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Adam had known about Ronan’s crush for a while, had grown accustomed to the moments of extra attention he was paid. It didn’t particularly affect his life in any altering way and so he gave it about the attention he would have given any new presence in his life that was both mostly irrelevant and unobtrusive.
What he didn’t know was when it had stopped being a crush, and when he started feeling Ronan’s gaze glancing off his skin like sparks.
It must have started slow. Like the bargain with Cabeswater, there was the initial instance but then time passed without any change. And then slowly, always slowly, bits and pieces began to creep into the peripheral of Adam’s life and consciousness. Ghosts and glances, new power and new sensation, scraps of understanding.
He didn’t know exactly when he started doing it, but he thought it must have been unintentional, at least at first. But conscious or not, and whether or not he had been aware of any clear intention, Adam started testing the waters. Whenever he and Ronan were sharing space but not alone (never when they were alone), Adam would push, only a little and only gently, just to try to determine where the lines were placed.
When Blue slid into the front seat of the Camaro before Ronan could get there, Adam pressed his leg against Ronan’s in the backseat. When the five of them were at Nino’s on Blue’s day off, all cramped into one little booth, Adam reached for a slice of pizza at the same time that Ronan did, making sure that their fingers brushed when he pulled back. When they walked from the car to Cabeswater, Gansey in the lead, Adam walked close enough beside Ronan that their arms bumped occasionally.
Ronan noticed these things, visibly, though he never said anything. He would try to catch Adam’s eyes, which Adam generally did not allow, whether because he wanted to avoid the confrontation of it or because he wanted to save himself from self-examination, he wasn’t entirely sure. And for whatever reason, Ronan never pushed the issue. Maybe he thought he was imagining it, but most likely he assumed it didn’t mean anything. Even at the best of times, though, Adam couldn’t lie to himself well enough to believe the same.
He didn’t know what it did mean, but it meant something. The fact that when he couldn’t sleep he would lie in bed simultaneously waiting for visions from Cabeswater and trying to think about what small way he could test Ronan’s reactions to him the following day meant that it meant something. The fact that everyday the anticipation would be greater (the fact that there was anticipation in these tiny actions in the first place) meant that it meant something. The fact that he always seemed to be increasingly warm, increasingly on edge, his insides jumpy and his pulse erratic, whenever he was around Ronan these days meant that it meant something. But while he couldn’t lie to himself about the truth of this, he could avoid looking at it too closely, and until he knew exactly where Ronan stood, that was what he would do.
Because Ronan noticed, yes, but he hadn’t done or said anything, and while things had been changing (rushing forward faster than one of Ronan’s street races) on a near-daily basis for Adam, things for Ronan seemed to be more or less the same. The wisp of doubt Adam had felt in the beginning, the idea that he might have been entirely wrong about Ronan’s crush, had grown roots even as Adam began to feel surer and surer that whatever Ronan felt for him, it was something other than a trivial crush.
It was a contradiction -- the sureness of his feeling that he was more to Ronan than the other boy ever let on, side-by-side with his doubt that Ronan felt anything more for him than a convenient sort of friendship -- but Adam was filled to the brim with contradictions and this one had settled into his bones quite as though it belonged there. And, Adam thought, maybe it did.
And there was simply no ignoring the warmth in him, so thorough and complete and overwhelming at times that it almost felt like Cabeswater, or it would if Cabeswater wasn’t so cool in comparison. And there was no ignoring that the warmth came from Ronan, or rather from the thought of Ronan, from Adam’s thoughts of Ronan.
It was exhausting (and exhilarating), this warmth, and Adam didn’t know what to do with it. So he was selfish, and he tested it even though that meant testing it on Ronan. It didn’t occur to him to feel guilty about it because while he knew that Ronan noticed, he didn’t think he would actually notice, that he would think anything of it.
And it might have been sustainable, and it might even have been satisfying, stealing those little glancing touches -- the rush of it, the thrill that started in whatever tiny piece of himself that he brushed against Ronan’s body that day and then spread that warmth through the rest of him in a little swell -- but Adam being Adam, he pushed it too far.
They were in his room at St. Agnes. It was late, but not so late that Ronan could use it as an excuse not to go back to Monmouth (he did that sometimes, came up with reasons to stay at Adam’s instead of going home, even though Adam would have let him stay anyway, even before everything had gotten so confusing). Ronan had said he was bored so Adam had let him in, his pulse already picking up pace at the idea of being alone with Ronan (like this was unusual), in his bedroom (like Ronan wasn’t there all the time).
The space between them and all around them felt full of something unnameable and Adam had no way of knowing if Ronan felt it too or if he was alone in this and suddenly he felt so frustrated and mixed up that he wanted to just hit something, and yet looking at Ronan standing tall in the middle of his bedroom seemed to tame the urge somewhat.
If he was telling the truth, he didn’t even think about it first. Touching Ronan, all false casualness, had become such a common occurrence and something he thought about so frequently that when he noticed the tiny, downy black feather on Ronan’s shoulder, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to reach out and brush it away, and if his fingers lingered a little too long, well, Adam had probably been spending a little too much time in his own head.
But apparently this was that line Adam had been looking for. Ronan jerked away from his touch, his face twisting into an expression of such abject anger before converting back to Ronan’s usual scowl. The change took visible effort. “What are you doing, Parrish?” he said, and it was a question that came out like an explosion, like he had been holding back from saying it for a long time, and Adam felt a guilty twist deep in him because Ronan hadn’t cursed at all and that meant that he was really upset.
Adam couldn’t lie, but he didn’t have an answer. He shrugged one shoulder and hoped it looked as miserable as he currently felt. He was okay with looking pathetic, as long as Ronan didn’t think he was just being glib.
But Ronan just laughed his best knife-laugh and tipped his head back, which somehow seemed self-deprecating and pointed like a blade right at Adam all at once. “What is it?” he said, and then took a step closer (a single step that seemed to diminish the space between them significantly, and now despite everything that warmth was creeping in and Adam couldn’t hold it back anymore than he could have held back a vision from Cabeswater).
Ronan narrowed and his eyes and stared fearlessly into Adam’s, as though he could read the information he wanted straight from Adam’s mind. Adam almost wished he could. Then maybe he could tell Adam what was going on in there. “I’m not your sounding board,” Ronan said after a moment. “I’m not here for you to figure yourself out. Your problems are your own, Parrish, whatever they are.”
The only person who didn’t know Adam was himself.
Something in him felt squished. Not the crushed feeling he had heard about and maybe even expected, but a wet feeling, sad and diseased and dirty.
Ronan was right, of course. And once Adam accepted it -- accepted that this was on him, his responsibility because he had opened the door and stepped over a threshold -- it was easy.
He watched Ronan’s face, every muscle held tight with the effort of looking like he didn’t feel anything. Adam reached through the small distance between himself and this boy so full of fear but so good at fighting it -- so much better than Adam -- and he placed his hand on the side of Ronan’s face, gently and slowly.
Adam’s entire body was tense, coiled tight, and he waited to see if Ronan would pull away, but the deliberateness of Adam’s touch held him still.
For a moment they stayed like that, mostly because Adam was so tightly wound that he could barely move. The moment felt monumental for all its smallness and quietness. Even though Adam was a statue, even though he was fighting for every breath and he was sure that Ronan could feel his pounding pulse through the palm of his hand, the moment was tender and tender was so rare in Adam’s life that he was afraid he would break it.
But this was on him. So, slowly, he leaned forward. And, gently, he tipped himself into Ronan; and, softly, he brought their mouths together. He made it a caress, a question and a gift and a confession, he made it as sweet as he thought Ronan could bear it because Ronan deserved it and because Ronan made him feel it. The heat in him was like the rush of blood that came after a punch, only fuller and so much sweeter.
It felt like an eternity before Ronan responded, and when he did, Adam was so startled that he pulled back. But he didn’t pull away, just enough to meet Ronan’s eyes. He was close enough to see now that Ronan was barely breathing, still holding himself so tense that he barely moved, but there was something new in his face now. Adam didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry when he realized that what he was seeing was the slightest lift to Ronan’s features -- a lightening that could only indicate hope, though he was doing his best to conceal it.
Adam’s hand was still on Ronan’s face. He brushed the pad of his thumb against Ronan’s temple, an action that had an immediate, though small, effect. Ronan’s shoulders fell an inch, his lips parted just slightly. He didn’t look away from Adam and Adam didn’t look away from him and sadness and the warmth warred in him. Sadness because Ronan deserved so much more than the fear and the doubt that were still visible just beneath the surface of his carefully-controlled features, and Adam didn’t know if he could soothe it, didn’t even know if he deserved to get close enough to try, but he wanted to. He couldn’t lie and he couldn’t avoid it anymore. The warmth was wanting and he couldn’t ignore it.
Only he didn’t know where to go from here. He was so full of this new desire, this warmth and this wanting and his acceptance of it, but Ronan was still just watching him. Adam felt a crack run through him at the sudden realization that kiss or no kiss, Ronan was still guarding himself and Adam hated everything that had ever made Ronan feel like he needed to protect himself from hurting because no one else would do it for him. But the feeling didn’t manifest itself in the uncontrollable anger he had learned to expect. He felt no need to lash out.
Instead, he wanted -- he didn’t know. The mixed-up feeling was still there and it was too much to figure out in a single moment. But he knew he wanted Ronan. He knew he wanted to kiss Ronan. That was genuine. That was real. And he knew Ronan wanted that too, as long as it wasn’t a lie on Adam’s part.
Adam pulled himself back out of his thoughts, realized that Ronan had been waiting, patiently maintaining their proximity, not ducking away from Adam’s hand despite his own doubts, as though he knew that Adam needed that touch to ground him, that Adam just needed to take a minute to make sure that this was the right thing. He did, and he had, and when he met Ronan’s eyes, Ronan seemed to know that too. His guarded expression faded, the tension in his jaw eased under Adam’s palm, the corner of his mouth quirked into the familiar smirk and Adam stopped thinking.
He knew what he wanted. The warmth swelled and filled him up all in a rush and he surged, within himself and without. The hand that had been resting on Ronan’s face fell to his side and Adam wrapped his arm around Ronan’s waist, pulling their bodies and their mouths together with a fierceness that had nothing to do with violence.