Archive of Our Own

The piercing smell of tempera paint hovered in the studio air, ever present even when Adam was not painting. He had only just arrived for a day of work, and his nose wrinkled as he set up a panel to paint on. It was a simple work, an annunciation scene for a local family chapel. He’d already sketched out the figures once in paint, and his carefully applied ink lines stood starkly ready to be painted.

Adam worked methodically, mixing his binder with powdered pigment to begin. When he’d been a child learning to paint such menial tasks had thrilled him. The way a bit of egg yolk and water came together to create rich colors to glaze with. Painting had been a true art to him, the one thing he admired above all else.

His sentiments had dissolved over time as he worked more and more to make a living. Even with the friends he had, he was his sole provider. And Adam Parrish worked for himself.
The chill of the night hadn’t quite been burned away by the sun yet, and Adam shivered in his working smock. He thought maybe he was working too early, too much, but that was a thought he couldn’t afford to have.

He turned his thoughts carefully to the painting instead. He could see it finished in his mind, the rich blue robes of Mary contrasting with Gabriel’s golden one, the lapis lazuli and gold leaf making it a hefty commission.

Adam would have to thank Gansey for that later.

It made his mouth taste sour to think about.

Richard Campbell Gansey III was the son of a duke and one of the most powerful men in the city. He was also Adam’s closest friend. Life with Gansey was walking a wire between privilege and dignity. If Adam toppled too far to one side he would lose the other, and he had always preferred keeping his dignity above all else.

It was because of this that Gansey did not commission Adam, but rather introduced him to the people that would. His family hosted lavish dinner parties almost nightly, and Adam was always there, the poor artist boy they’d taken in to show off to the other powerful people of the city. They’d taken him in when he was young, and the moment he’d saved enough money he’d moved out of their massive townhouse. Gansey had resisted, he still was, but Adam couldn’t bear to live under their roof anymore It wasn’t the life he was born into, and every moment of it had felt wrong.

He still had a room in Gansey’s house though, and he spent plenty of time there after long nights, though he preferred to drift off in the warmth of Gansey’s room like they had as boys.

“Parrish,” a gruff voice said, tone soured like they had been trying to get Adam’s attention for a while.

Adam nearly jumped with fright, scrambling not to drop his paints as Ronan Lynch arrived for a day at the studio.

“Christ, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, setting his palette down before he did any damage.

“Watch yourself,” Ronan chided in a neutral tone. “I have work to do.”

Adam followed him to the space he had set up within the workshop. The building had multiple rooms, all wide and well lit with natural light, but Adam and Ronan preferred to work in the same room. Adam could paint from a model while Ronan sculpted them, and they often used each other’s work for reference or advice.

Ronan was currently working on a series of male torsos that didn’t seem to be going anywhere. They were all made of clay, an unusual medium for Ronan to be working in, but one that allowed him to tear down and rebuild over and over again.

Somehow this was more distracting to Adam than any of his other sculpting excursions. He had gotten used to the sound of crunching rock and the somewhat suffocating feeling of dust in the air. He had yet to get used to the wet thud of clay as Ronan bashed it against the floor and his work tables and anything else around him. Adam wasn’t sure if it was to get all the air out, or if he was just furious.

Adam was having just as much trouble with his paints. Usually the simplest color for him to paint was hair, almost always based off of one of Noah’s poems. That shade between blonde and red, a rich deep color that Adam was failing to prepare properly. He was ready to give up and move on to the background, but that just wasn’t right. There was an order to painting for a reason, and he would not be testing his methods on such an expensive commission.

He was about to set his paints down and give up entirely when Gansey arrived. It wasn’t infrequent for him to visit the studio, as technically his family owned it and Gansey managed most of their commissions. Adam just wasn’t expecting him so early in the day, he was usually busy with his family.

“Morning,” Adam said to him as he loomed behind Adam, staring at his panel.

“You need to add more green,” Gansey said by way of greeting, motioning to Adam’s paint. “It looks fantastic though, they’ll be quite pleased.”

Adam didn’t have the energy to be mad. He knew Gansey wasn’t meaning to be rude or condescending, and as he slowly mixed his paint once more the resulting color was precisely what he had been missing. He always felt a bit… nervous, painting with Gansey around. He’d seen him through all of his schooling and early works, but Adam didn’t want to let him down now.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” Ronan asked, standing next to Adam’s panel with clay drying on his bare forearms. He had pushed his sleeves up, not even caring that clay was staining what Adam knew to be exceptionally fine linen.

The three of them stood in their own little trinity centered around the annunciation. Adam felt at once cornered and relaxed. Their little group, boys thrown together by circumstance to live and create together. Just the thought made Adam’s head spin.

Ronan was another stray picked up by Gansey, though they’d been friends since childhood. It wasn’t until Ronan’s father was killed that he moved into the Gansey townhouse permanently. Everything in Adam’s life had Gansey in the center, and the older he got the more complicated that thought set into his gut.

“I wanted to check in on you two,” Gansey said cheerfully. “I managed to slip out of any family activities today.”

Ronan and Adam exchanged looks. This was unlikely, as the Ganseys always needed something from their son. It was probable that Gansey had simply snuck out.

“This looks fantastic,” Gansey said, gesturing to Adam’s painting.

“Not bad, Parrish,” Ronan agreed. “Same woman as always, though.”

Adam didn’t respond. He was a fan of consistency, and if he was putting Mary in this work then she would look like all of his other Marys.

“Do you think you’ll be done with this one soon?” Gansey asked.

Adam furrowed his brow. “Yes, probably. It will take a few days to dry, though.”

“Oh, that’s not important,” Gansey said, shuffling through his jacket to find something. It was a rich piece of fabric, brilliantly red and embroidered with what looked like actual gold. Adam hated the sight of it. “Ah, here,” he produced a piece of paper on which he seemed to have scribbled down something. “A new commision.”

“From who?” Ronan asked before Adam got the chance to.

“One of my father’s friends, a duke,” Gansey said with a wave of his hand. “Noah already agreed to model for you, and another woman was requested to be used in the painting.”

Specific models weren’t uncommon in Adam’s work, but he was wondering why Gansey wasn’t telling him much. “What is it meant to be?”

“Sleeping Mars, reclining Venus, I don’t know. Something classical.”

Adam turned the idea over in his head. Those were two drastically different subjects. “Both nude?” he asked instead.

Ronan barked a laugh at Gansey’s splutter.

“No! No, just Noah.”

That was familiar territory at least. Adam had plenty of anatomy sketches based off of his friend, and he could draft up a new painting easily enough. He just had to touch this one up a few times in the coming week and hand it over to Gansey to deliver it.

“Sounds good,” Adam said. “Is that all?”

Gansey scoffed. “Done spending time in my company then?” Neither Adam nor Ronan replied. “Fine, I get it, you two are working. Don’t forget, dinner tonight. My father needs his artists to make a good impression.”

Adam nodded mutely. Of course Gansey didn’t understand how he felt, he never had to work for a living. Adam would spend a long day finishing this painting so he could move on to the next, working commission to commission for his foreseeable future. Then he would find some fine tunic to wear to another damn dinner party. The only consolation was the promise of wine and time with Gansey.

“See you then,” Adam said to Gansey, almost sad to see him go.”

“Until tonight!” Gansey saluted them goodbye. “I’ll be taming the wolves until tonight.”

In another flash of red Gansey was gone.

Adam and Ronan stood in a comfortable silence for a moment. They were friendly, always, but always fell out of conversation without Gansey around to moderate. They were twin flames warring, too hot to be close for long.

Adam put his brush back to the canvas, much more eager to finish now.

“You know it isn’t a duke commissioning you, right?” Ronan said finally, not unkindly, but softly.

Adam hated to hear those words. It was a thought he forced from his mind every moment, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to reply. He supposed in a way that kept his loyalty to Gansey clear.

“Why would he lie to me?” Adam asked, knowing that wasn’t what Ronan wanted to hear.

Ronan shrugged. “To spare your pride, probably. He knows you would never accept a commission if you knew it was from him.”

A simmer of rage lit in Adam’s hungry stomach. Part of him, the sensible and clever part, knew Ronan was right. But the part of him that loved his friends, loved Gansey, and obscured the truth so Adam could live in a strange peace was the part of himself that Adam wanted to focus on.

“Don’t,” Adam warned Ronan.

Ronan’s piercing eyes narrowed, his wickedly sharp brows emphasizing his analyzing gaze. “Don’t be foolish--”

“I’m not!” Adam snapped, throwing his paint down with a clatter. “He is not a liar.”

“That’s me you’re thinking of,” Ronan said matter-of-factly. “Gansey only says what he knows will keep everyone tame.”

Tame. The word sent another shot of anger through Adam. “I’m not an animal.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Silence fell for a moment, a tipping point between anger and forgiveness. Adam wanted more than anything to yell at Ronan, scream at him until he understood that he was wrong, that Gansey wouldn’t do something like that to him. But Adam wasn’t strong enough to do that, not after a restless night and difficult day. He just wanted to stop.

“Go to hell,” he said quietly, somewhat weakly, instead.

Ronan shook his head. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

Adam waited for him to say more, but he just returned to his sculpture. The harsh sound of Ronan and his clay filled the stagnant silence, and Adam let out a long breath.

He just had to paint. Later he could worry about Gansey.

Later he could see him again.

Once he finished his underpainting, Adam left the studio. His hands were stained a deep red from the rust color he had used to block in his figures. He’d finished most of the background and had started with his lapis lazuli, filling in the rich blues of the Virgin’s dress. The paint hadn’t been cooperating, or he was just too distracted, and it looked more like a blue blanket than a silky dress. He could finish tomorrow when he pushed through and finished it in its entirety.

He had arranged to meet Noah and Henry in the market. Henry insisted he needed his own wine to bring to the Gansey dinner, as theirs was “too dry.” Adam had tried to ask why he didn’t just bring a wine from his family’s own vineyard, and the boisterous laughter it triggered from Henry was nearly deafening.

Henry and Noah were both from wealth, like Gansey. Yet, somehow Adam felt more himself around them. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t seen Adam grow, had never seen the bruised and thin limbs he used to chase after Gansey with. Ronan had, though. That was something that always stuck between them, that childhood.

Henry was incredibly easy to spot once Adam found the plaza that served as the city marketplace. He had some sort of fur cloak thrown over one shoulder, and a hat perched on his head with what looked like a peacock feather. It was most definitely not in style, yet Henry somehow managed to not look like a fool. Adam felt even more ridiculous in his cheap clothing.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to pull yourself away from the paints,” Henry said, greeting him cheerfully with a quick clasp of their hands.

Adam smiled, shaking Noah’s hand as well as he emerged from behind Henry. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Who else can make sure I don’t look like a fool tonight?”

“Touche,” Henry said, inclining his head in a way that brought the feather a bit too close to Adam’s nose for comfort. “I truly know how to dress.”

Noah snorted a laugh at that. “You don’t, but I do.” He turned to Adam, looking washed out in the bright sun. “I know exactly what you need.”

Adam trusted Noah, at least when it came to clothing. He had an odd knack for locating something Adam could afford, but also something that didn’t leave him looking like a complete ass.

“What have you been up to?” Adam asked Noah as he made his way through the crowd, sure that Henry and Adam would follow.

Noah flapped a hand. “You know, poems here, poems there.”

“Anything good?” Henry asked, already grinning.

Noah cleared his throat, preparing to perform. “Thy hair is soft as moonlight,” he started, brushing his hand through Henry’s hair, knocking his hat askew as Henry howled with laughter. “Thy kiss a gentle breeze, how I wish that I could taste your—”

“Enough!” Adam said, hands over his ears. “I thought you were done with this erotic poetry phase.”

“It wasn’t erotic!” Noah argued, frowning. “Besides, erotic poetry is what everyone loves right now.”

Henry threw an arm around Noah’s shoulders, pulling Adam in as well. “He has a point.”

Adam shook his head, leaning into Henry. “I didn’t come here to learn about the… upper class desires. I just need a tunic to wear tonight.”

“Oh, I have that figured out already, I told you.” Noah led them to a small stall, the three of them teetering over together like a four legged monster.

“What’s this?” Henry asked, his fingers touching a fine scarf that dangled off the table.

“No clue, Blue!” Noah said, turning from Henry.

A small, small girl seemed to appear from the scarves. “Noah!” she said, clearly excited to see him. “Ready for tonight?” she asked him, leaning her elbows onto the table to regard Noah.

“Always, are you?”

The girl, Blue? Made a sudden snorting sound. “I’m never ready to brush elbows with the rich. Maybe one of them will drop something though.” She shrugged, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Adam had no idea who she was, but he liked her.

“Is it ready?” Noah asked, eager as ever.

“Of course, it hardly needed to be altered.” Blue placed a carefully wrapped parcel in front of Noah. “Just what you wanted.”

“Noah--” Adam started, realizing what he’d done.

Noah held up a hand. “Nope. This is a gift.”

Adam’s stomach rolled, as it had been doing so much today. He hated gifts, hated being given something out of pity. But this was Noah, and this was different. Adam couldn’t afford to make a mistake tonight.

He let out a long breath. “Thank you, Noah.”

Henry whistled. “Wow, didn’t expect that to go over so well. Thank you, Blue,” he said, kissing her hand as they left.

“Who is she?” Adam asked the moment they were out of earshot. He hated not knowing something the others did.

“Physic’s daughter,” Noah said with a grin.

Adam wasn’t sure if that was against the law or not. He also wasn’t sure if it was a joke. “She seems nice.”

“She’s amazing,” Henry interjected. “Hopefully you’ll see more of her tonight.”

“She’ll be there? But she’s…”

“Not rich, right, but she is Gansey’s friend.” Noah told him.

Adam felt ridiculously uninformed. He could never keep track of Gansey and all of his circles. Sure, there was the close knit group, him and Ronan and Henry and Noah. But he always had more on the fringes that Adam just couldn’t see.

Adam hardly noticed the guards keeping watch as they entered the Gansey townhouse. As a child he’d been frightened of them. Big men in the shadows with their swords and spears, always watching. Now he knew they were just like him, working for the Ganseys.

Gansey, the son, was waiting for his friends in the courtyard with Ronan. He clasped each of their hands warmly, clearly happy to see them. Ronan did the same, though his hands were still dusty with clay and he avoided Adam’s eyes.

“What’s this?” Gansey asked, touching the parcel in Noah’s arms.

“Adam’s.”

Gansey’s grin slipped for a moment. “I could’ve helped as well.”

Henry clapped him on the shoulder. “You had a party to prepare for. We took care of Adam.”

Adam’s chest felt warm. He wanted tonight to be over. The only thing he was looking forward to was drinking all night with his friends, and the pounding headache he would wake up with.

Time was not on his side, though. It crawled, minute by agonizing minute, the night’s end far out of reach.

The tunic Noah had picked out was perfect, as expected. It was a deep grey, almost black, with red embroidery along the sleeves in the precise tone of the Gansey house crest. It was both for Adam and for Gansey. He was himself but still theirs.

The only good thing about political dinners with Gansey was that nobody wanted to talk to Adam. He didn’t have the political pull that someone like Ronan or Gansey had, which spared him from a grand majority of social torment. Occasionally Gansey would parade him around the room, discussing his artistic accomplishments and showing him off like a prize.

Adam hated it and loved it. Hated being so indebted to Gansey and his family, loved being so important to him, something he was proud of.

He found Blue with a pitcher of wine, smiling at him as she poured him a glass.

“It looks good,” she said, gesturing to his little getup.

“Thank you,” Adam said, giving her hand a cursory kiss. “Where did you get that from?”

Blue shrugged, nearly overturning the wine. “I have my ways. There is more than one strategy to survive a dinner.”

At this point Adam wasn’t sure if dinner was even the right word. They hadn’t eaten, though they had sat at a long dining table to discuss politics and wars and anything else that was more important to the powerful people of the city than their own people.

Adam gulped down the entire cup of wine, enjoying the bitter taste it left in his mouth. “Henry was right,” he said, watching as Blue carefully refilled his cup. “This is way too dry.”

“Wine is wine,” Blue said wisely.

Adam had truly been missing out before he met Blue. “How long have you known Gansey?”

Blue shrugged. “I can’t exactly pinpoint a time,” she set the wine down, engaged with Adam now. “He stopped by my mother’s shop a few times, and after a while we were talking. I’m surprised to be here tonight, though I suppose you are as well.”

Ah. Of course she could see right through his rich boy facade. “After all these years, I still never feel like I belong.”

Blue reached over and squeezed his hand. “You belong because Gansey wants you here. Isn’t that enough?”

Adam wished it was. It felt more like he was here because he belonged to Gansey. His importance to Gansey was minimal.

“How much longer do we have to be here?” Blue asked, reaching for more wine. Her lips were slightly purple from the wine. “I don’t think I can watch another duke grovel to Gansey.”

Gansey, as it turned out, manifested at the sound of his name. “There you are,” he said, appearing next to Blue. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“Going home?” Blue asked Adam.

Adam shook his head. “That’s not the way we end a party.”

Blue raised one eyebrow at him. Adam was very fond of this girl.

“Oh, Blue, please come,” Gansey said to her.

“To do what?”

“Drink until sunrise and discuss the classics.”

Blue blinked. “How about I drink and you boys chat?”

Gansey laughed, loud and free. “What works for you works for me, come on.”

Adam was very used to sneaking away with Gansey. As they slipped through the dark hallways, navigating the maze to Gansey’s own quarters, he felt himself relax. Being around so many people, so much money, it always made him tense. The wine Blue had poured him just made him warm, and the cool night air that swept through the unoccupied part of the townhouse made his head stop spinning.

A part of Adam itched to connect with Gansey, make him look at Adam before they were all together and laughing and drinking.

When they were children, they used to race down the corridors to Gansey’s sitting room. He started without considering it, running down the stone with a laugh that echoed back to Gansey, his surprised yell lost in the sound of Adam’s footsteps against the floor.

It was effortless, finding his way to Gansey’s room. He could hear Gansey behind him, laughing and cheering as Blue chastised both of them for making her run. Adam hadn’t realized she had no idea where they were going.

He rounded a final corner, barrelling directly into someone.

“Hey!” Ronan snapped, his strong arms catching Adam before the momentum and wine threw him to the ground. Adam laughed, grabbing his shoulders for support. Gansey and Blue came to a stop beside them, Gansey immediately bending to put his hands on his knees.

“That was not fair,” he gasped. “I’m way too old to run.”

Ronan lifted Gansey into a standing position, letting go of a more steady Adam. “You act like you’re thirty or something.” He took Gansey’s face in his hands, tilting his chin left and right. “You don’t have the plague, do you?”

Gansey swatted Ronan’s hand away, touching his neck worriedly. “No! That isn’t funny, Ronan.” He straightened his tunic. “Where are Noah and Henry?”

Ronan shrugged. “Probably drunk in your bed.”

“Oh no,” Gansey said quietly. “I hope neither of them vomits.”

Blue wrinkled her nose at Adam, both of them struggling to hide their laughter. Adam felt free, and happy.

Gansey threw the door to his sitting room open, revealing Henry and Noah lounging on his plush chairs, not his bed as he had so clearly feared.

“Finally!” Noah cheered, bounding over to them. “I need everyone to listen to my poetry.”

Ronan groaned. “I hate when we do this.”

“Have a drink first, then. It’ll help.” Henry pressed a cup into Ronan’s hand. Ronan grinned.

Blue leaned conspiratorially towards Adam. “What is going on exactly?”

Adam beamed. “This is what rich boys do for fun, here, sit with me and observe.” He pulled Blue down onto one of the couches, watching the boys. “First, everyone drinks. A lot,” he gestured to the glasses that were being distributed around the room.

“I can do that,” Blue said, accepting a cup from Henry and clinking it against Adam’s.

“Next, they debate!” Adam said in a dramatic stage whisper.

“Debate what?”

“Whatever they learned recently,” Adam made a sweeping gesture at everyone. “These are some of the most educated lads in the city. Ronan can pull entire humans out of clay and stone, Henry understands the process of art better than anyone I’ve ever known, Noah crafts words like a blacksmith at the hearth--”

Blue laughed at that. “I’ve heard some of his poems.”

Adam flapped a hand at her. “Those are his personal ones. His commissions,” he blew out a breath. “He has captured beauty in her finest form and spread it throughout our society.”

“And you?” Blue asked him, looking up at him from where she was nearly sunken into the soft chair.

“Me?”

“What do you do?”

Adam scoffed. “I may have been raised with Gansey, but I was hardly educated with him. I paint, that’s all.”

“Oh as if,” Blue nudged him with one shockingly sharp elbow. “Painting isn’t an easy skill.”

“While you are correct about that, I could never keep up with their conversation. Just watch.”

As if on cue, Gansey set his cup down hard on the floor. “I don’t think Caesar's Commentaries is an effective tool to teach Latin grammar,” he said as if it was a personal offence against him that anyone would dare to use it as such. “It’s ancient, and the Romans didn’t last anyways.”

“And how long do you think we will last?” Noah asked him, clearly eager to debate.

“What a false question, my friend,” Gansey said. “We will last forever.”

“Really? It seems like your family is the only thing holding this city together,” Ronan pointed out.

“Not the damn city, us. The six of us.”

Adam was silent. Being included in that number made his heart soar. He sipped his wine, not wanting to interject.

“What does that have to do with Ceasar?” Henry asked, clearly annoyed with Gansey’s statement. “What would they use instead? The Vulgate?”

“That’s just as old,” Ronan argued. “Why do we even need to know Latin in the first place?”

“It’s a useful language,” Gansey said, aghast. “It just shouldn’t be taught with old bibles and political proclamations. The Aeneid, that is a true work to study.”

“What is that?” Blue muttered to Adam.

Adam shrugged. “I learned Latin on my own, working with the people in this house. I wasn’t allowed to study the texts.”

“Why bother with Latin, though? Isn’t Greek more helpful, considering the Romans took everything from them, and they’re still around to trade and ally with,” Noah suggested.

Henry made a gagging noise. “That language is impossible, have you tried anything by Cicero?”

“The work is beautiful,” Noah said.

Ronan kicked his heel against the ground. “No, it is not. Your work, that’s beauty. Not some Greek bastard.”

Noah looked both insulted and complimented. “Is that a call to hear what I’ve been working on?” He was already standing, barely balanced on top of the cushions.

Henry and Adam cheered, Gansey clapped, and Ronan and Blue looked on in curiosity.

Noah gave a great breath and began, “I found myself, alone one day. Taking my pleasure in a meadow gay--”

Ronan snorted.

“There’s not a meadow in the world I ween. Where herbs and grasses have so sweet a smell; I wandered for awhile down pathways green. Till myriad blossoms cast their lovely spell.” He stopped. “I forgot the rest.”

Henry howled with laughter. “Have another drink, maybe it will come back to you.”

Noah sat back down heavily, his brows pinched. “How did I forget it?”

“That was lovely,” Blue assured him.

Noah grinned at her, a shy smile Adam wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Now I suppose one of you is going to tell me that humanism is nothing compared to the classics, huh?” Gansey said, stroking the fire of debate.

The four of them, Gansey, Ronan, Noah, and Henry, erupted into chatter. Adam couldn’t keep up, he hadn’t studied ancient Rome or Greece or the Byzantines, only the few mentors that came before him.

Still, the night was wildly entertaining. Adam found himself dragged about the room, the others eager to hear his opinion and get him on their side in whatever the debate had shifted to. Many times Adam could do nothing but laugh, his mind fuzzy with wine and joy.

He found himself laying next to Gansey when the sun came up, unsure if he’d sleep at all. They were both on the floor, and Adam's cheeks were hot with a blush, or simply an excess of wine. The sun was up, and he was still laying around.

He nearly swore aloud. He should have been at the studio an hour ago, working, not laying on the ground next to one of the most powerful sons in the city.

He sat upright, groaning as his head spun. His clothes were intact, thankfully, but the idea of wrecking a fine shirt with paint made him feel sick. Sicker than he already felt. He stood uneasily, locating one of Gansey’s trunks he had painted for him. Inside he found the least expensive shirt he could, though the linen was of a finer weave than anything he owned himself. He would be careful with it.

On his way out he was stopped by Gansey’s mother. She was a beautiful and terrifying woman. She looked Adam up and down, touching his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Eat this,” she said, passing him bread with some sort of sweet jam. “It will help you feel better. I’ll send some up for Gansey when he wakes up as well.”

Adam thanked her, hurrying out of the townhouse. She was both a mother and a leader, and Adam never quite knew how to act around her. He felt like she tolerated him for Gansey, and only did anything to take care of him when no one else was aware. Still, he was grateful for the bread, settling his stomach as he tore chunks off with his mouth on his walk to the studio. Hardly anyone was even awake yet, the quiet of the streets comforting to his sore body.

He entered the studio to find Noah and Blue. He hadn’t even checked to see who was still in Gansey’s room when he left.

“Adam, did we wake you?” Noah asked him, looking anxious.

“No, though I wish you had. I have so much to finish today,” he raked a hand through his nest of hair. “What are you doing here?”

“Posing,” Blue told him. “You look awful.”

“Thank you,” Adam said, sighing. “The Venus and Mars piece I’m guessing.”

Noah nodded. “Blue and I are at your disposal all day.”

“Thank you,” Adam said, more sincerely this time. “Let me just get a panel set up.”

He wasn’t completely ready to start a new project, but he had to take advantage of models when he could. “Did Gansey tell you what to wear?”

“Nothing,” Noah said proudly.

“Some dress,” Blue said helpfully.

Adam inclined his head. “Noah, can you find the white dress? I think I left it with Ronan’s things.”

Adam had three dresses specifically for models. In this case he wanted to highlight Blue, not her clothing. Hopefully Noah could locate it in the time it took Adam to set up.

“You won’t have to change,” Adam assured Blue. “it’s meant to lay over you like a sheet.”

That reminded him. He moved some panels around, selecting a long horizontal panel, and reached behind all of them to pull a sheet off the ground. He shook the dust off, grimacing. “For Noah’s modesty,” he told Blue.

Noah, hearing his name, appeared brandishing a swath of fabric. “Is this it? Ronan put it on some naked clay guy.”

Adam groaned. “At least the front is clean. Sorry Blue.”

“I can handle a little clay,” she said, taking the dress from Adam. “Where are we posing?”

“Here should work,” Adam said, patting on a slab of stone he and Ronan had dragged into the studio a year or so ago. It was larger than a bench, and just a bit more stable.

Noah was already shucking off his clothing, ignoring Blue’s protests. Adam handed him the sheet before he had to see anything other than his bare ass. He was up on the stone quickly, looking pleased.

“Why would you do that?” Blue asked, letting him pull her up as she adjusted the mock dress.

“I’m used to being nude,” Noah said, lounging back onto his elbows.

“Noah, don’t move,” Adam said, struck with his pose.

“Oh no, this is so uncomfortable,” Noah whined, obliging regardless.

Adam pushed his panel into position, his paints still wet from yesterday’s work. He worked more quickly than he would have liked, just laying down the general shape so he could position Noah correctly another time. His head was so fuzzy from the wine that it looked more like a blob and less like a man by the time he had laid down a blocked figure.

“You can relax,” Adam said, frowning at the paint.

Noah made a relieved sound and dropped onto his back, one hand keeping his sheet from falling away. “That was quick.”

“What about me?” Blue asked, still sitting with her legs hanging off the side of the stone. Her toes just barely grazed the ground.

Adam considered. “Put your legs next to his, and turn your shoulders towards me.”

Blue did exactly as he asked, perfectly in position.

Adam didn’t even say anything, just blocked her figure in next to the sort-of-Noah blob. He wiped sweat off his brow, feeling the paint streak onto his forehead. If he just got the gist of it down, just used Blue and Noah for one day, it would be okay.

The sound of more people entering the studio caused Adam to drop his brush. He swore, bending to retrieve it as their friends entered.

“Woah, Noah,” Henry said playfully. “A little warning next time.”

Noah made no additional move to cover himself. “Jealous because I’m a better model than you, I know.”

“Adam! I hardly noticed you left,” Gansey said to him.

Adam bit down on his lip. “I had to get to the studio, get this painting started.”

“Oh, that is hardly a priority.” Gansey tried.

Adam didn’t want to hear it. “I was commissioned, and I am going to complete it in a timely manner.

“I promise you, Adam, this isn’t as urgent as you think.”

Ronan’s words from yesterday prodded at Adam’s mind, the insistence that Gansey was the one commissioning him. All of his time and money belonged to Gansey.

Adam threw his palette down in a sudden rush of anger. Henry and Ronan had distracted Noah and Blue, effectively ruining his posing, and Gansey was looking at Adam with such a look of pity that it made Adam sick.

They could do what they wanted, throwing their day away in their ridiculous way. Adam would never be like them. He would never have enough money to fight against the cycles of the sun and moon. He was tied to them, trapped in this suffocating studio painting myths and stories he had hardly learned himself, things he found secondhand, always through Gansey. He would never be free of the sun, and he would never be free of Gansey.

Adam stopped breathing. He turned, and ran out of the studio.

He heard someone call after him, but he didn’t stop moving until he’d reached his home. He collapsed on the bed, tearing off Gansey’s stupid borrowed shirt. Part of him worried he’d torn it, and part of him hoped he had.

He wanted anything that was his own. There was so much of it, so much want, his body overflowed with it.

Adam dropped his head into his hands. He sat there, breathing, his thoughts racing, for a long time.

Eventually somebody entered. A sick part of Adam hoped it was a burglar, here to slit his throat and take what little belongings he had.

It was not a burglar, but it was still someone that looked like they’d slit Adam’s throat.

Ronan stood in front of him, looking at Adam.

Adam didn’t say anything.

Ronan sat down next to him.

Adam didn’t say anything.

Ronan pushed Gansey’s shirt with his foot.

“Careful,” Adam warned.

“He speaks,” Ronan said, not unkindly. “Why did you run off.”

“Why does it matter?” Adam asked. There was no moment in which Ronan would magically understand him. He had lived with Gansey too, yes, but he was born wealthy. Adam was born to dust and poverty, dragged into a nicer home with nothing in his pockets. He’d worked, studied, learned, endlessly trying to make himself worth something. And it was disregarded in a second.

“What he’s doing is unfair,” Ronan said finally.

Adam shook his head. “I don’t want to hear this again.”

“It’s true,” Ronan said, a bit harder this time. “You work hard enough. Giving you even more to work on, it isn’t fair.”

“It’s all he knows how to do,” Adam told Ronan. “Fix a problem with his money.”

“It needs to stop. You look like hell, I can barely work on anything with you constantly moving panels and mixing paints and setting up studies.”

Adam knew that wasn’t the case. Ronan could work through an invasion, just him and his tools. He was, however, giving Adam an excuse. It was up to Adam to take it.

He sighed, feeling like the weight of his useless life was pressing against him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Ronan offered. “He’ll listen to me.”

Adam shut his eyes. He wanted so badly for it to be over. For him to know the truth and for him to make his own money, use his own time. Ronan could fix it all in one short discussion. But Adam did not let others solve his problems for him.

“No, I have to talk to him.”

Ronan nodded, turning his head to regard Adam. “He loves you, you know.”

Adam had no idea what Ronan really meant. “I know.”

Ronan nodded. He stood, picked up Gansey’s shirt, and left.

Adam felt the same as he had before. Try as he might, he couldn’t fathom any anger for Ronan. Ronan had given Adam the chance to fix this for himself, and yet Adam hesitated.

What if he couldn’t come back from this?

He stood. Gansey wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

He practically ran to the townhouse, almost knocking over one of the guards in his haste. It was wildly improper, barging in like this, but he needed to see Gansey, talk to him, confront him, something.

Gansey was sitting on his bed looking miserable when Adam burst into his room.

“Adam--” He started, standing as Adam entered.

“Why do you do it?” Adam asked him, his voice louder than he wanted. There was always a part of himself he couldn’t control. Always something that made it clear how he was raised, where he belonged. His chest ached as he stared hard at Gansey.

“Do what?” Gansey asked, standing just out of Adam’s reach.

“Commissioned me,” Adam said, a bitter taste in his mouth. “PRetended anyone else was interested in my work.”

“Adam, I’ve never--”

“Do not lie to me.” Adam said, quick and harsh. “I have known you for too long. Years of work, painting your models and your favorite scenes and your ideas. Why did you do it? Was I not good enough for anything else?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Gansey said in that even, diplomatic voice. “I told you the truth, I have never commissioned you-”

“Directly then,” Adam snapped, interrupting him in a moment of anger. “You’ve paid off plenty of people for my work.”

Gansey looked at Adam like he’d hit him. Some awful part of Adam wished he had. “I did what I had to. To support you, Adam.” His eyes were wide, dark in the dim light of his mostly burned out fire. “Please, I never meant to hurt you.”

Adam shook his head, dislodging all of the horrible thoughts stuck there. He was so angry, but it was draining out of him already like a cracked jug. He was exhausted. Working constantly on painting after painting to get by, paintings that were all spun up in the web of Richard Campbell Gansey III.

“Alright.” he said finally. Gansey exhaled in relief and Adam stopped him. “I am not forgiving you,” he noted. “Come with me.”

“What?” Gansey looked to the dark window, oit at the night beyond. “Adam, it’s the middle of the night.”

Adam pulled a cloak around his shoulders, lacing up his boots that he’d kicked off. “Does that matter?”

Gansey looked at him for a long moment. “No.” He was dressed as quickly as Adam, following him out of his room and into the rest of the huge house. Adam walked by moonlight and memory, following the same route he and Gansey always had when they snuck out as kids. He knew it would be lax with guards and lead out into a side street close to his studio. Gansey seemed to catch on to where they were going as Adam led him through the dark streets. He didn’t say anything as Adam unlocked the door to his studio, lighting one of the lanterns on the wall. He put his cloak down with it.

“Sit,” Adam said to Gansey, gesturing to one of the benches haphazardly placed in the room. Adam busied himself by finding a gessoed bit of poplar, digging for charcoal in the dark among his discarded supplies. He lit another lantern, and another, setting them by Gansey and his easel before returning to his search.

“Is there something you wanted to show me?” Gansey asked, sitting like a man in his state portrait.

“No,” Adam found his charcoal among the crushed remains of red chalk. He blew it off, setting his found panel on his easel. “I’m going to paint you.”

“Me?” The practiced ease of Gansey’s manner slipped, just a little. “You said you didn’t want me paying you.”

“I don't,” Adam said, already beginning to block out the shapes of Gansey’s body in broad and deliberate strokes. “Relax.”

Neither spoke as Gansey adjusted himself, losing the straight spine and lifted chin for a more natural, softer Gansey. This was the one that Adam knew, and he hastily scrubbed away some of the charcoal with the heel of his hand, redrawing this version. Gansey was perfectly still as Adam sketched, his gaze locked just over Adam’s shoulder.

Adam stopped his preparatory drawing to look at Gansey. Actually look at him. It was something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. He studied the straight bridge of his nose, the curl of his unkempt hair over his furrowed brow. The way his lips were carved from his face, the slope of his neck, his hunched shoulders. There was something missing, though, something that would truly capture this vulnerable and true side of Gansey.

“You have too much clothing on,” Adam decided, saying so to Gansey.

Gansey blinked, once, twice. “Sorry?” He tried.

Adam made a noise. “Your cloak, your furs, your shirt. It’s too much.”

Gansey nodded like he understood. “Take those off then?”

“Yes,” Adam said, squinting at his rough sketch. “Try not to break the pose too much.” He thickened some lines and deepened shadows, not looking at Gansey as he shuffled his stupid clothes around. Adam had always despised that display of wealth in particular. Now, stripping Gansey of his wealth in the most literal sense. That was who he wanted to paint.

“Good?” Gansey asked. He had thrown his cloak and scarves into a pile at his feet, leaving on his fine linen undershirt. The ties were done loosely, falling open to reveal the dip at his throat and curve of his collarbone. It was better.

“Good.” Adam said, setting back to his charcoal. He carefully defined the pose, finalizing it so Gansey could move more. Quick strokes of charcoal made up Gansey’s hair, his eyebrows, his chin. Adam filled in the slope of his neck and shape of his shoulders before stopping. His eyes flicked between the panel and Gansey, struggling to find what was still wrong.

“Undo the ties,” he suggested. “On your shirt.”

“One way to ask me to undress I suppose,” Gansey tried to joke. Adam could see the slight shake of his hands as he pulled at the leather, loosening his collar even more. “Better?”

Adam nodded, his mouth suddenly too dry to say anything. This wasn’t a scheme to undress Gansey. The thought of it sent a riot alight in Adam’s chest, though. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Gansey it still wasn’t right. He still looked too neat, too formal to be the boy that Adam knew.

He set his charcoal down instead, moving around the panel to Gansey. Gansey watched him, still holding his pose. “Like this,” Adam barely breathed, bending to fix Gansey’s shirt. He fidgeted with the ties and adjusted the shoulders until the shirt fell perfectly. The megar light of the few lanterns lit his skin gold, highlighting the rise of his bones and fall of his skin. Adam, not thinking, touched the dip of his collarbone.

Gansey inhaled sharply like he’d been burned.

Adam stared directly at his own fingers, his thoughts very abruptly drowned out by the sound of his heart in his ears. His heart was a traitor in his chest, and his mouth spoke words that he knew would damn him, yet he didn’t care. “I told you I don’t want you paying me,” he said into the quiet.

“You did,” Gansey said, so softly.

Adam moved to sit on the bench next to Gansey, using his hand against his chest to turn Gansey to face him. “I lied,” he admitted.

“How should I pay you then?” Gansey asked.

They both knew it wasn’t what Adam meant. Neither of them would be the first to admit it. But Adam wanted it so badly, ached for Gansey in a way that was not at all unfamiliar to him. He just had to ask. Ask and Gansey would give him everything.

“Kiss me,” he breathed. Gansey’s mouth was against his before the words had even broken the silence. His lips were warm, soft, and tasted of the wine they’d been drinking before everything happened. Adam clutched at Gansey’s shirt, moving his other hand to steady himself against the bench. Gansey’s hands found his way into Adam’s hair, pushing through his girls as he kissed him harder. Adam thought his heart was going to explode. Years of following Gansey blindly, fighting to make his life his own. He was throwing himself into the deep end, drowning himself in Gansey’s mouth and hands.

“Adam,” Gansey managed, breaking the kiss for a moment. His face was flushed, his clothes disheveled. This was the Gansey Adam wanted to see, the one he wanted to capture in art forever. Adam kissed him again, their chests pressed together as Adam tried to crush the feeling in his own. He wanted to kiss Gansey forever, lost in his embrace. Somewhere he didn’t have to work for a living, or pretend to be someone he wasn’t. A moment when he wasn’t fighting with his passionate and incredible and impossibly idiotic friend.

Gansey’s hand slipped under the edge of Adam’s shirt, his hands cold against Adam’s burning skin. His fingers traced along Adam’s hip, across his waist and over his ribs. Adam retaliated, pressing shaking kisses to Gansey’s jaw, to his throat, reveling in the soft sounds it drew from Gansey. They were two flames fighting for kindling, devouring each other in an attempt to draw out more, more warmth, more heat, more passion.

He didn’t hesitate. He knew his studio exactly, knew there was room as he let Gansey push him back against the wooden bench, breaking the kiss just long enough for Gansey to move to straddle him. Adam didn’t even care about the balancing act they were pulling, eager to have his lips back against Gansey’s. Gansey didn’t make him wait, hands on either side of Adam’s face as he kissed him again and again and again.

All at once Adam realized what he was doing. He was kissing Gansey, the son of one of the richest men in the entire region. He was underneath perhaps the most important son of the country. He was in his studio, kissing his best friend. Kissing the one who had made his entire life.

It was all too much. The heat of Gansey’s body, the stupid bench, the shake of his legs as he tried to keep himself steady.

“Enough,” he managed, hands against Gansey’s chest.

Gansey was off of him in a second, staring at him with wide eyes, breathing hard. “Adam-” he started.

“I can’t do this,” Adam admitted, his head spinning. “Fuck, I cannot do this.” He raked his palms over his face, pressing his hands against his eyes until he saw spots.

“Adam,” Gansey tried again. He reached for Adam’s hands but Adam jerked away before he reached them.

“No,” Adam said, barely able to speak. “No,” he was standing now, not looking at Gansey as he gathered his things. “I’m sorry,” he said, one last glance at Gansey revealing he was still sat there, watching Adam. “I need to go.”

He practically ran from his studio for the second time that day, the night air impossibly cold against his face. He moved quickly, not hearing or not caring if Gansey called after him. His feet lead him on their own accord, moving further and further until he finally threw himself down in an alley. His throat burned as hot tears tracked down his face. He pressed his fingers to his swollen lips and sobbed.

He had gotten everything he ever wanted, and had thrown it all away. Out of what? Fear? Shame? Adam had never been afraid of men before, but now as he cried in an alley, a pathetic mimic of the man he wanted to be, he realized it was Gansey he was afraid of.

Gansey, the boy he’d loved his whole life, and the one who’s grip he would never free himself from.

The want in his chest spilled over. He wanted to be his own person for so long. And now all he really wanted was Gansey.

He wrapped his arms around his legs, pressing his eyes against his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, to calm down. This wasn’t the anger from this morning. This was a deep sorrow, a realization that the things he needed to make out of his life could not coexist.

What did he want?

Everything, his heart screamed. Yet he had nothing. Was he truly so far off his life path? Strayed down some twisting winding road to reach the dead end he was at now. His life’s work, useless.

“Adam!” Gansey’s voice called in the otherwise quiet night. “Come back, please.”

The only thing Adam thought was that it was dangerous for Gansey to be out alone. The people of the city knew who he was, what he was worth. Against all of his better judgement, Adam stood, and went to find Gansey.

“Oh, God, Adam,” Gansey said when he saw him, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. “I thought you were gone.”

“Where would I have gone?” Adam asked nobody. He stepped out of Gansey’s embrace. “It isn’t safe for you to be out alone, you know this.”

“I’m not alone, I’m with you.”

Adam shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

He was angry and relieved and desperate for more. Gansey here, with him, caring about him, acting so recklessly because he put no value on his life that was worth more than anything Adam had ever known.

“What do I do?” Adam asked him, suddenly lost.

“Come home with me,” Gansey said, reaching for Adam’s hand.

Adam’s mouth was too dry to form words. He just nodded mutely, moving back to Gansey’s home, an echo of their earlier path. It felt like lifetimes ago.

It wasn’t until they were in Gansey’s bedroom that Adam spoke.

“Why am I here?” he asked, standing in the doorway as Gansey went on into his room.

“Because I want you to be here,” Gansey told him, rummaging for something to sleep in.

“But why me?” Adam asked. His voice was soft. “How am I anything to you?”

Gansey stopped, rising to look at Adam. “You’re everything to me.”

Adam shook his head. It wasn’t true, couldn’t be.

“Adam,” Gansey said, his hand taking Adam’s. He was so warm, and trembling. “Adam, I love you.”

Adam made a sound that was like an animal in pain. “You can’t just say that.”

Gansey pulled Adam closer to him, holding him tightly as he spoke against Adam’s chest. “I mean it. Ever since we were kids, maybe since the moment I first met you.”

“I was nothing,” Adam tried to remind him. “An orphan, no skills, nothing--”

“Not to me,” Gansey said, firmly, his arms tightening around Adam. “Never to me. Why do you think you stayed?”

“So your family could train me, use me as their artist.” Adam knew this well enough, his portraits adorned every hall of the massive townhouse.

“Only because I asked them to. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being somewhere else. I didn’t know you, but I wanted to.”

Adam let out a very shaky breath. “None of it was worth it.”

“That isn’t true.” Gansey used a gentle hand on Adam’s chin to guide his eyes to his. “That is not true. You are worth everything and more.”

Adam kissed him, hard, trying to say everything he couldn’t manage out loud in one kiss. Gansey responded in kind, moving backwards until they both fell back onto the bed. Adam found Gansey’s lips again, and again, kissing him as they lay in a tangle on the unmade blankets.

“Adam,” Gansey said, barely a whisper. “Please, stay with me.”

Adam kissed him as a response. He wasn’t going anywhere, not tonight. Tonight he would lose himself in Gansey’s lips and eyes and hands, everything he would give him.

Tomorrow Adam would paint for himself. Mixing browns and blues and greens and reds, taking his time, creating the perfect snapshot of Gansey.

The day after that, he had no idea what he’d do. He realized now he had everything he wanted, and he would always be his own person. Loving Gansey would never change that.