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Loving Adam Parrish was a lovely business to be in.
He grazed a thumb over the faint silvery scar of Adam's hand, trailing up his arm, Ronan combed through Adam’s tousled hair.
Gently, he told himself. Don’t wake him just yet.
Adam was an incredibly deep sleeper. Ronan kissed his cheek gently, and recited from memory:
“Quod spirat tenera malum mordente puella,
Quod de Corycio quae venit aura croco;
Vinea quod primis floret cum cana racemis,
Gramina quod redolent quae modo carpsit ovis;
Quod myrtis, quod messor Arabs, quod sucina trita,
Pallidus Eoo ture quod ignis olet;
Gleba quod aestivo leviter cum spargitur imbre,
Quod madidas nardo passa corona comas:
Hoc tua, saeve puer Diadumene, basia fragrant.”
(“Like an apple when a tender girl bites into it,
Like the perfume that wafts from saffron crocus,
Or a bright vineyard flowering with new clusters,
Like grass newly nibbled by a lamb,
Like crushed myrtle
Or the fingers of an Arabian spice collector,
Like rubbed amber or flaming frankincense,
Like light summer rain on earth
Or a garland resting on hair dripping with nard…
Your kisses, cruel boy, smell of all these.”)
Adam stirred, “Martial?” He asked sleepily. “Marcus Valerius Martialis?”
“Yes,” Ronan said, tone entranced.
“Gold fuckin’ star.”
They kissed.
“You’re missing the last line of the epigram, though.” He corrected, stroking Ronan’s cheek.
“It’s supposed to read ‘Quid si tota dares illa sine invidia?’ at the very end.”
(‘Just imagine what they would be like
If you gave them without holding back.’)
“You never hold back, so I left it out.” He excused.
Adam hummed with gratitude. “Thanks for waking me.” He said.
*
The sun always rose over the barns with tender care, waking it with an innate precision.
First it was the morning dew, the floral misty scent.
Then it was the birds, they chirped and cawed and hoo’ed, hidden in the trees.
Finally it was the sunshine itself, revealing a dense summer heat.
Once the barns were awake, so were its residents. Footsteps made creaking noises all throughout, the amiable dawn broken still.
Adam always reached for coffee first.
“I’m cooking breakfast today,” Ronan said. “What would you like?”
“Pancakes. You always manage to make them better than I do.” He said, stirring his drink.
“Secret ingredient is honey.” He said, reaching for flour in the cupboard.
“Music?” Adam asked, pointing towards the dreamt radio on the kitchen table. It only played 10 songs, in order, all melodic and saccharine.
“Sure.” Ronan said, measuring his ingredients.
Once he began flipping pancakes, the house filled with a sweet sort of scent.
Inhabited.
Adam cut some fruits for their breakfast, then started setting the kitchen table. They wouldn’t need the dining room for this, it was just the two of them.
Ronan put down his spatula for a moment. He saw that Adam had already made a pleasant, tidy table for the both of them. Now he was humming, cradling his cup of coffee, looking out the window.
To the fields.
To the blue sky.
Ronan flipped the final pancake and let it sit, abandoning the stove, clung to Adam instead.
They swayed to the hum of the radio.
*
Breakfast was laughter, bouncing off the walls and rippling through the liquid of their juice glasses.
The way in which Adam ate, childish and yet well mannered - stuffing his face with each syrupy bite, smiling. It filled Ronan with a sense of pride, ridiculous, loving pride.
“Good?” He asked, breathless with laughter.
Adam chewed, chewed, swallowed.
“The best.” He raised his glass of orange juice, and sipped, then extended an arm over the table to Ronan’s. Their fingers interlaced.
Ronan felt as though someone had injected sugary water directly into his veins, and soon it would reach his heart and surely kill him. He could feel the sugar turn to syrup in his blood, coating his arteries with honey, slowing his beating heart to a stop. It was a fond sort of sickness, being in love with Adam.
A small jingle rang from the back door.
The cat bell.
A few days ago, Ronan had dreamt of a cat. She was a quaint little thing, crème colored with gray patches of fur - and large blue eyes. Something like a Birman cat, but not quite. Too dreamlike for proper analysis, he decided. She had a small golden bell attached to a red collar, which read ‘Coca-Cola’ in white stitching. She had immediately taken a liking to Adam, and Adam had immediately taken a liking to her.
“Francine! You’re here to visit again.” Adam cooed.
“I still cannot believe you gave her a human name.” Ronan smiled, as the cat promptly jumped into Adams lap.
He rubbed a cheek to her fur and pet her small head, comforted.
“She deserves a proper title. She’s not some Mitzi or Fluffy. Look at how smart she is. Tell him, Francine.” The cat bobbed her head as if to nod, ringing her small bell in the process.
“What’s two plus two?” Adam asked.
Francine let out a confident meow .
“Four! Excellent. You see, Ronan? She’s a prodigy.”
“Great, now ask her to recite Shakespeare backwards.”
Adam and Francine gave each other a look, eyes narrow, smile mischievous. Then they both turned to Ronan, and the cat began meowing rapidly as if to say you asked, and here you go. Hamlet backwards.
The stunted look on Ronan’s face made Adam tilt his head back in laughter.
“You didn’t. There’s no way you read Shakespeare to that cat, Adam, that’s borderline animal abuse.” Ronan said.
“She kept pawing at my book! You were in the long barn. She looked bored. I had to!” He laughed. “I told you she was a prodigy.”
“Nerd supreme. Fuckin’ A.” Ronan said.
“Oh, says the sappy dickhead who woke me up with a Latin love poem this morning? Saffron crocus? Crushed myrtle? Flaming frankincense?” Adam teased.
Ronan was not ashamed, and yet he blushed, a wild grin etched on his face. “Pucker up, nerd boy.”
Adam made a kissy face, and kissy noises. “Smoochy smoochy, snake boy.”
At this, Ronan got up, walked over, and smothered him in a kiss.
“Adequate?” He asked.
“Astounding.” Adam said, breathless.
*
Adam was shuffling his tarot cards on the sitting room floor, Francine watched with curious humor. He pulled a single card, laid it out in front of her.
“The Sun. Happiness and enlightenment. You little weirdo, that’s your reading. Many yummy goldfish in your future. Happy travels.” He pet her little head, and bid her farewell as she toddled outside.
Ronan watched carefully from the couch, laughing only to himself. It was a funny gesture, to give the cat a reading. Amusing. Adam was endlessly amusing.
As if he sensed it, Adam sat up and plopped himself on top of Ronan.
“Life’s a circus. Hand?” He said.
Ronan gave Adam his hand, and Adam began tracing the lines of his palm. Gently, he pressed a kiss to the center of it. “Dreamer hands.”
Ronan could taste molasses. He pressed his other hand to Adam’s jaw, and stroked Adam's lower lip with his thumb. “Magician mouth.”
Adam pressed his hearing ear to Ronan’s breastbone, listening to his heartbeat. Raising his head to look at Ronan, he whispered. “Dreamer heart.”
Ronan pressed a kiss to Adam’s forehead, then whispered. “Magician mind.”
Their breath was shallow, and it was true that they couldn’t see beyond one another.
The couch was beneath Ronan, but it wasn’t as real as Adam’s weight on him. The ceiling might as well have been a floor, and the walls might as well have been doric columns, because there was nothing but expanse in every direction.
Adam brushed his gaunt fingers to Ronan’s face, gentle as silvergrass, then leaned down to kiss him.
Something was hacked into the forefront of his brain, like every memory, every song, every sensation this drew from him.
In all caps, audaciously, bold and witty and cunning all the same:
ADAM PARRISH.
Big block letters set in stone.
He would never forget this.