected, one eyebrow raised. Adam raised an eyebrow in return. A beat passed.
“So what do I win if I climb the balcony?”
“What?”
“Romeo climbs up to the balcony, right? Whats the prize?”
Despite having studied the play intensely, Adam’s treacherous mind jumps to the movie version they’d watched as a last ditch attempt to get students like Ronan interested. The image of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes making out in a swimming pool slipping unwelcome to the forefront of his mind. Aware that Ronan is speaking hypothetically, Adam feels a swell of recklessness arise in him as he stares down at Ronan’s striking face, lips highlighted by the yellow glow of the ballroom’s chandeliers. “They kiss.”
Ronan continued to stand there for a second, hands loosely stuffed in his pants pockets. He looked away from Adam for a second before his eyes are back on his as if an invisible bungee cord connects their gazes. “Okay.”
Adam paused then straightened from where he was relaxed as Ronan took his hands out of his pockets and started over towards the left side of the balcony where a stone statue lounged against the wall of the castle.
“Wait, what?” Adam rushed over to the side of the balcony and looked down.
Ronan didn’t answer, simply reached up towards the statue’s elbows as he placed his foot on the edge of the statue’s pedestal.
“Lynch, what are you— Ronan that’s dangerous!”
But Ronan ignored him, scaling his way up the statue until his feet were on its shoulders and his hands gripped the side of the balcony. Adam was only a floor up from the ground so Ronan was able to easily find a foothold in the rocky, uneven wall and pull himself up onto the balcony without much thought. Adam’s first thought was ‘see, clearly this wasn’t a real castle if it’s this easy to climb’ and his second was ‘holy shit’ because Ronan was now steadying himself in front of him when he’d been on the ground below him not two minutes before.
By now Adam’s brain had caught up with the actions and one clear thought pulsed in the foreground. Adam had promised a kiss was the so-called prize for climbing the balcony and now here Ronan was standing before him, chest close to his, heaving slightly.
Ronan looked at him in silence, as was his style and Adam looked back. Now? It was happening now? Is this the moment?
Ronan was starting to look uneasy at Adam’s stillness and Adam knew he wouldn’t make the first move. For all the signs Ronan has given to Adam about how he felt, Adam was still catching up. How could he possibly match his kindness, the hand cream, the mixtape, the laughter, fighting for him, company on cold nights at St. Agnes, the flowers, comfort, the warmth of his gaze during the dark moments and the heat of his embrace during the darkest? How could he possibly return all those signs of 'I’m here and I love you' without just flinging his arms around Ronan’s shoulders and letting the words pass from lip to lip via touch?
Well, maybe that was his answer.
Adam reached up a hand to cup Ronan’s cheek. As his thumb stuttered over the slightly stubbly skin beside his lips, Adam whispered Ronan’s name, because he had to make sure he knew the playing was over, this was no game. Fuck Romeo and Juliet and their idiocy of a love story. This was them, Adam and Ronan, and their complicated, difficult, gut-wrenching, deserved, heart-racing, palm sweat-inducing, tender gaze of a love story— and they’d done nothing about it for too long.
“Adam?” Ronan whispered.
Time stopped, restarted, stopped again, stuttered, skipped, paused and shuddered— and this was all before Ronan’s lips were even within an inch of his.
The air circled them, a breeze ruffling the hem of their suit jackets and the loose ankles of their pants lightly as it was forced from the space between their bodies. The light from the door behind them cast a spotlight, a beacon, as if these two men would ever have any trouble finding one another in the dark. The stone between their feet offered stability, fed them strength. They were strong, they were secure, they had been weathered by the eye of the storm.
Adam’s other hand found Ronan’s neck and pulled him towards him— and there it was— Ronan Lynch’s lips on Adam Parrish’s. Both slightly chapped because neither bothered to carry chapstick, Ronan pressing them tighter as his hands find Adam’s ribs, his waist, take a detour back into the air at either side of him then back to his ribs again.
Moments, days, years, a lifetime. Adam saw it all. He saw happiness in the form of the boy in front of him, security in the from of a homemade farm in the Virginia countryside, a diploma or two on a wall behind a TV and laughter in every crevice of every room. Success shone from the stainless steel oven, food feeding two, three, four mouths. Always enough, always plenty, always 'Dad, I’m full!'. When grief, trauma, sadness knocked on the door, strength in the shape of an embrace, a steady hand to hold, a cheek pressed against another cheek showed them the way out.
Joy, simple joy, bloomed from trust, from hardships overcome, from weekends home and house warmings, packed lunches and lunch dates. Have-a-good-day kisses and kisses goodnight, mud fights and fights resolved with tender apologies. Grocery runs, school runs, road trips and trips down memory lane. The petals whispered love, love, love, love, love…
Adam pulled back from Ronan—not far, but enough. Ronan’s eyes searched his, earnest and cautious, and Adam saw the lingering fragments of his future reflected in them. Adam couldn’t help but smile, bright and unerring, interrupting the beginning of Ronan’s by pulling him towards him once again.
The end.