Archive of Our Own

Ronan never volunteered to pick Parrish up for school. He wanted to stop him every single time; for one thing, if he drove Parrish right to the front door, Gansey would force him to go in. 

For another, whenever he saw all the new bruises the elder Parrish had bestowed upon his son, he felt the overwhelming urge to turn right around and beat the shit out of him in return. After that urge passed, he had to fight the urge to take the boy home, carry him up the stairs and tend to every single bruise, hold him tight and promise with the utmost certainty that he would never have to go back to that place again. 

So, Ronan Lynch never volunteered to pick up Adam Parrish for school. 

Until today. 

The phone call had been quick and soft; Ronan got the sense that his father was still home, maybe in the bathroom. “Ronan? Please pick up.” 

Ronan always picked up for Adam—he'd take that to his grave, but he couldn’t help the flash of fear that iced his chest when he saw Adam’s trailer number on his screen. What if something had happened and he missed a call that could have saved his friend’s life? 

“Parrish, what the fuck,” he said by way of greeting. “You know I hate using this thing. Are you dead in a ditch? You never call me.” 

He heard what sounded like a muffled sniff on the other side, a watery hitch of breath like Adam had been crying, and his brow furrowed. Parrish? Crying? Never-give-up, take-no-help, goddamn-fucking-stupid-idiot-martyr-shit Parrish  crying?  

“ I... I need a ride. To school. Don’t tell Gansey, please.” 

Ronan frowned. “Why me? Don’t you usually just bike?” 

There was a bang and a gasp, and then Adam said hurriedly, “I have to go. I can’t bike that far today, I won’t make it on time. Please, Ronan, please, I need you.” 

Ronan had never really planned on saying no. “Get outside, I’ll be there in twenty,” he instructed. 

“Thank you,” Adam breathed, and then he hung up. 

He actually made it in fifteen minutes, speeding along the backroads from Monmouth to the trailer park until he saw the trees come into view. Noah was sitting in the passenger seat; Ronan hadn’t invited him, but he came anyways. Noah did that, unfortunately. 

He made to turn in, but Noah shook his head and pointed. Stumbling out of the trees, looking like a light breeze would blow him over, Adam limped towards the car. Swearing, Ronan threw it into park and got out. 

“Oh, shit,” he said, reaching out to steady Adam when he stumbled again. “Fuck, Parrish, what the fuck?” 

Adam gave a noncommittal grumble and curled an arm protectively around his ribs. Ronan couldn’t have wiped the worry off his face if he’d tried. He’d never seen Adam go nonverbal before. “Hey, come on. Front seat. Noah, move.” 

Noah waved, already fading away. “I won’t tell Gansey,” he promised. “Don’t come to school.” 

Adam mumbled something and sank into the seat; Ronan tried to ignore the fact that he’d just  let  him basically lift him into the cab. “Yeah, no fucking way,” he growled. “You’re coming back to Monmouth and we’re gonna take care of those marks before Gansey sees them.” 

“No,” Adam whispered, the tiniest hint of sound escaping in a high-pitched whine. “Can’t miss a day...” 

“Dude, you just let me pick you up and put you in the car like a child,” Ronan pointed out. “If you’d pushed me off or could fucking talk to me at all, I might consider it, but like this? Non-verbal and completely pliant? Huge red flag. So. Monmouth.” 

Adam let out another whine, flushing immediately after as though embarrassed, but he nodded. 

“Okay?” Ronan checked.  

“Kay,” Adam whispered. 

“Okay.” Ronan climbed back into the car and it roared to life. Adam hunched forward, curled over his ribs; he kept his back away from the seat. Ronan pulled into Walgreen’s parking lot; Adam had his head on the dash, struggling to breathe. Ronan tapped him on the shoulder and he flinched. 

“You, stay,” he ordered. “Keep breathing; I’ll leave the window down if you need to hurl. I’ll be right back.” 

Adam looked up and frowned, reaching for the pocket of his shorts and handing Ronan a wad of crumpled bills. Ronan looked at it and sighed; at least he wasn’t fighting. 

“Alright,” he said resignedly, and climbed out. 

Adam didn’t have to know that he only bought Tylenol with the cash, picking up soup, Gatorade, bruise cream, antibacterial cream, Polysporin, Advil and bandages with his own money. He checked out; when he returned, Adam was right where he left him, head on the dash, taking deep breaths. 

For the first time since he’d gotten his license, Ronan didn’t go a single kilometer over the speed limit until he pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing. 

He opened Adam’s door, holding his forearm to help him down from the cab. Adam made it a whole eight steps toward the building before he collapsed. Ronan held his weight, following him down to the pavement. 

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, adjusting the bag on his arm. Adam shook his head, ducking away to hide that more tears were beading in his eyes.  

“Just give me a sec,” he rasped. “I’m okay.” 

Ronan barked a laugh, loud and raucous. Adam flinched. He pretended not to notice. “Parrish, this is the farthest from okay that I’ve  ever  seen you. I’m gonna carry you up the stairs, but I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me where it hurts the worst.” 

Adam was silent for a long, tense moment; then he gave a long, exhausted breath and let his head fall onto Ronan’s broad shoulder. “My back,” he muttered. “It’s worst on my back. He used a belt—and his ring.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Ronan commented. “Okay, wrap your arms around my neck and hang on tight.” He waited for Adam to obey, then helped him to his knees and cupped his hands under Adam’s thighs. He let out a pained noise, so Ronan shifted his grip up to his friend’s ass, trying not to make it weird. 

Adam gasped. “Sorry,” Ronan muttered tersely. “Don’t wanna hurt you.” Adam nodded against his neck and tried to steady his breathing as Ronan lifted him carefully off the ground. He kept his breathing even, a shuddering in and out all the way up the stairs and through Monmouth to Ronan’s room. 

“Doing okay?” he checked as he lowered his friend onto his bed. Adam nodded. Ronan tugged gently at his shirt. “I’ll buy you dinner next time, but right now we should probably get you naked,” he said. Adam huffed a wheezing laugh and tried to pull his shirt off. 

With several pained grunts and whimpers, he managed to get it to his armpits before giving up. Ronan refused to look at the colors on his torso, moving in to take hold of the shirt and guide it cautiously over Adam’s head and then down his arms. He threw it to the floor. 

“Pants are rough,” he warned. “Gonna hurt.” Adam nodded. 

Ronan grimaced at the sharp cry Adam let out as he pulled the jeans off quickly, taking the boxers with them. “Fuck, okay, okay, all done, okay? Let me see.” 

Adam tugged the corner of the blanket over his crotch with shaking hands, but Ronan had already seen the blood between his legs. 

“You have to let me see, damn it,” he muttered, hands roaming gently over the mess of red and purple and yellowing bruises across his ribs. There—a cut, an indent. His ring. There was a full bootprint—that one was a handprint. It worked down from his right shoulder to his left hip and down onto his thigh, along with some more mild bruising on his legs. 

“Can you turn around?” he asked. Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. Ronan put an awkward hand on his shoulder. “Okay,” he said. He climbed onto the bed, kicking off his shoes and circling around to kneel behind him. 

Rage flared like a tidal wave in his chest at the sight; welts, some broken from being struck more than once, bleeding down his back, puckered and shiny against too-pale skin.  

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fucking shit, Adam, Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened this time?” 

Adam took in a long, shuddering breath. “He found my sketchbook,” he said softly, voice cracking. “Anatomy sketches. Pictures of Gansey, some of you. Mostly of you. I like drawing you. He recognized you from when you dropped me off. Asked if I’d been messing around with you and that other boy, and said he wouldn’t stand to have a gay son.” 

Ronan cursed. Adam sniffled and shifted on the bed. Ronan saw blood underneath him. His heart froze. His hand trailed down Adam’s spine, stopping just above his tailbone. “Parrish. Adam. What the fuck did he do to you?” 

Adam was crying again, he could hear it, but he pretended not to notice. Let him keep some of his dignity. “He--he kept asking ‘do you like it now, you fucking Godless whore? Taking it up the ass like that?’ and—and I was screaming, I even begged. I begged him to stop, but he just—with the broomstick handle...” 

Ronan launched himself up off the bed, stormed out the door and snatching up the plastic bag. There was a broken sob behind him and he heard a soft whump, as though Adam had just collapsed on his bed. His phone beeped; he glanced at it on the counter. 

Gansey: Ronan what happened  

Gansey: Noah says you two aren’t coming in  

Gansey: Is he okay?  

Gansey: Ronan please I know you hate your phone but I’m very worried  

Gansey: I'm coming home  

Ronan swore and picked up the phone, pressing call. Gansey picked up on the first ring. “Ronan! I’ve been texting you for an hour! Is he okay!? What happened!?” 

Ronan grunted and set a pot on the stove for soup. “No, he’s not fucking okay, but I promised him I wouldn’t tell you anything. I think it’s worse than—no, it’s definitely the worst it’s ever been. His dad did something... really fucking awful. He’s in my room. I’m making soup. Don’t come back.” 

“Tell me what he did,” Gansey demanded, “Or I’m coming back.” 

Ronan warred with himself before sighing and putting the lid on the pot. “Hang tight.” He pushed the door to his room open and crouched next to the bed. Adam appeared to have applied the bruise cream, at least, before curling into the bed and pulling a blanket over his head. “Hey,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice gentle despite the anger. 

“’M sorry,” Adam sobbed, and Ronan’s heart broke. He reached out and pulled the blankets down, moving up to sit on the bed and pull Adam’s head into his lap.  

“This isn’t your fault,” he promised. “I don’t lie, Adam. I’ve never lied to you, you know that. This was not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Adam’s shoulders shook and his tears soaked into the leg of Ronan’s jeans. 

“Is that him? Is he crying?” Gansey demanded. Ronan shifted his grip on the phone, trapping it between his cheek and shoulder so he could cradle Adam’s head in one arm and stroke his hair with the other.  

“Yeah, it’s him. Adam? It’s Gansey.” 

Adam peeked up, expression crumbling. “You said you wouldn’t--!” 

“I haven’t told him much,” Ronan soothed. “He said he was coming back unless I told him what happened to you. Which would you rather? Do you want him to come home or do you want me to tell him?” 

Adam furrowed his brow, tears spilling down his red cheeks. “I don’ want him to be mad at me like you,” he whispered. “I don’ want to be alone.” 

Guilt washed over Ronan’s chest and he murmured some reassurance. “No, no,” he soothed. “I got angry at your dad and I didn’t want to scare you. I just put the soup on the stove, promise. I’m not angry with you. You’re okay, it’s okay.” 

Adam sniffed. “I don’t want him to come home.” 

“So you want to tell him?”  

Adam shook his head, burying his face in Ronan’s thigh. “Can you?” he said quietly. Ronan didn’t have the words to describe how much he  hated  Robert fucking Parrish for making Adam so fucking vulnerable. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go finish the shitty soup, okay? Want you to stay on your side, try to relax. I’ll bring you some Gatorade and Tylenol. How you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Adam groaned. “But safer.” Ronan’s heart swelled and he gently moved Adam’s head to the bed, standing up.  

“Good,” he said. “At least I can do that for you.” 

Adam nodded as he left. 

“What did he do this time?” Gansey demanded, worry tinging his voice frantic. Ronan stirred the soup, raising the temperature. 

“He found drawings of me in Adam’s sketchbook and fucking recognized me,” he said solemnly. “Came to the assumption he’s fucking gay and beat the living  shit  out of him; tore up his back something awful with a belt, bruises up his whole torso. Slaps and kick marks; put him on the ground, hit him while he was fucking down. Adam said he pinned him and raped him with a god damn broomstick to try and dissuade the thoughts.” 

Gansey let out a horrified breath. “I have to come home, Ronan! Raped him!? He’ll try to go back!” 

“He can’t even walk right now and he’s struggling enough with just me,” Ronan said sharply. “He’s not going back. I’m taking care of him, I got antibiotics and painkillers, and I’m gonna feed him. He’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll call you if it gets worse.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey said. “If he gets sick, or if anything gets infected, we have to take him to the hospital.” 

Ronan sighed deeply and dragged a hand down his face. “I know,” he said. “But you know how he feels about hospitals. Let’s just... wait and see.” 

Gansey was quiet for a long minute. “Thank you,” he said at length. “I’ve never known you to be a caretaker before, but I’m not complaining. Thank you for doing this.” 

“Won’t let anything happen to him,” Ronan promised, and then he hung up. 

Adam was trying to apply antibiotic cream to his back; Ronan took it from him wordlessly, putting the soup on the nightstand. Adam didn’t protest, falling silent as Ronan got the cream over each of the awful marks. 

“Can you sit up?” he asked quietly. “Wanna try and get some food into you.”  

Adam reached out, wordlessly asking for support. It scared the taller boy; Adam Parrish never asked for help from anyone, even when he needed it. He said nothing. Instead, he gripped Adam’s arms and settled into the bed himself, guiding and pulling Adam until the smaller boy was sitting in front of him, leaning up against his chest, head laying exhaustedly back against his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Ronan whispered, trying not to startle him. “Try eating now? You think you can keep this shit down?” 

“I’m not sick,” he whispered. “The Polysporin helps.” 

Ronan turned his face into Adam’s hair, nuzzling at the fair strands. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad.” 

“Ronan?” Adam said, his voice high and scared. Ronan kissed his temple, unable to resist the small comfort. “Would you still be here if I  was?  You know—gay.” 

The pale boy blinked and craned his head, hooking his chin lightly over Adam’s shoulder to look at him. “That would make two of us, Parrish,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t push you away for that.” 

“You--you are?” Adam asked, surprised. Ronan nodded and reached for the soup. 

“Yes. Now come on, eat; think you can hold the spoon?” Adam gave it a valiant effort, but his hand shook too badly and the soup spilled onto the blankets. Patiently, Ronan took it from him and did it himself.  

He figured the embarrassment of being spoon-fed would make Adam either shut down or start crying again, but apparently, it was overridden by the comfort of being cared for. Adam stayed silent, obediently opening his mouth and swallowing each spoonful.  

He shook his head tiredly a little over halfway into the bowl and Ronan didn’t fight, just put it back on the nightstand and picked up the two bottles he’d left there. 

He gave Adam a Tylenol and half a Gatorade bottle, trying to hydrate him, and then gently shifted him back to horizontal. “Lay on your side,” he murmured, petting dusty blond hair back. “Keep off the worst of it.” 

Adam reached for Ronan and the taller boy took his hand without a word. “It hurts,” Adam choked out. Ronan nodded. 

“I know,” he said. “You’re doing fucking amazing, Parrish. I’d be bawling like a baby.” 

“Stay,” Adam begged. “Please don’t leave me alone.” 

Ronan settled on the floor next to him and ran a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes locked with Adam’s pretty blue ones until he got his breathing back under control. Without thinking about it, he started to hum an old Irish lullaby—something Aurora would sing when he was hurt. 

For once, the memory didn’t sting. He watched as those eyes fluttered and slipped shut, taking Adam into a deep sleep.  

He didn’t stop petting Adam’s hair until the song was finished. 

When he was certain Adam was asleep, he pushed himself up and grabbed for supplies; a wet cloth and toilet paper, antibacterial cream and water in a small bucket, baby wipes (Gansey’s nightstand, of course) and Polysporin. 

Ronan was not built to be gentle. He was built for alcohol and Molotovs, street racing and leather jackets, ravens and tattoos. He was built for fights and harsh words, boxing, heavy fists and causing pain, and that was fine by him. 

But his fingers slid up Adam’s bare thigh softly, like it was silk, gently rubbing bruise cream into the circles on his thighs where Robert Parrish must have knelt on his legs to pin him. He probed at the tearing around his asshole where a drunk man had missed his target, probably scaring Adam more every time he hit the skin around it. 

He delved inside slowly, trying not to think about where he was touching; about how he wanted to do it again, without all the pain. He was surprisingly pliant in his sleep, loose from being forced open and torn, and Ronan cautiously cleaned out the blood with water and baby wipes and toilet paper, until he could kind of feel where each tear was.  

Adam whimpered in his sleep, shifting on the bed, but Ronan just leaned over him, petting at his hair with one clean hand and whispering reassurances until he calmed again. 

Then he got to work putting the antibiotics on the inside; as expected, it stung, and Adam whined in pain, hips twitching away from Ronan’s probing fingers. 

He withdrew them when Adam began to stir, waiting until blue eyes blinked slowly, confusedly open and focused on him, kneeling on the mattress behind Adam. The blond blinked again. “What’re you...” 

He glanced down at himself, noting all the blood-soaked tissues lying beside Ronan on the blanket (That blanket was ruined now, between all the blood Adam had leaked onto it and the soup that had spilled) and the cream smeared over his fingers. He flushed and buried his face in his arms. 

“I know,” Ronan murmured soothingly, letting his hand smooth over the base of Adam’s spine, avoiding the welts. “We have to do this, okay? Otherwise it could get infected. You don’t want that. The worst part is over now, just the Polysporin left.” 

“I can do it,” Adam croaked, but Ronan just bent over and kissed his shoulder blade. 

“I’ve already found all the tears,” he said gently. “And I don’t want you to tear your back trying to twist that far. I know it sucks, but just lie there a little longer, okay? I promise I’ll be fast, and then we’ll never talk about it again.” 

Adam hesitated, but he knew he didn’t have much choice. Slowly, he nodded and let Ronan get a belt to put in his mouth. “Bite down on that if it really hurts,” he said. Adam nodded again. Ronan went as gently as possible, trying to ignore the tiny squeaks and twitches and whines that Adam muffled with the belt and the pillow as he moved his finger around inside. 

“There we go,” he murmured soothingly as he pulled it free, cleaning his hands with a baby wipe. “That’s gonna feel so much better soon, I promise. You’re so fucking brave. Doing so fucking good for me, Parrish.” 

Adam circled his fingers around Ronan’s wrist; not grabbing, just touching. Ronan got the sense he only needed it to feel safe.  

It was cold in Monmouth, and Adam shivered as a draft blew through the room. Ronan removed the top blanket, trashing all the tissues and throwing it on top of the laundry machine to be dealt with later, and dug around for a hoodie.  

“Let’s get you bandaged up so you don’t rub those open in your sleep, and then you can have my hoodie,” he bargained. Adam nodded. 

He didn’t make a sound the whole time Ronan applied more Polysporin and put two of those huge bandage pads on, protecting him from rubbing them. Fortunately, most of the whipping was centered around his lower back, so Adam didn’t have to suffer too much up at the top. Well, except for all the bruises. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ronan whispered. “Some of this wasn’t from last night, huh?” 

“He beat me again this morning when he saw me on the phone,” Adam mumbled. “I’m not supposed to use it when he’s home. But he had to go to work, so he told me we’d finish this later.” He reached out for the hoodie and Ronan helped him struggle into it. 

He pulled the sleeves over his hands and buried his face in the collar, taking in several long, deep breaths. Ronan realized suddenly that he was breathing in Ronan’s scent from the fabric, taking comfort in it. His heart pounded painfully against his chest; he liked this boy far too much for this. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked instead of commenting. Adam shook his head, still swallowed in the hoodie. He was tall, a solid five-foot-ten, but he was skinny and lean, and Ronan was six-three and much broader. He didn’t think Adam had ever looked smaller, hunched in on himself and buried in Ronan’s far-too-big clothes. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been so fucking cute, either. 

“I’m just... sleepy,” Adam admitted, suppressing a yawn behind one sweater-covered had before pawing at his eyes, rubbing the sleep away. Ronan took it back.  Now  he had never been cuter. 

“Okay,” he all but cooed. “Well, then let’s get you back to sleep, yeah?” 

He made to get up and take the bowl back to the kitchen, but Adam’s hand snagged at his t-shirt. “Hey, Lynch?” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh...” Adam looked away, an embarrassed flush making its way to his cheeks. “I... I was wondering... I mean, I’ve never seen...” 

“Spit it out, Parrish, don’t be so scared,” Ronan drawled. Adam’s blush brightened in color, a soft pink dusting over his cheekbones, and he closed his eyes tightly. 

“Can I see your tattoo?” 

Ronan blinked in surprise. “Seriously?” he asked. “That’s it?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for Adam to risk peeking up at him. Then, keeping his eyes on those big babydoll ones, he pulled his shirt off and laid down on his stomach across the mattress. “Anytime you want,” he said. “Dick and the maggot ask to see it like twice a week, just for kicks. Noah just tries to pull my shirt off when he feels like it.” 

Adam snorted despite himself, laying a cautious hand over one of the inked birds perched in the lines of the Celtic knot woven across his pale skin. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, hushed and reverent. Ronan chuckled.  

“Thanks,” he said. “I add new shit every once in a while.” 

Adam’s fingers stilled on once section, tracing over an intricate pattern. Ronan’s heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the play of the lines he traced. 

“This is the lily you gave me,” Adam mused. “The one that was made of opal and mother-of-pearl. You said you thought it’d light up my room a little, that you didn’t have a use for it.” 

“Uh huh,” Ronan said. Adam’s fingers moved on.  

“This is Chainsaw,” he realized. “And... this is the necklace you made for Blue, so she could hear the tree better. And this one—that's the music box you made to carry ley line energy, so Noah can show up even off of it, when you play it! Ronan, are they all dream things?” 

“Not all of them,” Ronan said evasively. “Most.” He kept his head on his folded arms and focused on the heavenly feeling of Adam’s hands—calloused fingers and gentle touches, warm like a fire as they smoothed reverently across his skin. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to feel this forever. 

A soft exhale broke the quiet and Adam’s fingers landed again. He was silent for a moment, his touch unmoving, and then he said, “With the reference sitting right on it... it’s hard to mistake whose hand this is.” 

Ronan tensed. He’d honestly forgotten that he’d had Adam’s hands tattooed on his back, behind his hip, cupping a stone. It’d been a day of helping Cabeswater, of moving stones to fix the ley line’s flow, and Adam had sat and held that little stone for half an hour, marveling at the smoothness. Ronan hadn’t ever wanted to forget the way the light played over his knuckles, the way the shadows made his skin seem warmer despite the blue, cool tones of the forest light. 

“I was drunk,” he said evasively; he did not lie. He had been drunk, just not enough to not know what he was doing. “When you fixed the ley line, you thought it was pretty. I did too.” 

“My hands or the stone?” Adam said softly. It wasn’t really a question, so Ronan didn’t answer. Adam shifted, tugging at Ronan’s arm to move him up the bed. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asked.  

Ronan was powerless to deny this boy anything—he would start wars and burn cities just to see his smile, he had thought that on more than one occasion. If being close made Adam feel safe, then no one would find him far away. 

He shifted to his back and helped lay Adam out, tugging the blankets up over them both. He wasn’t cold, even shirtless, but Adam was still scrunched into a ball, shivering lightly. Ronan’s hands trailed gently over his thighs, the first patch of bare skin he could reach, and rubbed gently at the muscle until the gooseflesh went away. 

Adam’s hands emerged from their hoodie prison and he touched Ronan’s chest, curling into his side as gentle arms wound around his body. Ronan kissed his temple, idly wondering if Adam would remember this when the pain had all faded, the exhaustion slept off. 

He didn’t know if he wanted him to remember. 

Adam fell asleep after a while, tucked into the side of Ronan’s larger body, head on his chest as he breathed deep and full, peaceful. 

Ronan closed his eyes with a sigh, itching to move, to hurt someone—probably himself, in this state. Itching to go drink—he wouldn’t do that now, that’s what Adam’s father did and he didn’t want to scare him any more—or to race, or to start a fight and just punch until one of them went down, until his knuckles were bloody and the pain wiped away all the fear and guilt he felt when he looked at Adam—at his Adam, broken and bloody and too quiet. 

Not his. Not really. But with his head on Ronan’s chest, with a hand spread out across his abs, with Adam sleeping in his clothes, in his bed, against his heart—not really his. 

But like this, he could pretend. 

He didn’t move. 

Ronan woke hours later to the quiet sound of the front door. Gansey appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, noting the half-empty bowl of soup and the many medications on the floor before he looked at the bed. 

His face crumpled into sympathy when he saw Adam, and Ronan was glad the boy was asleep. He hated sympathy, hated pity. It was likely why he hadn’t wanted Gansey to come home, but with school long over—it was nearly five, now—there wasn’t much choice. 

Ronan raised a finger to his lips as Gansey approached, and the boy nodded. “He looks so broken,” he whispered morosely. “So small.” 

“That’s my hoodie,” Ronan told him. “It’s big even on me, of course he looks small.” 

Gansey smiled at the position, watching Ronan’s hand slide absently through dust-colored hair. Adam snuggled closer in his sleep in response, nuzzling into the crook of Ronan’s neck. “You seem to have taken good care of him, if he can sleep after everything you told me.” 

“Cleaned him out the first time he was asleep,” Ronan answered. “He woke up for the cream, though. Cried a little, but we got through it. It was his back that really sucked, I think.” He lifted the hem of the hoodie gently, moving his leg to shield Adam’s decency and showing some of the marks on his back where they trailed out around the edges of the not-quite-big-enough bandage. Gansey put a hand over his mouth. 

“I’m keeping him on his side so he doesn’t tear anything,” Ronan explained, somehow feeling the need to explain the position.  This isn’t my fault either. I didn’t do anything like this that got him hurt.  

Gansey nodded. “I’m glad he had you, at least,” he said sincerely, turning towards his room to put his things away. Ronan rumbled something in reply and Adam shifted, woken by the vibrations of his pillow. 

“R’nan,” he slurred, cuddling closer. Then he winced as his skin dragged across the sheets. “Ow.” 

“Quit moving, you’re hurt,” Ronan scolded, but his arms tightened anyway to press Adam flush against him, shoulder to knee. “You feel any better?” 

“Mmhm,” Adam said tiredly. “What time s’it?” 

“Bout five-thirty,” Ronan answered, peering at the clock. Adam shot up, crying out at the agony but stumbling off the bed. 

“I have to be home by six!” he yelped. Ronan seized his arm and yanked him back, anchoring him with an arm around his hips and a hand on his collarbone, gentle, but firm. 

“You are not going home tonight,” he said sternly. “I know you hate staying over here, I know you hate charity, I know about the drive to get yourself out on your own, but you are not going back there and I can’t stand by and let you. He raped you with a wooden stick, Adam.” 

Adam sagged back against him, fear in his eyes. “You don’t have to take me, but Ronan, if I don’t go back tonight, he’ll be way angrier when I do go! I don’t want this to be any worse than it has to be. I feel better, you made the pain so much more bearable, but I can’t go through another one that bad. If I go now, it’ll only be the normal stuff.” 

“No,” Ronan said firmly. “If and when you go back, I will go with you, and if he tries anything, I will beat the living shit out him myself. But until you can walk on your own without limping, until you aren’t holding back tears just from the pain of breathing, you are not going back.” 

“Ronan,” Adam pleaded. Ronan spun him around by the hips, cupping his face in two gentle, rough hands. 

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me keep you safe.” 

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Ronan’s eyes must have stopped him, because he sighed and closed it. “Okay,” he whispered. “But... no hospital. Gansey will try. I don’t want to fight.” It was a challenge. Adam knew Ronan wanted to take him to the hospital too; would Ronan fight for him against his own belief? 

Fuck yes. Anything. 

“I already told him,” Ronan said. “On the phone. We agreed not to take you unless something got infected or you got sick—don't give me that look, I can’t fix those things. If you run the risk of dying, we take you to people who can make that not happen. And because we insisted against your wishes, we pay.” 

Adam shook his head vehemently. “I pay, or we don’t go,” he said firmly. “It’s my fucked up dad, it’s my fucked up body. I pay.” 

“Then let’s make sure we don’t get there,” Ronan said calmly—calmer than he’d ever been, really. Adam was going to stay. He was gonna be okay. “Lie back down, I’ll get you something to drink.” 

Adam relaxed and nodded, searching Ronan’s face for something. Ronan smiled and tucked a curl behind his face and Adam melted, leaning into his chest and wrapping lean arms around his waist. Ronn kissed the top of his head and wrapped his arms around Adam’s neck, holding him close. 

“Ronan,” Adam whispered. “Can you drive me home tomorrow? I don’t wanna face dad alone, I don’t think.” 

“If you even go home tomorrow, of course,” Ronan murmured. “I know you lie to us, Parrish. You don’t fool me. I’m only letting you go home when I think you’re ready.” 

“S’just some welts, bruises and cuts,” he said dismissively, waving a hand. “S’not like he broke anything.” 

Ronan pressed his lips together in a thin line and pulled back from the embrace, seizing the sides of Adam’s head in a gentle but unrelenting grip. “Look at me,” he ordered firmly, and Adam obeyed without even thinking about it. Distantly, Ronan made the connection that he had probably sounded like Adam’s dad for a second and the speed of his obedience was just awful, torturous conditioning, but he ignored the thought for now. 

“Uh... Lynch?” Adam called, leaning back away from Ronan. There was fear in his eyes, badly masked. Ronan shook his head and let out a smoker’s breath. 

“I need you to look at me and hear it said out loud,” he said. “Your father. Violated you. He  raped you with a broomstick,  Parrish. That’s--do you have any idea how much  danger  you’re in there? He beat you. He belted you. He kicked you while you were down and punched you with a ring on and  shoved a broomstick up your ass,  and I am not letting you go back to stay.” 

Adm took his wrists in a surprisingly firm grip and wrenched away from them, dropping them like they’d burned him. It hurt, Ronan had to admit—he never,  ever  wanted Adam to associate his hands with pain or fear. Icy blue eyes glared up at him, the full force of winter despite the fact that Adam didn’t have ice-blue eyes like Ronan’s. His usual summer sky blue was gone, though, replaced by coldness and hardness. 

“I’m going to keep my head and explain this without yelling at you, because I can’t pretend to be able to pay you back for all you’ve done for me in the last day,” he said in a voice of forced calm. “The choice of whether or not I go back there is  not yours to make.  I decide when I leave, Lynch, and you will not take that away from me.” 

“And if he beats you unconscious?” Ronan asked, sobs in his throat. He masked them with anger. “What if you decide you want out while he’s hitting you, and he doesn’t stop? You could die. You could get permanent brain damage. You could get permanent physical damage—what are you going to do if he breaks your leg next time? What are you going to do if you can’t fucking run? Huh? What’s your plan there, genius?” 

Adam shoved him, hard, and he fell onto his butt on the bed. He gave a harsh laugh. “Oh,  now  you fight back,” he said bitterly. “Something must have been knocked loose in there already, then—you know, you’re supposed to hit the people who  hurt you,  not the ones who carry you somewhere safe and clean and dress all the injuries and feed you when your hands are shaking too much and hold you while you sleep.” 

“Don’t!” Adam said shrilly, and Ronan got the feeling he was maybe on the edge of tears himself. “I know, Lynch, I know! And I’m scared every day, okay? You think I  like  getting beat up on!?” 

Ronan scoffed. “Some days, Parrish,” he hissed. Adam shook his head and dropped his face into his hands, hiding them in the sleeves of his sweater. With a start, Ronan realized that even angry as he was, he was still seeking out Ronan’s scent for comfort. The thought unhinged something inside him, melting down his anger in some unused forge. 

“If I just disappear,” Adam croaked, definitely trying not to cry, “then who’s left in the trailer, Ronan?” 

“Just your fucking parents!” Ronan tried, before realizing what Adam was getting at. “Oh, Jesus, Parrish, don’t tell me--” 

“If I’m not there, he’ll hit her,” the smaller boy said softly. “And that means he’s gotta leave before I do, or anything you just said could happen to her—and she’s not strong enough. I am. I can take it. I’ve got you and Noah and Gansey and Blue to take care of me, she’s got nobody.” 

“And what if it goes too far?” Ronan asked again. 

Adam shook his head. “Then... I guess I give up my right to make the decision to you or Gansey,” he said, and he sounded utterly exhausted. “If I can’t... I don’t know. See, or hear, or run. Breathe. If I’m incapacitated, then you can pull me out.” 

“God damn it, Parrish, the goal is to get you out before that happens,” Ronan said in anguish. “Look, just say the word and I’ll drive you to the police station right fucking now—you're covered in evidence. Get him arrested, press charges, and you won’t ever need to fucking see him again.” 

“Then there’s the conundrum of her being stuck in the trailer with the breadwinner of the house in prison,” Adam pointed out. “I can’t leave her on the streets and I can’t house her—can't even house myself, yet.” 

“She can always stay here,” Ronan pleaded. “You can always stay here. Take Czerny’s room, he doesn’t sleep. Take my room, sleep beside me like today, I don’t give a fuck, just... don’t get yourself  killed  by that man. You’re worth so much more. Got so much more ahead of you, so don’t you dare let him take it away from you.” 

Adam sighed and headed for the door, snagging his jeans off the floor and tugging them on through pained winces and suppressed whines before wrestling the handle open and leaving Ronan alone in his room. 

“Gansey, I’m feeling better,” he said. “Can you take me home, please?” 

“Are you sure that’s a good--” 

“I have to.” 

There was a long moment of silence. Then Gansey heaved a sigh and the keys to the Camaro jingled. Footsteps descended. The door opened and shut. 

Ronan threw an arm over his eyes and cried. 

Ronan and Adam didn’t talk for two and a half weeks after that, outside of group hangouts. Even then, they talked mostly to Gansey or Blue, letting Noah read the situation on his own. 

Ronan skipped. Adam studied. Gansey exhaustedly tried to get them back on speaking terms. Noah spectated and filled Blue in on everything that had happened. She tried to keep the pity out of her eyes when she looked at Adam. 

Then the BMW broke down in the parking lot, and upon witnessing Ronan jumping around and swearing with his fingers in his mouth after trying to mess with the hot engine, Adam burst out laughing and offered to fix the car. 

Another week, and despite the occasional quiet days (Adam didn’t talk much after one of his father’s beatings, and Ronan refused to fill the silence), it was almost like normal again. 

Until, of course, the second occurrence. 

(TW for attempted rape)

Robert Parrish was a fairly simple man; he liked things done his way, he liked alcohol, and he liked taking out his problems on other people. Generally, if his son was there, he was the go-to for receiving the punishment of a long shift or a drunken blunder. 

He was satisfied, mostly, with punching, kicking, occasionally belting or simply open-handed slapping his son; while Adam had heard other abuse stories where violent fathers turned to sexual assault to ease the edge, Robert Parrish had never been the type to show interest. 

But then, he found the journal. 

Never in his life had Adam truly been taken care of by anyone; it was a miracle that he’d survived infancy, never mind made it this far.  

The month before, when Ronan held him so carefully and spoke to him so softly, he hadn’t known what to make of it. It had felt good, being held like that—he found out that he liked being carried, cuddled and hand-fed, even if it felt ridiculous. It was so nice to let go, so freeing to let Ronan take over and do things for him. 

He wrote all this and more, wondering about the play of light in Ronan’s eyes and the way his tank top clung to his muscles when he was overheated and the way his laugh rumbled up from his chest like an earthquake, and maybe Adam wanted to lay his head over the beat of Ronan’s heart and feel the vibrations for himself. 

His father was... less than enthusiastic about the idea. 

It wasn’t until after the initial beating that Adam’s pants came off. He was left naked on the floor of the trailer, bruised all over his ribs. He got the humiliating punishment that was spanking next, whimpering pitifully, quiet enough that his father couldn’t quite hear him, at each vicious, open-handed strike. 

Then it came. 

“Alice, where’s the fucking broom!?” he barked. Adam’s blood ran cold and he struggled, then, clawed hands scrabbling at the floor for purchase. They found none. 

“It got broken last week,” Adam’s mother reminded him. Her small mercy—she'd set it up to fall into the doorway, so that when her husband came home drunk, he’d slammed the door on it and snapped it in two. Adam had almost cried in relief when he’d been sent to throw it out. When he’d come back, there was a red mark on her cheek and a hole in the wall. 

“Then I guess there’s no helping it,” grunted the man. “You’re gonna learn why men weren’t meant to wanna fuck other men if it’s the last thing I fucking do. No son of mine, no matter  how  disappointing, is going to be some godless faggot whore, you fucking hear me!?” 

“Yes sir, I’m sorry, sir!” Adam cried, burying his face in his hands, shaking in his terror. There was a clink behind him—the belt. Then a zipper. 

Dread flooded Adam’s chest and he gaped, frozen to the tiles, unable to move or think or breathe as the sounds of his father touching himself echoed above him. 

“Ugh,” came an annoyed grunt. “No fucking use—Alice, show me your tits.” 

Adam kept his face buried, eyes wide and unseeing. “B-But--” she started. 

“NOW!” Robert Parrish roared. Adam heard clothing rustle. He refused to look up—let her have that dignity. He hoped he’d pass out before it got too bad. The sheer terror flowing through his blood left his heart in his throat, battering a nausea-inducing rhythm. His hands were clammy and his nails were a slick slide against the cheap fake tile. He couldn’t breathe. His vision was already darkening by the time his father gave a roar of frustration and grabbed his hip hard enough to bruise, flipping him over. 

“I’d tear you apart right now,” he snarled, spit flying into Adam’s open, frightened face, “but I can’t get it up even with your cheap ass mother standing right there. That’s how fucking  hideous  you are, how fucking  disgusted  I am by you. I can’t even get hard enough to  hurt you.”  

He slapped Adam across the face and turned away, staggering to his feet and tucking himself in before Adam even saw his equipment. 

His mother went outside to see the neighbors. His father passed out in their bedroom. 

Adam lay on the floor for two hours and forty-seven minutes before his limbs unlocked, trembling abating just barely enough to pull his pants up and hunt down his shirt. 

He lay there for another half an hour before he found the strength to stand.  

His knees knocked as he stumbled out the door, fear still icing his throat shut. In his terror, there was really only one place he could think to go—it would take him almost an hour. He’d miss dinner. That was okay; he’d had enough, this time. She’d  helped him.  She’d stood there, watching her husband prepare to rape her son, and she’d taken her shirt off to help him get hard enough to do it. 

He was done. 

He barely made it up the stairs to Monmouth, trembling even now as he forced himself up one step at a time, hands white-knuckled on the railing. 

The living room/Gansey’s room area was empty, so Adam followed the sound of voices into Ronan’s room. 

He shoved open the door, interrupting what looked like another Gansey lecture about Ronan’s attendance issues, startling all four occupants of the room. Chainsaw screeched in annoyance. Gansey clapped a hand over his heart. Ronan jumped halfway up before resettling. Blue yelped from her perch beside Gansey on the end of Ronan’s bed. 

“Adam! Goodness, you nearly gave me a heart attack! What brings you here?” 

Adam didn’t answer, stumbling towards Ronan. The taller boy frowned, eyeing him warily. “You’re walking fucking weird, Par--Parrish?” Again, Adam said nothing; if he tried to talk right now, he’d cry. Instead, he clambered into Ronan’s lap and curled himself into the tightest ball he could manage, burying his face in the crook of his friend’s neck. 

“Parrish? Adam?” He could hear the alarm in Ronan’s voice, the genuine worry that sounded more like dread and less like pity. 

“Adam, did something happen?” Blue asked, leaning forward. Adam just snuggled deeper into Ronan’s body. Slowly, strong arms rose around him, holding him tight. One hand rubbed circles into his back; the other stroked at his hair, carding through the dusty strands. Ronan hummed. 

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, touching his lips to Adam’s forehead briefly. “Dick, go get a thermometer. Maggot, see if we have any soup left. I need to talk to him.” 

They nodded slowly, trailing out of the room with worried glances over their shoulders. Blue shut the door behind them. 

Ronan moved, rocking Adam side to side on his lap and crooning gentle words in a language Adam didn’t understand—bits of it were Latin, he thought, maybe Irish Gaelic. The other must have come from Cabeswater, with the whispery, creaking sound of it. He wondered how Ronan had learned to make those noises. 

“Adam,” he whispered. Adam hummed sleepily in acknowledgement, sagging against his wall of safety as the adrenaline began to wear off. “Adam. What happened to you?” 

“He found my journal,” Adam mumbled. “I wrote down how you took care of me before. Some other stuff. He was gonna do it again, but mom got the broomstick broken last week.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan whispered. “Okay, so he didn’t?” 

Adam took a breath and promptly burst into tears, surprising them both with the suddenness of it. Ronan hushed him again, cooed and crooned and rocked him and played with his hair, soothing him with the same patience he’d used to sit up all night with Chainsaw when she was just a baby. 

Adam, for once, didn’t mind being treated like a baby. 

“Adam? Honey, you’re scaring me, what happened?” the taller boy pressed, brow furrowed and eyes filled with fear. Adam clutched at his shirt, seeking the comfort of his scent even through the runny nose. Ronan deserved to know, and Adam wanted to say it, but the fear still pinned his tongue. 

“It’s alright,” Ronan murmured. “You’re safe here, you’re okay, it’s okay. What happened to you?” 

It gave him just enough strength, and through his tears, Adam told him everything. Ronan’s hold tightened on him, keeping him cradled close like something precious. He swore under his breath as Adam talked on, relaying every word and blow and threat. 

At last, he wound down, and Ronan pet his hair and laid him down in the sheets and tucked him in among the blankets and pillows. “Wait here for just a couple of minutes, okay?” he checked. “Wanna go talk to Gansey. Is it okay to tell them?” 

Adam nodded, eyes drooping as he pulled the comforter over his head in a pointless attempt to hide. A hand smoothed down his blanket lump and the door opened and swung shut. Adam closed his eyes and breathed in Ronan’s scent. 

“He says his father found a journal and it had some things in it that point to Parrish being gay again.” 

“Which Parrish?” Blue checked; Noah had told her the gist of it, but not the details. Not to a girl, even one like Blue. 

“Baby Parrish,” Ronan amended. “Said he was looking for the broomstick, but it was broken, so he threatened to actually rape him, made his mom take off her shirt, and then jacked it over him. Adam said he couldn’t get hard, that he flipped him over, screamed at him, spat on him, called him slurs. He’s  terrified,  you guys. It’s so much worse than last time. I mean, the bruises are just on his ribs and not that bad, but he got pinned down and spanked like a fucking toddler and then his fear froze him to the floor—he said he was stuck for almost three hours. Now all his joints are locked up and he’s exhausted and running a fever.” 

Blue shook her head, a hand over her mouth, horror in her eyes.  

“I’ll take the thermometer,” Ronan said, and Gansey handed it over. “If you guys can make some soup, I’ll stay with him,” he told them. They agreed immediately and Ronan ducked back into his room. “Here,” he murmured, pulling back the comforter. “Let’s take your temperature and then get you all settled in to sleep. Do you want to go to the hospital?” 

Adam shook his head mutely and reached up towards Ronan. “I came here to see you,” he mumbled. “It felt good when you took care of me last time. This time I’m not going back to the trailer.’ 

“Good,” Ronan sighed. He put the thermometer under Adam’s tongue and they waited in silence for the result. “100.8,” Ronan read aloud after the beep. “Not high, that’s good. Okay, scoot your ass over and I’ll come over there and cuddle you. Is that what you need right now?” 

“Yes please,” Adam whispered. Ronan’s heart melted and he crawled into bed, throwing himself under the covers and reaching out to wrap his arms around Adam. The smaller boy immediately buried himself in Ronan’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck like a frightened baby rabbit. 

“You hide like a bunny,” Ronan teased, petting his hair and pulling him closer with the arm around his waist. “You’re fucking cute, Parrish.” Adam didn’t reply, just sniffled and wriggled against Ronan like he wanted to get even closer. Ronan clucked his tongue and stilled him with a hand down his spine. 

“Shh,” he said, half an order, half a comfort. “You’re not going back ever. He’s never gonna hurt you again, I promise, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.” At those words, Adam’s shoulders began to shake again, and before long he was muffling sobs in the shoulder of Ronan’s shirt. Despite the inevitable mess of tears and snot, he couldn’t bring himself to mind. 

“You okay? What is it?” 

“Why are you s-so  nice  to me?” Adam asked, breath huffing wetly against Ronan’s neck. Ronan just held him, waiting for the cries to slow. 

“Have you ever looked in the mirror, Parrish?” he asked at length, quiet and low. Adam shook his head. 

“I try not to,” he whispered. “Only when I brush my teeth.” 

“Then you wouldn’t get it,” Ronan said simply. “I can be gentle with you because I want to protect you. I’ve seen all your nasty scars—hell, I even helped patch some of them up when they were fresh. I see the circles under your eyes and how you get worn down more and more the longer you stay there, and I want to fucking do something. I fucking... you’re really, really fucking important to me, you know? I hate seeing you so broken.” 

Adam sniffled, silent for a moment. “I thought you said I was cute like this,” he muttered at length, and Ronan gave a relieved breath of laughter. He shifted, pulling Adam on top of him and propping himself up so Adam’s head was still elevated, and kissed his curls. 

“You’re adorable,” he said. “But I don’t like when you get hurt. And the fact that he would even threaten to go that far, never mind actually starting to go through with it, Jesus Christ. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrified you must have been. Fuck, that’s scary.” 

“I wished you were there,” Adam admitted, mumbling into his neck. “I felt so safe last time. I’d never in my life been held before, you know that? The most I’ve ever gotten is a way-too-long handshake/hug from Cheng or Gansey. Never cuddling, or forehead kisses or any of the stuff you did for me. I’d never even been carried before, that I remember.” 

Ronan blinked. “Is that why you crawled into my lap instead of Gansey or Blue’s?” he asked, grinning when Adam nodded. “You’re more than welcome to demand cuddles any time you want them,” he said, amused despite himself. “I don’t mind carrying you around. For someone so tall, you’re fucking adorable.” 

Adam gave a breathless chuckle. “Not just that,” he said, curling up to make himself smaller. “You’re bigger and stronger than me, and you know how to fight, and you take good care of me when I need you. If anyone could and would fight my dad to protect me... it would be you. I trust you. You make me feel safe.” 

Ronan paused. No one had ever told him that before, because Ronan was not a safe person. He was vicious and mean, cruel, cold. He was all cutting words and bloody fists, speeding cars and ruthless fights, alcohol and ravens and broken dreams. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until Adam wiped the tears away with a thumb, and then he dropped his head forward to rest on Adam’s shoulder. He smelled good—like engine oil and gasoline, and softer, like linen and sleep. It was a nice smell. 

“I’m not safe,” Ronan whispered, the words too heavy to say any louder. “But I will always protect you from whatever  dares  try and hurt you. If you want me to, say the word and I’ll beat his fucking  ass,  baby.” 

Adam shivered at the word, heart pounding under Ronan’s fingers as they glided over his jaw and neck. “You don’t have to. If he comes to get me... I don’t want to see him. Please.” 

“God, you’re so scared,” Ronan breathed. Adam gave him a wan smile. 

“Well, it would be kind of like Kavinsky showing up to give you drugs with Matthew willingly doped out in his car,” he said. “I get so angry, and it hurts so bad, and I always want to do something about it but my mom always chooses to stay and I don’t know what I can do, and in the end that hopelessness is all it takes to make me go back again.” 

Ronan paused; as awful as the picture was, he had to admit it drew the exact same rollercoaster of emotion from him that Adam was describing. “Point taken,” he mused. “I’ll go for you, don’t you worry. Not gonna let him hurt you again, ever. You’re done, he’s done.” 

“Good,” Adam breathed. “I can’t do this anymore.” He wrapped his arms around Ronan’s ribs, shifting until his head lay over the taller boy’s beating heart. “God, this feels so good,” he sighed, closing his eyes. 

“I cried,” Ronan blurted out. “I cried when you went back, that day. Like I haven’t cried since Kavinsky’s whole... well, kidnapping-Matthew-and-conjuring-night-horrors-to-fight-mine-and-being-blown-to-pieces-right-in-front-of-me thing. I couldn’t even stop. It was like I was watching him take Matthew away, or like I was seeing my dad dead in front of me again, only... it was you. It shouldn’t have surprised me, it’s always fucking you. You’re as important to me as they are, maybe even more. I survived losing my dad.” He took Adam’s hand, playing with his fingers. 

“I don’t think I would survive losing you,” he said quietly, honestly. 

Adam was silent for a while. Then, slowly, he uncurled himself from Ronan’s chest and crawled up his body to cup his face. 

“You don’t have to worry, Ronan,” he whispered. “I’m here now. You won’t lose me—I'm right here, with you.” He leaned down and kissed Ronan’s forehead, then pressed his own against it. For a few minutes, they sat very still, just breathing in each others’ air. 

“I think we’re both kind of broken,” Adam admitted, laughing under his breath. “But... I think I feel better being broken with you than I would being whole without you. We fill each other’s missing pieces, you know?” 

“I know,” Ronan breathed. He sat up, scooting back against the headboard, and for a while he sat in silence, holding Adam in his lap and petting at his hair and massaging his hips and thighs, strained from being frozen so long. Adam left soft fairy kisses on his neck and traced the lines of his tattoo over his shirt. 

“I wrote a poem about it, actually,” Adam said eventually. “About us. Glass.” 

“Glass?” Ronan echoed, amused. Adam grinned and slowly eased himself off Ronan’s lap, digging through his backpack for his journal. His dad had torn some of the pages, but for the most part he’d just thrown it in his son’s face, and it had escaped largely unscathed. 

“Here,” he said, finding the page. 

Ronan took the book curiously. 

I heard you say you love me  

And I know you mean it.  

I mean it too  

When I think it at night  

Because you are my world  

My light  

My life  

My love  

But sometimes, when it is dark  

I think of you  

I wonder  

If we are glass  

If we crack  

If we break  

If we shatter  

Will you love me then?  

Will you call me yours when I am scarred   

Will you hold me close when I am in pieces  

Will you soothe me when I scream?  

I love you  

Because you are glass  

Because you are graceful  

And delicate  

And broken  

Because you are glass,  

Your trust means so much more  

Than that of someone iron  

Unbreakable.  

I know  

That I am glass  

That I am damaged  

And brittle  

And cold.  

But you are a molten core  

You light me up  

And seep through the cracks  

And cool in my heart  

And soothe me where I am torn.  

And to you I am the same  

The fire  

The safety  

The warmth  

The healing.  

We are broken  

We who are glass  

But perhaps together  

We are stronger than iron  

Because we who are glass  

Are the ones who know how to pick up the pieces  

And start again.  

Ronan was crying, when he finished it. “Adam,” he whispered hoarsely. He had no other words, so he pulled the blond back into his lap and hugged him, fierce and close, and then tilted his head up and slotted their lips together. 

It felt as easy as breathing, as natural as dreaming, maybe more so. When Ronan kissed Adam, he felt Cabeswater sigh, content and relaxed—or maybe that was just Adam, melting against his body. 

The kiss was unbearably soft, for one belonging to a broken delinquent and a crumbling abuse victim. For a dreamer and a magician, though, it was perfect. 

Ronan tasted summer sweetness on Adam’s breath; impossible, probably Cabeswater, maybe his own giddiness. He hoped he wasn’t dreaming. 

When Adam pulled back, though, his eyes, half-lidded and open, were electric. Ronan kissed him again, harder, until they were breathless. Adam nipped at his jaw. Ronan kissed his knuckles. 

He was never sleeping again.