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“Fuck. Fuck, fuck it. Jesus damn, Chainsaw.” Ronan sighed and put his hands on his hips. He stared at the pile in his closet ruefully. It had started to avalanche a little now that the door wasn’t holding it up. He turned around to Chainsaw as she flapped on his duvet, trying to mirror his frustration.
“Fuck dammit, bird. Why did you let me forget about this shit?” Squah. She sounded offended. “Well, now I’m kinda fucked. Nice goin’."
It was still winter break, but only for another weekend; Adam had gone back to the garage for a Saturday morning shift. Ronan made him take the BMW; Adam hadn’t protested much, using the melting snow as justification. Now Ronan was fucking around the house until Adam returned. There wasn’t much to do. He couldn’t even have cleaned, even if he’d wanted to, as Adam had already forced him to scrub every inch of the house after how they’d wrecked it on New Year’s Eve. So Ronan had been shuffling around his room, looking for new dream objects from his childhood hidden on backs of shelves or shoved in the back of his closet—he tended to find at least one new knickknack ever time he did this; sometimes it was rewarding, sometimes it made him cry. But he’d just kicked around in his closet for a second before he pulled aside a couple pairs of jeans he’d been missing to see the pile of gadgets he’d stashed there not a month ago. Fuck, he thought again.
It was a few things he’d planned on giving the others for Christmas, back when he was just thinking small and hadn’t decided on anything specific yet. It was also before he’d schemed to start dreaming Adam all the shit he’d need for college, and all the shit he needed period, so that Adam couldn’t get all shitty about money. He’d totally forgotten about this pile of junk because he’d gotten excited about his newer ideas and had hid them in a different place and he couldn’t stop thinking about that shit so he’d forgotten about this shit entirely. He plopped down on his ass beside the pile to dig through it; Chainsaw joined him, pecking performatively at the carpet. She had the spirit, as usual.
He couldn’t quite tell what the objects were, and tried to sift through his memories for what they were supposed to be, but didn’t get far. He jumped when he heard Adam pull up outside and felt around the closet floor for a bag or something he could shove stuff into; his fingers grazed a burlap-ish something and shoved the dream objects into whatever the hell it was. He hefted it up, making sure it wouldn’t break. As he did, he listened to the methodical noises of Adam’s homecoming: the gentle click of the door, the soft rustle and thump of his coat and shoes coming off, and the padding of his socked feet up the stairs. Ronan grinned and almost laughed out loud. He was excited again for the first time since December thirty-first.
Adam peeked into his room; Ronan’d left the door open. “Hey,” he said, immediately sizing up Ronan’s sack (ha) and expression. Ronan flashed him a let’s go for a ride look. Adam new what it meant; his body language opened up in response.
“Are you driving to Henrietta or am I?” Ronan asked, though he threw Adam the keys, and when Adam tossed them back he stuffed them in Adam’s back pocket. Adam driving his car with him in the passenger’s seat was a new development that Ronan had not anticipated liking so much. But it was like as soon as the keys were in his hand, some stupid pheromones starting oozing out of Adam’s skin that made Ronan wanna lick him. When Adam drove the Beemer, he sat up a little straighter, held his chin a little higher, took up a little more room with his elbows and his knees. He looked on the outside like he was on the inside, Ronan thought: older, more powerful, more knowing. Ronan gave Adam a look over his shoulder as he passed that he hoped was more flirty than deranged.
“What’s in the bag?” Adam asked. Sometimes when he talked to Ronan like that, it sounded like he was asking a child about a violent crayon drawing. Ronan liked it.
He tried to respond with a dirty joke about bags, but he couldn’t think of one. “You’ll see when we get to Fox Way,” he said instead. He stomped down the stairs and looked around for his boots—he grabbed one from the kitchen and found the other in the living room. He set the bag down beside him on the sofa while he put them on. Adam sat on its other side and made to touch it. “Ah.” Ronan swatted his hand and wagged a finger. “Surprise.”
Adam narrowed his eyes but that indulgent smirk appeared on his tired face. There was a grease spot on his sleeve. “Alright, I’ll go put my shoes and coat back on,” he said with an eye-roll. Ronan eyed his ass a little when he got up.
“Get your driving gloves too, cowboy,” he called. He smiled to himself. The bag sizzled with energy beside him.
———
Blue answered the door in a blue tunic and magenta lipstick. “Hey,” she said, smiling and sort of breathless. She stood in place as Ronan shoved past her, which was their ritual now. As he did, he thought how glad he was that she wasn’t wearing those boots he’d gotten her—they made her way too tall. She only came up to about his shoulder in them, but he wasn’t used to it, so he didn’t like it very much. He did think she looked pretty badass in those stompers though. He wanted her to look as intimidating as possible, so she could ward off people outside their group, or just to frighten people in general—a useful and necessary skill. He thought the boots went well with her knife and her new piercings.
They stepped into the living room where Gansey and Henry were whispering to each other and laughing quietly. Henry’s face was pinkish. Ronan’s mood dampened a little; Henry was making the group change in ways Ronan didn’t enjoy. Gansey leaned into Henry a little more before he looked up and saw the three of them. He quickly straightened himself as he addressed them.
“Boys!” he said at the same time Henry squeezed out a high-pitched “Heyyy!” Ronan stepped forward so that his shins touched Gansey’s knees. He slid an intimidating look between the two of them, just to watch Henry squirm, then shrugged the sack off his shoulder.
“Everybody on the floor,” he said, setting the bag down on the woven rug. “Papa Lynch has some surprises for you kiddos.”
Blue skipped to him and knocked her shoulder into his side before sitting down on his left. Ronan followed her and Adam did, too, folding his limbs up on the ground to his right. Ronan knocked kneecaps with Blue but sort of wished Gansey had sit next to him—he felt like it was never Ronan-and-Gansey anymore. Instead, Blue had somehow orchestrated a way to put Gansey between her and Henry. So they could share him, a thing they’d been doing shamelessly in the past few weeks. Ronan grit his teeth and tried to get his holiday spirit back. He refused to let anybody ruin this for him.
He plopped the bag into his lap and untwisted the part he’d used as a handle. Blue leaned over his lap and frowned. “Is that a literal potato sack?”
It appeared to be. It was a burlap sack with an old-looking red logo printed on it. Ronan couldn’t make out what it said, really; the words kept shifting so his eyes couldn’t capture them. He knew, somehow, that the words referred to some old Irish family farm. Not the Lynch family; this family was much more quaint, less tragic. This family was back in Ireland, in the green hills somewhere, and nothing ever changed for them except the seasons.
“I don’t know if dreamt things can be considered literal,” Adam said. Not sarcastically—he really was pondering the concept as he studied the bag. Ronan looked at the way his eyebrows furrowed for a moment before tugging the bag close to his chest.
“I dunno, Sargent. Why, you wanna wear it?” Ronan meant for it to be offensive, but Blue just raised her eyebrows and shrugged, like she was considering it. Ronan sighed heavily and pushed her face away. He retrieved his hand before she could bite it.
He’d planned to pull each item out one at a time, but he was tired of all the stalling, so he pointedly dumped it all out on the rug.
“Efficient, Lynch, I like it,” Henry commented flippantly. He was looking at the floor, though, not at Ronan. “I like people who just get shit done, you know?” Ronan grunted dismissively.
He picked up the first thing that caught his eye: a neon teal (a color Ronan had never thought of until he dreamt it) beanie. He tried to think back what and who it was for. He couldn’t really remember what he’d been thinking in the dream he’d brought these things from—he hadn’t gone to sleep with anything specific in mind, just feelings that he hoped would become tangible. He’d also been feeling a tad manic at the time, keyed up on Christmas spirit and the new lightness of his grief.
Henry blinked rapidly at the hat in Ronan’s hands. “Wow,” he commented, “what. A. Color.”
Blue giggled. “I like it. Honestly,” she said to Ronan. Then to Henry, “I think it’d suit you, actually.” To Henry’s skeptical eyebrow, she said, “No, really. Bright colors like that really look nice on you.”
Ronan grunted rudely in reply—one, because this color was not simply bright, it was fluorescent; two, because Ronan had a stray thought that Henry, with his even complexion, dark eyes, and dark hair, really could pull off stupidly flashy shit; and three, because Ronan realized he had dreamt this for Henry, though he couldn’t remember why. Probably because it was so fucking ugly.
“Never,” Henry was saying. He gestured to his huge hair. “It would never fit.”
“That’s what your dad said last night,” Ronan said as he crawled across their little circle, the idea coming back to him and making him grin.
“Hah, Lynch, cute—why are you—Ronan NO—” he shouted, but it was too late; Ronan had wrestled his hands away and smushed the cap down over his head, flattening tufts of hair against his forehead. Ronan though it looked similar to Chainsaw’s feathers. He roughly patted the top of Henry’s head, and crawled back to his spot without another word. The others couldn’t stop laughing and Henry was riding it out with a disgusted expression on his face. Every time the giggling lulled he’d gingerly adjust his hair out of his eyes or touch the cap and shudder and the laughter would roar again. Blue was laughing so hard she was crying, and even Adam was laughing so hard he was doing that high-pitched giggle he did when he was really loose. Ronan couldn’t hold back his own bitten-off laughter.
“Okay, next,” he announced over the pandemonium. He picked up the first thing that caught his eye, then saw what it was and immediately sobered. He didn’t remember finding it in the dream, but he does remember being equally embarrassed when he’d brought it back as he was now. The laughter died down as the others watched him expectantly; he just studied the bottle and tried to will the heat from his face. Then, as he’d dreaded, Gansey made a surprised little sound.
“Oh,” Gansey said quietly, like he’d found something shiny on the ground. He shifted closer to Ronan across the circle. “Oh, Ronan.” It sounded affectionate and sort of pitying and it made Ronan feel so little.
Gansey, settled on his knees facing Ronan, put his hand over the small bottle and gently took it from Ronan’s hands. He studied the label as Ronan had, ran his thumb over the red wax seal like he sometimes ran his thumb over his bottom lip. Ronan couldn’t take his eyes off of Gansey’s face. He hoped to God and Mary that Gansey wouldn’t be mad, or—worse—dismiss it entirely.
But Gansey just looked back at Ronan and smiled carefully, sweetly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t—he seemed to be keeping a lot to himself, lately. Instead, he unscrewed the lid and took a roguish swig. He winced and hissed after he choked it down. Ronan huffed a half-chuckle. “Too much, kid?” he teased weakly.
Gansey smiled handsomely, with his teeth, with one dimple. “Let’s see how well you can do, then,” he said, too lowly, expression too knowing. Ronan flushed harder. He could feel everyone’s eyes on them.
He snatched the bottle and took a big, reckless gulp—it was awful. It was cheap whiskey, or at least, it was imitating cheap whiskey. It tasted just like the bottle Ronan had somehow smuggled from a Henrietta corner store with a shitty fake ID and Gansey’s cash freshman year. They’d taken it back to Gansey’s dorm room, where he’d snuck Ronan—a couple others had seen, but none of them would snitch on Gansey. Gansey had a single, no roommate. They’d shared sips on Gansey’s bed, sitting in the sounds of their own giggles and nothing else. They both knew they wouldn’t get in trouble, but the thrill was there anyway. Ronan teased Gansey for choking on every sip and did what he thought was a great job at masking his own disgust while Gansey quietly laughed at him. They got drunker than either had ever been and flopped on their backs on Gansey’s twin bed, talking about anything and everything, like young friends do. Ronan had made Gansey laugh really hard, so hard his glasses fell halfway off his face, and Ronan laughed in reply. He sat up on one elbow and reached over Gansey’s face to fix his glasses, and then he was brushing his lips against Gansey’s: not a kiss, but the wish for one. He quickly pulled back, horrified with himself, and tried to get off the bed, but Gansey tugged him back down. Like he was soothing a feral creature, Gansey silently persuaded Ronan to stay. When Ronan finally settled back in the spot he’d been in, still poised to flee, Gansey smiled and continued the story he’d been telling about his trip to Wyoming. Ronan listened as Gansey looked at the ceiling instead of him, certain he’d ruined everything. But Gansey made Ronan stay in that bed, even when they dozed off together; then he smuggled Ronan out in the morning and they went to Nino’s for a hungover brunch. Gansey half pretended like nothing happened, but also half acted like Ronan had told him a really big secret—like he was pleased to be the only one who knew. That morning, Ronan fell out of like with Gansey and dove headfirst into complete devotion.
Now, he took the cap from Gansey’s fingers and screwed it back on, then handed it back to Gansey. His heart hammered in his chest. “Here you go. Thought I’d get you something real nice, real sophisticated.” Gansey chuckled, because even four years later, the whiskey tasted like piss.
Gansey hugged him with one arm around the shoulders, the side of his face pressed into the side of Ronan’s. Ronan suddenly felt really old, like he’d blinked at fourteen and had opened his eyes a legal adult. Gansey pulled away, and Ronan saw the unshaved stubble that had rubbed against his own. He ran a palm chummily over Gansey’s face and slapped him lightly. “You’re turning out a fine young man, Dickard.”
Gansey smiled with his eyes. “Thank you, Ronan.” His tone was too sincere. “You are, too.” He sat back in his spot on Blue’s right. She was blinking in surprise, sharing glances with Henry and Adam. Ronan felt Adam’s eyes on him, but couldn’t look just yet. He dug silently into the pile again.
Something pricked his clammy palm and he cursed. He carefully picked it up; it was an enamel pin, like one of the ones Adam had gotten Blue, like the ones Blue wore on her knitted handbags and on her backpack and on the collars of her blouses. It was a 3-D pair of neon-pink pursed lips. He half-smiled and presented it to Blue.
She rolled her eyes fondly. “Aww, a kiss, how ironic,” she said to him drily, but then looked back at the pin and yelped. The lips twitched, then parted, revealing a red tongue and white teeth. The lips opened wider and the tongue darted out to run over a pair of badass vampire fangs. Ronan grinned and made to pin it to her dress, but she grabbed his wrist. “Wait, wait—I wanna look at it,” she said softly, and lifted it to her eyes to study like a bug. The others gathered around her to ooh and ahh and kinda gross, Lynch.
Ronan watched them watch the invention, but Adam managed to catch his eyes, and Ronan felt that it wasn’t fair to avoid him anymore. Adam crawled closer to him. He put his hand over Ronan’s thigh, which Ronan hoped meant he wasn’t put off—he was constantly worrying that Adam would wake up one day and realize that Ronan really was a freak and would leave. But Adam just leaned in and chastely kissed the corner of Ronan’s mouth, surprising him. Ronan looked at him for some sort of explanation, or a question, or even a lecture, but Adam just gestured to the rest of the items. “What else have you got?” he asked gently. Ronan looked.
There were a few more little knickknacks on a swath of purple fabric. A lot of them, Ronan realized, were Tech Decks—there were about a dozen of them. He laughed once, loudly. He toyed with one and as soon as he touched his fingertips to it, it began moving on its own, doing tricks and flips in the air. He touched all of them and soon they were all moving at once, colliding with each other in the air. The others watched and laughed delightedly as he had. It was incredible; it was like watching birds dance midair in their own chaotic formation.
“Who is this for?” Blue asked. Ronan’s mind went immediately and strangely blank. He couldn’t remember who he’d dreamt these for. He’d forgotten about the other items, but remembered once he touched and interacted with them, especially with his people sitting around him; it was easy, then, to match the energies of the objects to the energies of the people. But this gift’s energy didn’t match any other in the room. He couldn’t match it with any of them, even though they were all so pleased by it. He frowned, and Blue mirrored him; the little skateboards slowed, and a couple fell back to the ground, motionless. Blue hummed curiously, sort of sadly. Ronan also felt that mysterious melancholy settle about him. He tried to shake it off.
He gathered all the toys in his hands; they stilled. He shoved them all at Blue. “Here,” he grunted to her confused eyebrow, “you can have them. Take care of ‘em. They need a good home.” He looked away, but knew she was still looking at him. She didn’t take the toys from his hands. Maybe she felt what he did. Adam squeezed Ronan’s thigh and Ronan met his gaze; he was frowning as well. Adam felt it too. Ronan set the toys behind him and tried to push that funny feeling away.
He surveyed the objects that were left; there were two. One was a small cassette tape, the other a shiny bundle of gold that made Ronan’s heart race. He picked up the cassette first and flipped it over to read the title. He cackled, extremely pleased with himself. He passed it to Adam, who raised an eyebrow, because he definitely knew what was coming.
Adam’s expression was dry at first, but as he read the words, his eyebrows went up minutely and heat flooded his face. He tried to keep his face flat, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he fought a smile. He laughed and shook his head as Ronan cackled like a witch.
“What does it say?” Blue asked fervently, leaning forward. Adam leaned back, putting the tape out of her reach.
“Nothing,” he said through a shy laugh. The others oooh’d at him.
“I think it is something, loverboy. Give it.” Henry tried to snatch it but Adam pulled it away again.
“No! It’s—it’s in Latin, anyway. You guys wouldn’t be able to read it.” His gaze shifted nervously to Ronan, who gave him an exaggeratedly shocked expression. “And Ronan’s grammar is so bad, it wouldn’t even make sense in Google translate, so—“
“You little fucking liar!” Ronan gasped, and Adam flinched. “You really thought you were gonna get away with that, didn’t you? Motherfucker.” He turned to the others. “It’s in perfect fucking English.” They gasped. Adam buried his face in his hands, still holding the tape.
Ronan swatted another hand away from the tape. He nudged Adam in the ribs, in one of his ticklish spots. “Come on, Parrish, read it to ‘em. I know you’re not that shy.” When Adam peeked through he fingers, Ronan gave him rakish grin. He groaned, but Ronan could tell it was through a smile.
They egged him on and teased him, but he refused. Finally, Ronan took the tape from him. Adam lunged for it, but Ronan got him in a tight headlock and held the tape out of his reach. He cleared his throat and read out the title from memory.
“Watch the Window and Use Both Hands: a Parrish Backseat Original Playlist,” he announced. Blue snorted and Henry cackled; Gansey just blushed a little and shook his head.
“I think there might be a story behind that,” Henry commented.
“No,” Adam responded immediately, obviously panicked. Ronan started laughing so hard he couldn’t stop; he rolled over and collapsed in Adam’s lap, laughing into his belly. Adam flicked his ear and then his face. “You’re such an asshole,” he said. There was a story behind it—involving Adam trying to seduce Ronan with music Ronan hated, a not-as-empty-as-they-thought parking lot, a bumped head, and Adam being kind of an idiot, which was the best part. It was the first and last time Adam was allowed to use the aux in the BMW. It was the first and not the last time they piled into the backseat together. Ronan couldn’t stop smiling up at Adam.
Adam heaved a big sigh and looked up at the ceiling like he was begging God to smite him. Then he stretched forward, smothering Ronan in his shirt for a second. When he sat back up, he held something small, gold, and delicate between his fingers. Ronan’s heart stopped.
“What’s this?” He asked Ronan. His face was neutral except for the look in his eyes—it was meaningful, and focused 110% on Ronan. He splayed the object out over his slender fingertips and studied it, though Ronan was sure he knew what it was already. It was two gold rings attached to the same gold chain loop.
Adam looked back at him and raised an eyebrow playfully. “Tiny handcuffs?” The others chuckled lightly.
Ronan huffed through his nose and tried to relax a little. “I think—I guess I was trying to make a necklace, and I fucked it up.” He probably didn’t fuck up; he probably did exactly what he meant to. But his intentions in dreams got a little fuzzy once he woke up. The total lack of inhibition he felt while asleep could usually justify his less justifiable dream things, the ones that disrespected reality and its boundaries. Most things seemed perfectly reasonable in dreams. Sometimes they only seemed impossible once he’d woken up again.
Adam rubbed over the rings with the pad of his thumb, then folded them into his palm and smiled sweetly at Ronan. Ronan felt that fear again—that Adam would wake up, any second now, he’d wake up and realize that he should get out while he can. But Adam took the fist holding the rings and stroked Ronan’s face lightly with his knuckles, smiling in a way Ronan now recognized as that genuine smile, so rare it sometimes threw them both off-balance. Ronan relaxed a little into his lap, Adam’s thigh pillowing his head. Ronan looked and looked at him, bathed in his smell.
“Ahem.” Ronan bristled at the broken moment. He sat up—Blue had cleared her throat, and was looking supremely awkward. “So, um,” she started cautiously, “what’s that?” She was pointing at the purple fabric. Ronan sighed a little and sat all the way up. He held the fabric up and turned it around until it made sense. He held it by the lapels—it was a shirt. He groaned and smirked at the same time as he remembered.
“Is that,” Blue stage whispered, sounding similarly horrified, “a fucking Polo?” It was a fucking Polo. Ronan turned it around to show them: Blue looked stricken; Henry looked absolutely bemused, but also on the verge of hysteria; and Gansey looked delighted, sort of smug, even. Ronan rolled his eyes and tossed it in their direction.
Blue picked it up like it was poisonous—like, not in a cool way—and held it up against her shoulders. It was neon purple, and the little horse on the breast was neon pink. It went down to her shins. She looked witheringly at Ronan. “Are you kidding me, Lynch?”
He snorted. It was coming back to him. He rolled his eyes and walked over to her, tugging a nervous Henry up on his way. He took the shirt from her and wrestled it partway over both their heads; it would be a bit of a stretch, but once they got through that part, the rest would work. It should have worked, but they wouldn’t stop struggling.
“What the fuck are you—” Blue shrieked, and kicked him in the shin. He cursed and let them go. They wriggled around a little more, but instead of getting it off, the shirt just fell all the way down, and they were trapped within it. They both looked perplexed as all fuck; Blue looked like she would be livid if she weren’t so confused.
Gansey was just smiling so, so brightly. Ronan rolled his eyes at how absolutely charmed he looked.
“It’s their get-along shirt,” Gansey said, awed.
Ronan nodded. “It’s their get-along shirt.”
“Our get-along—what the fuck are you playing at, Lynch?” Blue snarled. She was still trapped within the shirt like a burrito, but Henry had popped one arm through. He smiled crookedly.
“Come on, Janie,” Henry crooned, nuzzling the top of Blue’s head with his chin. The nickname surprised Ronan, for some reason. “Now you have an excuse to snuggle with me without sacrificing your pride.”
Blue finally snorted in genuine laughter, which cracked the rest of them up. “Oh yeah, ‘cus,” she said between hiccups of laughter, “because I feel perfectly dignified right now, yeah.” She kept cackling, and Ronan caught the giggles too.
Henry grinned hard. “It’s a really nice business casual, really,” he said seriously. He raised his eyebrows and nodded at Ronan. “And efficient, too. Two for one. What a steal!”
Gansey finally stood up, giggling. He looked so young, Ronan thought. Gansey had always been an old soul, so serious and heavy all the time; Ronan used to work so hard to bring out the wild youth in him. Racing the Pig, getting drunk on rooftops, dreaming and dreaming and dreaming—it had all been to get that weary look out of Gansey’s eyes, if just for a moment.
Gansey had changed since…everything. Ronan knew that. It scared him a lot. Gansey was still a grandpa, but instead of that frazzled weariness he’d always carried in his shoulders and the lines of his eyes, now he had this…this wizened feel to him. Ronan didn’t know how to describe it other than wisdom, though that wasn’t it. Worldliness, maybe? Like he’d seen everything he’d ever needed to see, like he was no longer blind to the future; like he wasn’t preparing himself for whatever was waiting around the corner. He no longer possessed the obsessive drive he’d had since Ronan had met him, yet Ronan could sense the passion that was still there—a new kind. That should have relieved him, but it didn’t. It scared him. It was at once a more mature and a more youthful passion than had ever existed in Gansey, and Ronan was so, so scared of how this man was changing. He didn’t know when Gansey had grown up, or when he himself had grown up, or whatever the fuck had happened—he’d missed it. He didn’t know where he’d been looking, but it evidently hadn’t been the right thing to look at.
Gansey smiled with one corner of his mouth higher than the other. His eyes were bright and excited, but he was relaxed, not like he’d erupt at any moment. He was relaxed, and joyful, and full of love. He held out his arms and pulled the Henry-Blue lump to his chest; Blue tried to look mad and stood stiff as a board while Henry melted into it and pressed a private smile into Gansey’s shoulder. Ronan’s chest tightened—he knew that this was right, but it felt so wrong to him. This was not how things used to be, he thought.
A hand lightly touched his upper back, and he jumped just barely before meeting Adam’s eyes. Adam looked so grown-up, too; he was tired but he was happy, and Ronan loved that so much. Adam rubbed his back firmly because Ronan had admitted how much he loved that, too. This was also not how things used to be.
Blue wrestled out of the shirt and punched the boys’ arms. “Whatever,” she said, flopping onto the sofa. “You can keep it, Henry. Looks nice on you. Really compliments your figure.”
Henry pulled the middle tight around his waist and stuck his ass out, modeling himself for Blue as she grinned. “You think a stiletto heel with this?”
“Yeah, for sure. Ooh, and some white mascara.”
“No no no, white mascara on bottom lashes, violet mascara on top.”
“Oh, fuck, of course. Duh.”
Gansey watched them banter with a gooey look on his face that made Ronan nauseous. Ronan stepped over the scattered gifts and threw his shoulder into Gansey’s, knocking him just a little unsteady. He didn’t smile.
Gansey did. “This is wonderful, Ronan. Thank you,” he said. He looked down at the whiskey bottle, and Ronan’s ears flushed. He mumbled something passable as language at the ground, toeing at the woven carpet. He felt Gansey’s hand on his bicep and flushed more. He couldn’t look up.
Gansey just stepped closer. “I love you, Ronan,” he said, and it sent a shock through Ronan like a naked wire. He finally looked Gansey in the face. His expression was too open and honest. Ronan ached about it. “I really do, man,” he said. He was smiling carefully. Ronan sighed and gave up.
“I love you too,” he said. It felt not good to say, but not because he didn’t mean it. It was because the only times he’d ever said that to Gansey was after his father died, on nights he spent in Gansey’s bed at Monmouth, crying silently into the sheets while Gansey stayed up for him. Nights when he’d tried to hide so Gansey wouldn’t have to see him drink himself to sleep. Nights where Gansey found him anyway, held him and cradled his sloppy face against his chest anyway.
Gansey hugged him, then. Not tightly, not their usual brotherly bear-hug. Gansey held him then like he had on those dark, sick nights. Ronan shook a little inside, but he held Gansey back just the same. This was not hard. Pulling away would be the hard part, he knew.
But he did pull away. Gansey patted his cheek chummily. Then he said, “It’s weird, growing up, isn’t it?” like he’d reached inside Ronan’s brain without asking first. Ronan’s heart jumped.
“Yeah,” he coughed. He clapped Gansey’s shoulder. “You’ve got the big eight-oh comin’ up, dontcha? ’S a real milestone.”
Gansey gave him the grace of a good-natured chuckle, and Ronan was able to get a tiny bit of his shit together. Adam approached them, then, joining in the non-conversation; Ronan at once thanked him for rescuing him and cursed him for not coming over sooner when Ronan knew his spidey-senses had to have been tingling at Ronan’s mess of anxious energy. Then Blue and Henry joined, and then they were all sitting on the floor again, screwing around and playing with their gadgets. Ronan sat with Gansey on his left and Adam on his right, Blue and Henry right in front of him. He felt suddenly at peace with how the group was sitting closer than they had been earlier. It was warm. Blue engaged Ronan in a kicking war, where their socked feet jabbed at each other from across the circle. When Ronan deflected Blue’s kicks into Adam’s knees a few too many times, Gansey threatened to wrap her up in the get-along shirt with Ronan; that made Ronan laugh from his belly. Gansey turned the adoring look he’d had all afternoon on Ronan. It was funny and cozy and pleasant.
When Adam’s Yawn Per Minute rate started to increase rapidly, Ronan decided to take him home and make him sleep. Adam would protest—it was only 4, and he had pre-course work to neurotically double and triple check—but Ronan didn’t care. He was tired, too. He wanted t0 not have to talk anymore. Adam hadn’t really spoken in the last five minutes. Ronan would take him back to the Barns for one last night and tuck him into the blanket nest they’d accumulated in his bed and hold him until he fell asleep. Then he’d get up and make Adam a huge dinner and make him eat until he was sleepy again. This was something they’d been doing many nights lately, but still, Ronan almost preened at the thought.
He tugged Adam’s hand and stood up, but immediately felt a sinking in his belly when the others looked up at him with startled eyes. “You leaving?” Blue asked, and Ronan didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t want to leave them, because he didn’t want to take his eyes off of them. He knew when he looked back again, they’ll have changed. He can’t blink, or he’ll miss it. He thinks about all of Adam’s time he’s been taking up, how many nights they spend just the two of them. He thinks about how many nights he used to spend with Gansey, just the two of them. He feels that dread again. He doesn’t know if he can leave.
But Blue has gone to the kitchen; Gansey is giving him another hug, and Ronan savors the scent of crushed mint and boy for just a second before Gansey’s moving on to Adam. He watches them hug and his stomach flips: they’re both so, so beautiful, Adam’s willowy arms circling Gansey’s back, one of the graceful hands on the nape of Gansey’s neck; Gansey’s neck flexing as he tilts his head to say something in Adam’s ear, his glasses bumping Adam’s face and tilting on Gansey’s nose; Adam’s loving, powerful face as they pull apart and Gansey squeezes his shoulders.
“They’re kind of sweet, aren’t they?” Ronan looks to his right—Henry has crept up beside him, watching what Ronan was. Ronan scowls, but Henry isn’t looking at him. He’s watching the tenderness between Gansey and Adam return to their usual witty, brotherly exchange, their hands in their pockets as they chuckle and smirk.
Henry still hasn’t looked at Ronan; maybe he wasn’t expecting an answer. Ronan sees that he’s holding the beanie and the shirt. He smirks to himself; it’s then that Henry looks. He holds up the beanie.
“You know, I think this thing’s already growing on me,” he says. He gives Ronan a close-mouthed grin. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Ronan scowls. “What do you mean.”
Henry looks nervous, which makes Ronan feel more stable. “You know, like,” he says, fumbling, “for…You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.” Ronan makes a face. “No, like, I know you got me actual stuff for Christmas, but even that, even that you didn’t need to…inviting me to celebrate with the group at your house was more than enough.” Henry swallows. Ronan has never seen him this stiff. “And the food,” he laughs, “God, the food—“
“You thought I wouldn’t get you anything for Christmas?” Ronan says. Henry stops with his mouth open, no sound coming out. Ronan waits.
“I…” Henry sighs. He holds up the beanie. “Listen. I get that this is a joke—haha, ugly color, haha, cover up my big stupid hair, whatever. I mean, I actually like the color, now, I really do—“
“Your point.”
Henry sighs again, this time more exasperated, more comfortable. “You must have dreamt these things a while ago, right? A while before Christmas?”
Ronan frowns. He doesn’t like when people figure stuff out about him. “Yeah,” he grunts.
Henry makes a gesture like, see? “I just…I kind of thought you inviting me to Christmas and everything was like, a concession. For Blue and Gans.” His expression closes in on itself. “I didn’t think you liked me at all before then. Not enough to dream me a joke hat, anyway.”
Ronan blinks a few times as he watches Henry wait for a reply, getting stiller and stiller. The he sighs through his nose.
“You’re part of the group, man,” he said. He glances at Gansey and Adam, still bro-ing around, and feels annoyingly fond. “You know, I used to live with Gansey, so whenever he took in a stray, I had to adopt ‘em too.” He looks Henry in the eyes, making sure to be intense. Henry doesn’t shy away.
Ronan’s stomach roils, but he knows he has to say it. “Gansey cares a lot about you, you know. He’s kind of obsessed with you.” He waits for the blush to show high on Henry’s cheeks, and rolls his eyes when it does. He shoves Henry’s shoulder lightly. “Listen, I don’t know what you three have going on, but whatever it is, it’s Gansey’s thing now.”
Henry’s eyes widen and his eyebrows raise comically high. “His. Thing?”
Ronan snorts. “Yeah. Like, Glendower—“ the name almost catches in his throat— “was his thing, and he had smaller things going on on top of that, like trying to Pretty Woman Adam and making sure I didn’t kill myself. But Glendower’s gone, and me and Adam are pretty much doing his jobs for him, now.” His heart aches at that thought; he’d known it to be true before, but he hadn’t articulated it before, even in thought, and it just. Aches. He looks away for a second. “So now, you and Sargent and him is his thing, and you guys are probably gonna take him away to some place after graduation, and then that’ll be his thing.” Ronan remembers the fight he and Adam had when Adam showed him the books he’d gotten Gansey for Christmas. It was one of those fights that’d made Ronan feel real stupid and needy. He doesn’t like to think about it for many reasons.
He looks back at Henry, who is motionless until he laughs a few times, hilariously awkward. Ronan affects his most unimpressed expression. “So,” Henry starts, “when you say obsessed, what do you—“
But Gansey and Adam join them and Henry grinds to a halt, his face so red Ronan can’t hold back a little snort of laughter. He meets Adam’s knowing look, and they share a silent snicker. Ronan knows Adam has noticed, too, but has never brought it up, because he knew Ronan didn’t like it. Ronan thinks, quietly, that maybe he was getting over it a little bit, and maybe Adam will be proud of him for that. He hopes so.
Gansey tugs Henry towards the kitchen just as Blue steps out of it—they bump into her and she almost drops all the Tupperware she’d been carrying. She shoves it at Ronan. “This is your Tupperware,” she says smartly. Ronan rolls his eyes as he hefts the stack.
“Yeah, did you eat the food that was in it?” Every container is packed full and bulging with various dishes.
“Yes, smartass,” Blue says, mirroring his disdain in a way Ronan knows the others find amusing. “These are leftovers from New Year’s Day. We couldn’t eat them all, thought you might be able to.” Ronan wonders if she had thought the same thing he just did—Adam could take this stuff for lunch this week, or eat it for dinner instead of the cheap fast food he usually resigns himself to on weeknights.
Adam takes half of the stack from Ronan. “Thank you, Blue,” he says, his voice smooth and low and laden with his accent; he is so sleepy, and Ronan is so excited to take care of him. Ronan starts tugging him out as Adam asks after Maura and the other ladies, to thank them. He drapes Adam’s coat over his head as Blue insists the others are “out”, though they definitely are in, and that she’ll carry on the message. Adam finally follows him through the doorway and frowns as Ronan shuts it behind him.
“Ronan,” he says disapprovingly. Ronan tries to look innocent, but can’t not snicker when Adam clumsily pulls the coat off his head. Adam squeezes Ronan’s face in his hand, making Ronan look at him and trying to look stern, but only serving to make Ronan’s heart beat faster.
Ronan searches Adam’s blue eyes, loving them. “We’ll hang out with them tomorrow, right?” he asks, voice low and soft.
Adam’s act drops; he looks soft, too. “Yeah, baby,” he says, and Ronan hates that Adam knows that trick, because he knows exactly how and when to use it. Ronan tries to shake the flush off his ears.
Ronan cranes his neck around the Tupperware towers to nip at Adam’s cheek; Adam yanks his face away but doesn’t look annoyed, only familiar. Ronan grins crookedly.
“Then let’s go,” he says. “You’re tired.” Adam closes his eyes and nods. He looks so old, Ronan thinks, so mature. He looks so healthy, too; he’s gained weight. Ronan feels proud of himself.
They go back to the Barns. Ronan intermittently feels that dread, that worry worry worry about how his people are changing so fast he feels he’s been left in their dust.
In the last five minutes of the drive, when Adam has fallen asleep, Ronan thinks about that whiskey again. He sort of chuckles to himself about how bad it is, and wonders if Gansey will try to actually drink it, or if he’ll just keep it on his desk like a trophy. He wonders, too, if Henry will actually try that hat out. He wonders what was going on in Henry’s brain, whatever he isn’t able to put into words; whether it is about Gansey, or Blue, or himself, or if it is even that simple. He thinks, again, about the whiskey.
He makes dinner while Adam naps on the couch, and they eat around seven. Ronan wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Adam lets him wash oil stains off of his skin and they sleep in Ronan’s bed. It feels very fast, and way too grown up, but Ronan realizes he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He just wonders, that night while Adam sleeps, where fall would leave him.