Chapter Text
It was a rare thing to see Ronan Lynch in the halls of Aglionby.
His attendance tended to be sporadic at best, and non-existent at worst. This was one of the few times he was attending for several consecutive days. However, he was not here willingly given the fierce scowl he was wearing and the travesty that was his tie. It was knotted in such a manner as to invoke an air of contempt, while just managing to pass the dress-code standards. Adam had to marvel over the fact that Ronan had somehow managed to make disreputable an art form.
Ronan’s scowl was fierce enough to send a couple of the more tenderhearted freshmen scuttling out of his way. Adam highly suspected that the reason Ronan’s scowl was so particularly fierce was that he had more or less forced him to come to class. He had almost completely disappeared from Aglionby’s roll call records ever since Greenmantle had started teaching Latin.
Adam leaned against his locker and watched him approach, studying the way light seemed to fall differently on Ronan Lynch. He looked sharper, starker, more contrasted than the students surrounding him. It was the same way with Cabeswater. Cabeswater was more saturated, vibrant, and lush than any other forest he had yet encountered. Adam supposed it must be a side effect of being made from different stuff than normal people.
He noticed that Ronan was still lightly dusted around the edges from their encounter with the slate tiles that had almost killed Adam, his dark jeans streaked with white. He looked like a statue came to life just before the sculptor was finished, rough edges blunted only by the dusty remains of his creation. Magician, he had called him. Magician Magician Magician Cabeswater had whispered. The word wound in Adam’s chest and pressed close to his heart. It was still surging from the thought of coming so close to dying.
Ronan caught sight of him and his scowl deepened.
“Shitlord,” he said instead of a greeting.
“Lynch,” Adam replied wryly.
“Plan?” Ronan kicked his locker and rocked back on his heels to glare at it.
In actuality, the only reason Ronan was attending class this afternoon was because of the Greenmantle plan. All his teacher's hopes would be dashed if they knew the only reason Ronan had come to class was because of devilry. Adam felt a pang of sympathy for them, as a person accustomed to Ronan’s particular brand of fuck-all attitude.
They had conspired to swap Ronan’s dreamt phone for Greenmantle’s real one, an endeavor which required access to Greenmantle’s bag, along with his absence. Which was why Ronan was attending class. He was tasked with creating a distraction while Adam completed the actual swap. Of course, to accomplish this required him to go to school.
Surprisingly, he had not said anything about it, only nodded curtly, telling Adam he would think of something.
Adam checked his watch. Latin class started in 3 minutes. He had more or less forced Ronan to attend school, but he was not so cruel as to demand that Ronan sit through a class taught by the man who had ordered his father murdered.
He glanced back up at Ronan.
“Get everyone out of the classroom and make sure Greenmantle leaves his bag. Try not to break anything or leave any evidence.”
Ronan nodded and rummaged in his bag.
“Here,” he said, and handed Adam a ballpoint pen. “Signal me when it's a good time.” He pulled an identical pen out of his bag and clicked it twice. The pen Ronan gave him buzzed in his hand, startling him, and Ronan smirked. Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was more thoughtful than he had come to expect of Ronan.
“Ronan Lynch, at your service. Chaos and mayhem catered fresh 24/7.” Ronan gave Adam a shit-eating grin as the bell rung. “You can find my phone number in the bathroom at Nino’s.” He said walking backwards, before turning away with a flash of teeth.
Adam watched him go down the hall in the same manner a thunderstorm would; dark and roiling, unsympathetic, a force of nature in itself.
It took him a while before he noticed he was wearing a small smile.
-
They were 25 minutes into the class, and Adam was waiting for a time when Greenmantle would be the farthest from his bag. Adam knew he passed out graded assignments about 30 minutes into class, so he figured that now would be as good a time as any to alert Ronan.
He admitted to himself he was curious what the other boy had come up with. He just hoped he wouldn’t get caught, as it would seriously complicate matters. At this point, the only uncontrollable variable of this plan was Ronan. There was only so much that Adam could do single-handedly. He would have to trust Ronan for some aspects of the plan.
Adam watched Greenmantle climb the aisle from the end of the row of desks. He brought out the pen Ronan gave him and vaguely wondered if he could write with it. He clicked it twice instead, as Ronan had, and braced himself for disaster.
About 30 seconds later, half the class jumped as a shrill noise echoed from the PA. 10 seconds after that, water, cold as ice and sparkling like crystal, came pouring from the ceiling.
Greenmantle swore and muttered something about cashmere. It possibly had to do with the rather nice sweater he was wearing that was quickly getting drenched.
The entire class quickly filed out of the classroom, and Adam went largely unnoticed as he slipped along the wall to Greenmantle’s bag and quietly exchanged the identical phones.
Hurrying along with the rest of them, Adam left the classroom.
The hall was a similar mess as the same as the classroom; sprinklers had turned it into a strange soaked world, the sensation of carpet squelching under his shoes entirely different from everything Adam associated with Aglionby.
Adam tilted his face briefly into the spray, letting the water run into his eyes for what felt like an eternity.
Ronan walked up the hall to him, sopping wet and looking over his shoulder. Water ran down his neck, in rivulets over his face, and tiny rivers followed the paths of his veins below his rolled-up sleeves. Adam looked on.
When he got to Adam, Ronan grabbed his arm, leaning in on a whisper. He was wearing his devil’s smile.
“You got it, right?”
Adam showed him the phone, and Ronan’s grin spread a little wider.
“Can’t tell the fucking difference. Let’s get out of here.”