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Being the only non-psychic in a house full of psychics had many disadvantages. For one, everyone around her was attuned to a greater shared common knowledge, like a secret that had never been voiced, or a dream that had never been seen, or as if they were all listening to a radio frequency only she lacked. Whenever Blue Sargent caught Maura and Calla, or Calla and Persephone, or Maura and Persephone sharing a look , she knew that there was a loop, and she’d been accidentally left out of it.
It was frustrating.
Of course there were downsides to being a psychic, she knew them well enough. Headaches that turned to migraines were a weekly occurrence. She was often in charge of bringing in cold compresses for someone’s aching forehead, and she’d perfected the art of shutting down the old blinds without making them screech for everyone’s benefit. Maura said she gave the best massages, too, but she didn’t share that in case Orla decided to use it against her in a moment of weakness. (She loved her cousin in her own way, sure, but loving and liking a person wasn’t the same thing.)
They sometimes forgot that she didn’t know. Never on purpose, of course not, but they would make startling comments here and there as though she was “in” on it—which she was often not. Only Maura and Jimi seemed to feel particularly guilty when that happened, Orla would just cackle, Calla would huff (at herself, or Blue, depending on the mood), and Persephone would just hum in reflection.
There were some tricks to getting around them. One didn’t grow up lacking without honing a skill to make up for it. On one hand, she could amplify other people’s powers, but on the other she had a keen sense of… she didn’t know what to call it.
Intuition?
(She hated the word “intuition” because of how society pushed it onto her for being a woman — “femenine intuition” bullshit, when they just really meant that women were more perceptive than men gave them credit for.)
But still, it was a sense that had nothing to do with psychic powers and everything to do with good timing, decent observational skills, sensible deductions, and emotional intelligence. She was good at those.
Which is why that one rainy random Friday evening, she frowned at that one booth at Nino’s, which was currently empty, and should instead be occupied by her favorite least favorite Raven Boys.
She knew that Richard Campbell Gansey III — or, just, you know, Gansey — was out of town because Helen had some important announcement that required him to go to DC. (Ronan had joked about her being pregnant, to Gansey’s dismay, and he hadn’t seemed impressed when Blue ripped him a new one for assuming that any big announcements for women had to do with their uteruses.)
Ronan, she guessed, was probably getting in trouble with that boy nobody liked, least of all herself, what with all the illegal racing and the even more illegal drugs.
She couldn’t guess where Noah or Adam were, or why they didn’t come on their own to Nino’s. They were friends, close friends, though Noah was a bit difficult to talk with lately because of his random bouts of… she didn’t know what to call it without being insensitive, and Blue hated being insensitive. And Adam had probably finished work by now, though she didn’t know his schedule as well as the other boys did, but he knew he was always welcome with her.
Did he, though?
They hadn’t technically broken up because they’d technically never been together, but their relationship had definitely… shifted. They were still friends, of course they were, and she still loved him in her own imperfect way, and she knew he loved her in his own imperfectness. They both cared about their friendship, so she thought of him often.
Gansey was the love of her life according to fate or whatever, but Adam was her first love. One didn’t stop caring for someone like that easily.
As she cleaned the counter with a wet cloth, she wondered if he just didn’t want to face her alone. Perhaps it was more awkward for him than for her.
He’d definitely been through a lot, especially these past few months. She hadn’t asked and nobody had told her — well, Ronan had given her a look , but no words were ever exchanged — but she knew that the reason Adam now lived in the apartment at the church was that something bad, something really bad, had happened at home. And if it was worse than the cuts and bruises she’d been seeing already, then it had to be truly awful.
Her blood still froze whenever she remembered that he was now deaf in his left ear.
For some reason, the thoughts sat uncomfortably in her gut. She couldn’t pinpoint what about it made her feel uneasy, or what exactly didn’t, but she decided to make a choice for tonight. Perhaps not so much for Adam’s sake but for her own, and she was okay with that.
She was allowed to make decisions for her own sake, thank you very much.
And when the large pepperoni pizza order got canceled just as they had pulled it out of the oven, she made an executive choice.
Persephone was the one to pick up the phone when she’d called from Nino’s tiny office. When Blue told her that she would be spending the evening outside, she’d half-expected a reaction, anything from ‘I’ll ask Maura, hang on,’ to ‘make sure you’re safe and call us if you need someone to pick you up,’ but all she got was a soft ‘in the cupboard over the fridge.’
Which, weird , but that was what it was like to live with psychics.
It had been easy to call dibs on the pizza—usually, abandoned pieces would be distributed among the staff as a well-deserved pick-me-up, but everyone knew Blue had been covering more shifts than usual, and they also knew she was hard-working, kind, and she rarely asked for anything (she was never “difficult” when she interacted with her to her co-workers, of course, because they got it) (and she resented the word “difficult” even if she’d thought of it herself because why were women considered “difficult” only when they stood up for themselves?).
That’s how she found herself balancing the huge cardboard box in one hand, holding her tiny umbrella in the other, and making her way to St. Agnes.
She had no idea how Adam would react to her showing up unannounced—with food, no less, though she’d make it clear nobody had actually paid for it, and it would go to the trash otherwise. If there was one thing Adam and Blue had in common is that they hated for things to go to waste (and their contempt for their rich friends’ lack of awareness when it came to counting pennies). Poverty did that to people, and though their upbringings had been vastly different, their views on money were matched to perfection.
Why on Earth is St. Agnes so far away?
Not that it really was, but it was late, it was raining, she was tired, and her legs were short.
Now that she was on her way, she was looking forward to seeing Adam. It had been a few days—he, too, was taking more work hours than usual, so they never saw each other for more than a handful of minutes before one or both of them had to run. She wanted to check up on him (without him knowing she was checking up on him), wanted to vent about her own frustrations that rich boys would never get , and, honestly? She just missed him.
She missed him.
Adam was… complicated. She saw the goodness he had—genuine, pure, raw goodness. She knew how smart he was, how well he read the room, how ambition would carry him further than anyone else’s sister’s helicopters. But for a few weeks now, he’d also been drowning in something she couldn’t name. Of course, there were the strange remains of their relationship hindering the path in between them, sure, whatever, but it was something more.
It was in the look in his eyes when he’d snapped at her in his apartment. It was the surge of destructive energy coursing through his veins as he’d jumped at an invisible threat. At the time, Blue had been speechless and perhaps scared, though it had taken her a moment to figure out that she hadn’t been scared of Adam, she’d been scared for him.
The way his blue eyes had widened with the realization of what he’d done had tugged at her heartstrings and seared themselves behind her eyelids. He’s been angry and hateful, not towards her, not really, but towards himself. And Blue hated that someone who had never been loved could drown in hate.
She couldn’t be his girlfriend, she could never kiss him.
But she could be his friend and bring him pizza.
Adam might still be hurt and confused about her and she wanted to respect his boundaries, but at the same time, she also wanted to be seen . Not as his almost-girlfriend, but just as Blue Sargent.
They couldn’t heal from each other if they kept hiding from each other.
Finally, finally , she arrived.
She took the stairs carefully, not too loudly, but loud enough that he would hear her coming. Then, she decided to stomp on her feet a bit harder because suddenly the concern that he wouldn’t — couldn’t — hear her at all made her knees weak.
She knocked.
It took a few tries, but finally Blue heard some movement behind the door, so she stilled her fist and bounced on the balls of her feet while she waited for Adam to let her in. She frowned, impatient, when it took way longer than it should’ve… She’d been to his apartment before, and even from the furthest point to the door, it would only take him five long strides, tops.
“Adam,” she called. “It’s Blue!”
Perhaps he’d been asleep. She bit her lip as the slow, slow movements on the other side finally registered. Adam had a way of moving—his footsteps were often heavy with exhaustion but quick, always in a hurry, always in the move, but what she heard were dragging feet, almost lethargic. Her lips curved downwards.
Before she could either knock or call out for him again, the door opened with a creak, high-pitched and ominous.
“Oh.”
“Blue…?”
The only thing keeping him upright was the doorframe, and just barely if the way he leaned his weight against it was any indication. His face, naturally tan, was white as a sheet, and the bags under his eyes were dark like bruises, an image she’d seen too often and that she could never forget quick enough. There was a glassiness to his red-rimmed eyes, and the way he squinted at her indicated that keeping them focused on her was probably painful.
“Is everything okay?” he managed. Because the way he spoke was controlled and stiff.
She recognized the signs immediately.
Well, the pizza would have to wait because surely Adam wouldn’t be able to stomach such a grasy meal when he looked like death warmed over, but it would help him after his stomach settled.
She leaned her umbrella against the hallway and softly put her hand over his arm. He was trembling.
“I should be the one asking you that,” she replied, keeping her voice soft.
“I’m not the one who came by unannounced,” he grumbled. Any other day she would’ve taken offense, but she gave him a pass.
“Let me in,” she whispered.
He must’ve been too tired to argue because he allowed her to guide him back inside. Blue put the box on top of the mini-fridge because his desk was littered with notes and an open textbook that looked way too dense to manage at this time at night, not to mention at the state he was in. The small lamp was the only source of light, and she knew enough to know that even that soft glow had to be murderous right now.
Maybe intuition was right, after all.
It was a testament to how awful he felt that he let her guide him towards the tiny twin bed. He refused to lie down, and instead leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
“Since when do you have migraines?”
He looked up and grimaced, probably the discomfort of moving so quickly. She took pity on him and squatted on the floor in front of him, a gesture for him to rest as comfortably as he allowed himself. She waited for his answer.
“You know,” he said, in the end. She frowned, about to ask again, but then he gestured at his left ear.
The floor fell from under her. She swallowed.
“Does it happen often?”
“Twice.”
Any other day, Blue would’ve wondered why he was being so forthcoming with her questions, but right now she knew she had to accept those answers for what they really were—a gift. Proof of trust. Something that Adam Parrish rarely gave out, so it was to be treasured. She could do that.
“Did you take something?”
He didn’t respond, but that was okay because of course he hadn’t. Pursing her lips, Blue stood up slowly and walked to the corner that was the kitchen. What had Persephone said? The cupboard over the fridge—a plastic bucket. Huh . She carried it with her back to Adam’s side and softly, softly placed it on the floor next to him. She took her spot on the floor, in front of him.
“You can sit, y’know.” He only ever let his Henrietta accent slip when he lacked the energy to clip it.
“I know.”
He released his forehead from his hands and sent her a look that wasn’t really a glare.
“I just—” Blue shrugged and nodded her head towards the pizza box. “They canceled the order and I thought we might as well eat it together so it won’t go to waste.”
“I’m not gonna…” Adam winced and rested his head again. “You can bring it home.”
Indignation spiked in her spine but Blue forced herself to remain steady. She knew migraines, and she understood that pain made people vulnerable, and moments of weakness had Adam overcompensating with meanness. And, technically, he had a point. If he ate it now, it would go to waste, and if he ate it the following morning, then she wouldn’t eat it with him and everything would be weird. She knew Adam Parrish and how he managed his finances, and she could take it or leave it—so she took it.
“Yeah, okay.”
(Whether she would take it back home, or not, was to be seen. The damn pizza wasn’t high on her priority list right now.)
As Adam sat down and breathed, deep conscious inhales and controlled exhales, Blue wondered what he would’ve done had she not listened to her… fine , to her intuition. Migraines were powerful beasts.
“‘M not good company.”
“I know.” A pause. “Do you want me to leave?”
Blue spoke the words slowly. She didn’t want to leave. Not like this, not when she could actually help if he’d let her—if he’d let her. Adam was important to her, and she knew she was important to him. If he asked her to, however, she would—perhaps after a soft and generic ‘get well soon,’ or after squeezing his hand, but she would go. If Adam didn’t want to be vulnerable around her, whether it was because of their history or because that was who Adam was , she had to respect him. She would.
But.
If there was a chance he wanted her close…
Blue saw the signs probably faster than he felt them—she swiped the bucket and placed it in front of him, wincing when the dry heaves started. She felt his icy hands hold it and she let go, now standing, hovering. Everything in her was mid-battle. Adam was in pain and she could help soothe it, but she had no doubt in her mind that he absolutely despised her seeing him right now. The tension in his shoulders, the gasps; it was uncomfortable for both of them, but Blue could see it through.
Could Adam?
Ignoring the sounds, Blue took small and silent steps towards the bathroom and found two folded hand towels under the sink. She took one and ran it under cold water, wringing out the excess, and left the tiny cubicle in time for Adam to put the bucket down and hide it under the bed. It smelled acidic and rank, and Blue wanted to open the window but she didn’t.
He was in the same position as before, face hidden. His breathing was heavy and controlled, but his trembling had intensified.
“Here,” she whispered, holding out the towel and touching his hand with it.
To her relief, he took it and wiped his face. (Though, to be fair, it’d probably be worse for his pride if he hadn’t.)
And, she realized, he hadn’t answered her question.
“I can stay with you,” she said, keeping her voice even.
“It’s pouring.” A pause. “You’d get drenched.”
It was a testament to how much he trusted her, despite their… everything, or perhaps because of it. And it was clear that he didn’t want her here, though he probably didn’t want her gone , either. Blue bit her lip and sat next to him, leaving a space in between them so that he wouldn’t feel caged. After a moment of thought, she took the threadbare blanket and wrapped it around his shaking shoulders.
She wanted to tell him to lie down, to put his head on her lap, to run her fingers through his hair in the way she knew Calla loved. But instead, she waited, silently.
“Thanks.”
She blinked and almost, almost asked ‘for what’ but instead she just smiled to herself and said, “ Pshaw . Thank you for letting me hide from the rain, I guess.” She used her most disinterested voice.