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Adam Parrish wasn't destined for greatness. There wasn't a decree written on the day he was born that listed all the feats he would invariably accomplish. There are no prophecies with his name on them.
But he's twenty-seven years old, and sometimes he thinks he has everything he's ever wanted. He's moderately well-known in D.C. now, not just as Richard Campbell Gansey III's Chief of Staff but as Adam Parrish, smart, ambitious, principled, his own man. He's been interviewed on TV and by TIME magazine, and everyone seems fascinated by his story, even in its more palatable, revised form (sometimes he even forgets he's telling a lie; it all slips out so naturally, this narrative he's created). People talk about what a brilliant choice Gansey made in him; even the rare few who can resist his charm still admire and relate to Adam. The fact that Gansey never thought of his appointment as a political move makes it work even better in his favour. He's met the president multiple times (although Gansey is the one on a first name basis with the man; he and his mother are old friends). They'd stood in the Oval, men, both of them, and Gansey had looked at him and said, "This is going to be ours one day." And that felt like a prophecy. That felt like gospel.
They're going to win, it's practically been foretold; Gansey's going to be the junior Congressman from Virginia, and he's going to ascend to the White House. Because Gansey was destined for greatness.
Adam wasn't. Adam had to claw and fight and take it by the throat, make it his own, using whatever means necessary.
It's so easy, way too easy, to smile for the cameras.
*
Travelling still makes him nervous. Especially when he's just a little too close to places and things he's spent too much time distancing himself from, physically and psychologically. But campaigning is a necessary evil, and he knows about those all too well.
Gansey gets a phone call two weeks before the election that threatens to ruin everything.
"I need you to do something for me," he tells him, looking visibly shaken, which is unsettling. "It won't take more than a couple days —"
"Gansey, I can't leave now. You know that. People need to see a united front. If I leave, there'll be rumours of dissent within the camp —"
"Adam, we've done this together all the way. Nothing's going to change. Anything urgent comes up, you'll be the first to know. But this is important, this is personal —"
"Gansey, what is it?" he cuts in sharply.
Gansey finally seems to take a breath.
"You've met my friend Ronan Lynch, haven't you?"
"Yeah, once, I think." And Adam only had to hear the name to know that this is going to be more trouble than it's worth.
"He got into an accident — he's fine, but they arrested him for DUI. The bail's all sorted, but he — I need someone to be there when he gets out, someone to check him into rehab —"
"Gansey, I can't —" This isn't my area, he wants to say. You need someone to dig up dirt, blackmail, lean on someone, he's your man, but babysitting wasn't in the job description.
"Listen, right now, he's a liability. I need you to do this for me. I don't trust anyone else. Ronan's like a brother to me. He hasn't spoken to his older brother in years, and his younger brother's still at school. His mother's been ill for a long time. He doesn't have anyone else."
Adam notices he doesn't mention a father.
"I can't believe I graduated top of my class at Harvard for this shit."
"You'll do it?" It's a pointless question. In almost ten years of friendship, Adam can count on one hand how many times he's said no to Gansey.
"Where is he anyway?"
"He — he went back home a while ago."
"And where's he from again?"
When Gansey tells him, after a pregnant pause, he says, "No. Categorically, no."
*
"You can't — you can't ask me to go back there."
"Adam, please, it's a few days. In and out. You don't have to —"
"You don't know what it's like, Gansey, you don't —"
"No, I don't," he admits. "But two weeks, Adam, two weeks and you never have to go back."
Adam sighs. "If you were anyone else, I swear —"
"I need you," he says, like he means it, and he probably thinks he does, the idiot. Adam would walk into hell for him, and maybe that's exactly what he's asking him to do right now.
"Okay."
"Okay, I'll book your flight —"
"No, don't bother, it's just a couple hours. I'll rent a car. I could use some fresh air."
"Okay, I'll text you his details, call me when you get there."
*
Adam usually doesn't do well with solitude, but this is different, driving through the countryside, with the windows down, the wind on his face. It's eerily quiet, except for the sounds of nature, the kind of quiet you'd never find in the city. He never thought he'd miss that.
The Barns looks like a drawing from a children's story book. It looks like the kind of place he'd imagine when he was young, the kind of place that people think of when they think of the word home. Well, people who never had one of their own, anyway. People like him. He always felt welcome at Gansey's family mansion, but he could never picture living in a place like that; it would always feel like an ill-fitting suit. This, though, he could picture never wanting to leave a place like this. He wonders why Ronan ever did.
He makes his way up the long driveway to the farmhouse and calls his number.
He picks up after about five rings.
"Hey, Gansey told you I was coming? I'm —"
"Fuck off," Ronan says, before hanging up. And well, from what he's heard, he kind of expected worse.
Adam sighs. Seriously, top of his class. At Harvard.
He gets out of the car, walks up to the front door and knocks, three times in rapid succession.
He hopes the message is clear: If you know Gansey sent me, you know I'm not going away anytime soon.
It's about fifteen minutes later when the door opens and Ronan Lynch's silhouette appears in the frame. It's dark in the house, so he has to get closer to really look at him. He looks different from the last time he saw him; he still had a streak of danger back then but this — this is something else completely. This is self-destruction; this is precise, organised chaos; this is a concentrated explosion; this is a gun pressed directly to the temple; this is what happens when you try to light a match in your soul. He looks hollow, thin, cheekbones pronounced; he hasn't shaved in a couple days; there are dark circles under his eyes, and there's a nasty-looking gash above his left eyebrow.
"Shit, have you had that checked out?" Ronan Lynch is probably a lot of things, but Adam's sure slowly dying from an infected head wound is not going to be one of them.
"Really? You?" he says, raising an eyebrow. His voice is hoarse, like he's just woken up. Maybe it always sounds that way. Maybe he's never completely asleep or awake. Only in-between. Adam knows that feeling too well.
He doesn't know if he remembers him (really, Ronan was very drunk, and Adam doesn't think about it often — it was just a weird thing that happened to him; he definitely doesn't think about Ronan — but he'd never told Gansey about it either) or if he's just seen him on TV, standing just to the right of Gansey.
He leaves the door open as he retreats inside, which is probably as much of an invitation as he's going to get.
Ronan's sitting on the couch; it looks like he's been there for hours, days. There are empty bottles on almost every flat surface, empty pizza boxes strewn on the floor, overflowing ashtrays.
"I threw everything out already," he says.
"You sure?" Adam asks.
"Yeah."
"I'm still going to have to check."
"Knock yourself out."
*
He finds a bag of multicoloured pills under his mattress and flushes them. He'd probably genuinely forgotten they were there.
Adam's heard Gansey's stories about Ronan from when they were at boarding school and he doesn't know how that kid who liked fast cars and getting into fights became this. Because he seems defeated. He's definitely not the cocky asshole Adam had met at that party. That asshole had something to live for, at least.
Adam feels sorry for him, suddenly, and it feels like something dirty and shameful. Ronan's definitely not going to accept his pity. But something about that feels right. He's not here to babysit; he's here to help him get his shit together. It's just another job. There aren't any strings. This isn't personal. Not for him.
*
When he comes back, Ronan's watching Gansey on TV. It's on mute, but it's the same speech, every night, the same one Adam wrote for him.
"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" Ronan asks him. Maybe it would've been tinged with jealousy a couple years ago. Now there's just residual bitterness.
"Wouldn't you? Pack your stuff. We're leaving early in the morning."
*
Adam makes him breakfast, because he's sure he hasn't had a real, solid meal in days.
He gets him to take a shower, shave, and he helps him put a clean bandage on his face.
He drives him to the center, checks him in, tells him he'll be back tomorrow, gives him his number in case of emergency. He convinces himself it's going to be fine; this will be smooth sailing. Ronan's going to get clean and they're going to win the election and everything will continue as planned. He'll go back to his sparse but modern D.C. apartment and his sleek foreign car and the background noise will fill up any gaps still left inside him.
He doesn't even think about going into town. He drives back to the Barns, spends a couple hours returning it to a habitable condition, then sits down and starts going through his emails.
Gansey's polling as high as he's ever been. Everything's going to be fine.
*
"Sorry I didn't call you last night. It's been a little crazy."
"He's okay though?"
"Gansey, he'll be fine." It sounds less like a lie when you're lying to yourself too.
"It's never gotten this bad before. I mean, when his dad died —"
"How did that happen, exactly?" He can't deny that he's curious about Ronan's past.
"Well, the official story was a robbery. But Niall was into stuff, everyone knew it, bad stuff."
"Drugs? The mob?"
"I would guess so." His tone suggests it's something he's uncomfortable speaking about.
"Did Ronan know about it?"
"No, he didn't. I mean, they never proved anything, anyway. Niall was smart. Ronan was the one who found him, though."
"Jesus," Adam says.
"He changed after that. And then we parted ways to go off to college, and I tried, I really did, but he just kind of drifted away. From me. From himself."
"He was at that party though. You remember the one."
"Yeah, I'd invite him to come visit and he hardly ever did, but he said yes that one time. I don't know why."
He missed you. It was obvious. And you ignored him for most of the evening. It's not Gansey's fault though. These kinds of things, there's never just one cause, one trigger. It builds up over time, anger and frustration and helplessness. Of course, seeing Gansey travelling around the state giving everyone his trademark guileless smile couldn't have helped.
Ronan's lonely, in that deep, dark way Gansey can't understand. In the way Adam can understand far too well.
*
He goes to see Ronan the next afternoon. He looks better. Like he's had a decent night's sleep and a couple square meals. There's even a slight hint of colour in his cheeks.
"Thought you would've fucked off." There's no venom in the words though.
"Gansey." That one word is enough of an answer.
"Is he worried?"
"Yeah." It's harder to lie to Ronan somehow.
"He still thinks we're seventeen, and he can save me from myself."
They both know the painful truth. Only you can save yourself.
"I met you once, you know. It was a party at Gansey's final club. You probably don't remember —"
"I remember," Ronan says, not looking at him.
"We fought about something. I'm sure it was stupid, but back then, I was probably willing to die for it. Another worthy cause. And you were drunk, I'm pretty sure you were just trying to rile me up — And I took the bait, because I thought you were a smug asshole. Only I probably should've been used to smug assholes by then."
Ronan was different somehow, infuriating, irresistible, incendiary.
"And then I kissed you," Ronan says. "You didn't see that coming."
"I hoped you'd forgotten that part." They'd kissed in the dark outside the Porcellian house and Adam hadn't kissed anyone in a long time, hadn't kissed anyone like that ever, and it felt clandestine and important and like something that was purely his.
"I never forget a pretty face." He winks at him, and Adam sees the old Ronan behind the cracks in this broken one.
"You're an asshole," Adam says, smiling at him.
"You liked it though."
"What, you being an asshole?"
"No, the other part."
"I — It was certainly surprising."
"It was probably the first really reckless thing you'd ever done in your life."
"Not the last though."
"Okay, be honest with me," Ronan says, solemnly. "Have you ever had anyone killed?"
"No, but I haven't been doing this that long."
Ronan gives him his first real smile. He counts it as a win.
*
He gets the call from the girl at the front desk (who he had generously compensated, because shit happens, no matter how much you try to convince yourself it won't) the next morning.
Ronan's checked himself out. Of course he has.
*
He calls Gansey immediately and they have his GPS location in a couple minutes.
He's in a fucking bar.
"You're in a bar," he says, stating the obvious.
"Not drinking though," Ronan says, cheerfully holding up his glass of club soda.
"What are you doing here?"
"Rehab's not going to help me. I just need — I need to be at home, feel like myself again. That was the whole point of coming back here."
Adam gives an exasperated sigh and sits down on the stool next to him. Ronan Lynch is probably going to drive him crazy. He should've seen this coming.
"Why'd you leave in the first place?"
"After college, I just hung around New York. It was good, for a while at least. I could forget. I was always in control, but it was good to forget sometimes."
"What happened?"
"There was a guy. I was in a rough place and he pretended he needed me. How could I resist that?" He laughs, and it's a cold, hollow sound.
"Did he leave?"
"He's dead. His demons got him in the end."
"The same thing's not going to happen to you."
"Why not?"
"Because sometimes the demons keep you alive too. Keep you fighting."
"What if I'm not strong enough?"
"You are." It's not just an empty pep talk; Adam can't imagine anyone so bright (with rage, with life) ever burning out.
"My dad taught me I could punch my way out of anything. Then he got shot in the head."
"Did you love him?"
"He was… terrible. Absent most of the time. Probably insane. But yeah, I loved him."
"You had something I never did then." He didn't really mean to say that. It feels dangerous, talking about him, especially so close to where everything happened.
"I've read the articles, you know, about you." Ronan's blue eyes are dark in the dim lighting and he's looking at him like he's the only thing in the world worth considering. Adam feels a shudder run through him; it's almost like he's back in the Cambridge cold. "I feel there's something missing, though."
"Isn't there always? It's D.C."
"You haven't been back here since you left," Ronan says, and it's not a question.
"No."
"It's weird, isn't it, that we grew up so close together."
Nothing about how we grew up is the same, he wants to tell him.
"In some other life, maybe we were friends," Ronan says, a hint of an ironic smirk on his face.
"Yeah, maybe."
"When are you leaving?"
"I don't know. When you're ready to let me go."
"What if I don't?" Ronan says, raising an eyebrow, like a challenge.
"You think you have a choice?"
"It's cute that you think you do."
"I don't even know what you're saying." It's all maddening and confusing suddenly. Adam just wants to get away from him, where things are quiet and logical and safe.
"I'm saying, we should get out of here."
"You don't even know me."
"Isn't that the point?" Ronan asks. There's a lack of conviction in his words though. And that's worrying.
The problem is, Adam wants to know everything about Ronan, wants to open up his skin and examine his insides.
In and out, he remembers Gansey saying. He's so fucked.
*
Adam can feel his hot gaze on his face the whole way home.
Nothing happens, though. Ronan stands too close and looks too long, eyes heavy with want. But nothing happens. Ronan goes upstairs to his room and Adam takes the couch.
*
They go grocery shopping because Ronan has nothing that constitutes real food. He keeps thinking he's going to see someone who knew him before and they'll recognise him. Ask him about his folks. Something tightens in his stomach and he grips the handle of the cart harder.
"Are you going to force-feed me my greens, Parrish?" Ronan says as Adam contemplates the kale.
Really, right now, campaigning is looking like a fucking dream.
They get a bunch of junk food too, because Ronan apparently still eats like he's living in a dorm. Adam's had enough pizza rolls for a lifetime, quite frankly. He considers sending a picture of their haul to Gansey, because he'd be appalled, but Gansey's busy. That's why he's here.
Ronan's an adult. He can make his own decisions. Even if they're disastrous. Whatever.
*
Ronan eats constantly as he watches bad reality TV. This would further appall Gansey, but it kind of amuses Adam. He responds to emails and checks in with his staff and makes phone calls.
"I can't believe you're running a campaign from my living room," Ronan says around a mouthful of Doritos.
"Well, technically, it's your fault."
"You should eat something." Ronan almost sounds actually concerned. It's impressive.
"I'm fine." Who's taking care of who, really? Only that wasn't The Job.
"Why did he send you anyway? Aren't you indispensable to him?" he asks, mockingly.
"Because he can trust me."
"Oh, so you're here to make sure this stays quiet?"
"Basically, yeah. Also, he cares about you."
"What about you?"
"What about me?" They haven't really talked about him at all except for the questions he had quickly deflected. This isn't about him.
"Does he care about you?"
"Yeah. He does." He's asked himself a lot why Gansey picked him over the last ten years. The more he thinks about it, the more he understands that Gansey didn't pick him. He picked Gansey. Because he was different, because he actually cared about the things he said he cared about, because he was the person who could make real change, because he had a face and a voice and a manner and a family name that people would believe. Adam couldn't be that. Adam had to be the person who would get his hands dirty to make Gansey look clean. Gansey had to be free and clear of all of it so that he could be the person everyone would put their trust and their faith in.
"Shit," he says, pausing while scrolling through his news feed. "I think someone saw us at the bar last night."
"So?"
"So, I'm supposed to be on the campaign trail. Not in seedy dives with people of questionable moral character. I have a reputation —"
"I know all about your reputation." He says it like it's a dirty word.
"You don't know anything," Adam says, suddenly feeling defensive, too exposed.
"Yeah, I do. I have friends on the Hill too."
"I used to be an idealist, I used to believe in things, you saw me in all my glory at Harvard. But D.C. changes you really fast. I do things so he won't have to do them."
"Is that how you justify it?" Ronan asks skeptically.
"I'm not trying to justify anything. We've all done bad things. I don't think that means we're bad people."
"What does it mean then?"
"That we're people."
Ronan just looks at him like he's something to be pitied and fuck, this is not what he came here for.
"I have to get ahead of this, make sure no one starts looking into what I'm doing here." He wanders off into the study, trying to erase that look Ronan had given him from his mind.
*
Adam can't believe he's only been here five days. It feels like a lifetime.
He's pretty sure it's all going to come to an end today though, because the first thing Ronan says is, "Let's go for a drive. I haven't driven in days." He makes it sound like it's oxygen. Maybe it is to him.
"Your license was revoked," Adam tells him pointedly.
"So what?" The way he smiles with his teeth is mildly terrifying.
*
He's grateful his rental doesn't have more horsepower or he's sure he'd be fearing for his life about now.
Ronan drives and drives and turns around and drives and drives and he'd think they'd crossed the state-line a bunch of times if he didn't know better, if he didn't know how frustratingly inescapable it could be.
It's late afternoon when he says he wants to show him something.
He turns off onto a dirt road and they drive and drive until he can't see anything but grass below and sky above. They get out and look out at the horizon, the sun getting lower and lower.
They don't move until it's dark, and Ronan's shoulder is pressed against his, and he doesn't even notice because it's so entrancing. It doesn't even feel like they're on the planet anymore. Like maybe they could wander for years and years out here and never meet another soul.
*
They're lying in the field, staring up at the stars.
"Why'd you bring me here?" Adam asks, and it feels very loud in the vast silence.
"I don't know. I brought Gansey here once. He said he wanted to live here, start a colony."
"I don't want to leave," Adam sighs.
"Me either."
"I didn't mean —"
"Yeah, I know."
"It's beautiful, but I can't — I can't see past what this place was to me."
He wonders if he's ruined it, but then Ronan starts talking again.
"You know, Gansey used to be obsessed with ley lines when he was a kid. One runs right through here."
"Ley lines?" Adam asks.
"They're supposed to join points of mystical energy. Weird things happen on them."
"Like what?"
"Like dead Welsh kings can come back to life and grant you a favor for waking them."
"What? That can't be a real thing." It sounds like the kind of fairytale no one ever told him when he was a kid.
"It is. Gansey was obsessed with it."
"Cool," Adam admits. "So, what would you ask for?"
"I don't really do wishes."
"So, if there was a shooting star right now..."
"I don't know, I guess I'd wish for my mom to get better."
Adam doesn't try to pry any further.
"That must be hard. I mean, for your brother too."
"Matthew's strong — stronger than me, anyway. He'll be fine."
"Was that what that night was about?" They haven't talked about it at all, why Adam came here in the first place.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You're not alone, Ronan." It's the first time he's actually called him by his name. It feels right in his mouth. Like he wants to keep saying it.
"Aren't I?"
"No, I know what alone looks like." The first eighteen years of his life, before Harvard, before Gansey. When his own thoughts threatened to drown him. Sometimes, alone isn't quiet. Sometimes, alone is unbearably loud.
So, he rests his hand on top of Ronan's on the grass and they just stay right there, in silence.
*
He can't put it off any longer. It's a week until the election; he can't be missing in action anymore. He has to tell Ronan.
Ronan is actually up before him and he passes him a cup of coffee as soon as he walks into the kitchen. It's all disturbingly domestic.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
"Hey, I have to tell you something —" Best to just cut to the chase.
"You're leaving," Ronan states, flatly.
"Yeah," he says, exhaling slowly. "Tomorrow. I can't be away from the campaign any longer —"
"Yeah, I get it. I mean, you did what you came to do, so…"
"Ronan, you're not — you're not just some job to me. I want you to be okay."
"Then don't leave," Ronan says, like it's so fucking simple.
"God, Ronan, we can't just stay here. We have to go back to reality sometime."
"Why? Reality's overrated." He sounds like the impossible, obstinate kid that Adam had first met now. The one who was so convinced the world was beyond saving that you almost believed him.
"Some of us have to work for a living —"
"Come on, stop bullshitting. You came back here. You came back here and you hate it. You came back here for Gansey. For me."
"I'm just doing —"
"Your job, right. Is it really making you happy though, your fancy fucking Washington job?"
"Why do you care?" Adam shoots back at him hotly.
"Because I liked who you were before."
Adam laughs incredulously at that. "You didn't know who I was before."
"Yeah, I did. I liked you. I kissed you."
"And then I didn't see you again for eight years." It sounds bitter to his own ears.
"But you thought about me, didn't you?" He's not going to admit it, that he'd looked for Ronan at Gansey family events and birthday parties and Harvard reunions and he was disappointed when he wasn't there. That they'd talked (argued) for two hours and kissed for the better part of ten minutes and he took about three years to get over him. Because that's ridiculous and pathetic and everything Adam Parrish is not.
Looking at Ronan Lynch and his stupid, goading smile and his brilliant blue eyes and his ability to make him act like a petulant child, he doesn't feel at all like that Adam Parrish. The one he's meticulously crafted over the last ten years.
"This is a really bad idea." He's not actually trying to talk either of them out of it now. It's already done.
"I know." Ronan's voice is soft and his eyes are soft and he's looked at him a lot but not like this, not like he wants him but like he can feel the ache deep down inside of him.
"This is never going to work, not in a million years."
"I know."
"Please just kiss me," Adam says, desperately.
"Okay."
*
Adam tells him unequivocally that they're not having sex on the kitchen table and it takes a frustratingly long time to reach his bedroom (fucking stairs), so they just end up kissing against the doorjamb and slowly taking each other's clothes off.
Until Adam's phone starts ringing in the pocket of his just-removed pants and he practically dives for it, because it's Gansey's ringtone and it's probably an emergency.
"What the f—" Ronan gets out before Adam puts a hand over his mouth.
"Gansey? What is it?"
"I'm taking a day off from the campaign to come see you two. I'll be there in about an hour," he says cheerily.
A stunned, "Okay," is all Adam can manage before he hangs up.
He slowly removes his hand before Ronan starts licking it.
"Fuck."
*
It's probably the longest hour of Adam's life, putting their clothes back on and sitting down to wait for Gansey. Ronan keeps trying to touch him too and he keeps swatting his hands away because getting hard again would be counterproductive.
Gansey smiles when he sees Ronan, not his presidential smile, but softer, more personal. Adam suddenly understands their friendship completely. Ronan's unflinchingly loyal to the Gansey he's known since they were kids, a Gansey that was always destined for greatness, but was still human, somehow, still touchable. Adam has only ever catched glimpses of that Gansey, and they always disturbed him.
"You look good," he tells him.
"Yeah, Parrish has been making me eat my broccoli," Ronan says with an eye-roll. And he's going to pay for that later. Later. Shit. Having Gansey tangibly here with them kind of makes the entire last few days even more absurdly surreal.
"I tried calling you last night," Gansey says, turning to Adam. He's not suspicious, just mildly concerned.
"Oh, we were watching a movie and I think I fell asleep." Adam's good at lying even when it feels like reality's been pulled from under him.
He can't remember the last time he had deliberately not answered his phone, but he didn't want anything to interrupt their near-perfect moment. It feels like he's turned into someone else, someone he doesn't recognise, practically overnight.
"We should go out for a late brunch. I bet you both could use a change of scenery."
Neither of them argue.
Ronan squeezes his hand for a second before they follow Gansey out the door. It's a promise, and he almost stops breathing in anticipation.
*
Brunch is a clamor of Gansey inquiring about what they've been up to (the PG version), and Adam asking about the campaign, and anecdotes from boarding school and Harvard and Washington and New York, and there are years and years of friendship between them and Gansey, and Adam's actually sorry he hadn't met Ronan (properly) sooner.
He feels like he's learning more about Gansey through Ronan and vice versa.
Gansey being here seems to make things better for Ronan too. It's like something between them has been realigned. He seems freer, lighter, like a weight on his soul has been lifted.
Gansey's waiting for his ride after when he says to Adam, "You can come back if you want. I know — I know it's been difficult."
It's so painfully earnest, and God, he doesn't know anything at all. And it'd be so simple, so beautifully simple, to just take him up on his offer. But there's something unfinished, something that's been there since that night eight years ago, since before that, since he made a decision, as a scared, desperate kid, that someday he'd escape and nothing would ever get in the way of that. Nothing would ever be more important.
"Actually, I think maybe I'll stay a couple more days. If you don't need me for anything urgent —"
"No, no, it's fine. Take your time," he says, looking surprised. He looks like he's about to say more, but then Ronan's walking towards them, and they're saying goodbye, and then Gansey's getting into the back of a dark sedan and he's driving away.
When they get into Adam's car, he reaches over to entangle his fingers with Ronan's. He doesn't let go the whole way back to the Barns.
*
"That was good, I think," Adam starts when they're inside.
"Yeah, it was good seeing him."
"You're not mad at him anymore?"
"I don't know if I was, really. Mad at myself too, I guess."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I don't know. Being an asshole. Treating you like a problem to be fixed."
"You mean I'm not a problem?"
"You're a huge problem," Adam agrees.
Ronan wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him flush against his body, kisses him until he's gasping into his mouth, until he can't remember any of the reasons he'd thought this was a bad idea.
*
Ronan's already fallen asleep next to him when Gansey calls.
"Yeah?" he says, quietly retreating to the bathroom.
"So, are we going to talk about what's going on with you and Ronan?"
"Nothing's going on with me and Ronan." It's kind of scary how easily lies fall from his lips without even having to think about them.
"You're both so obvious, it's kind of funny that you actually thought you were being discreet."
Adam closes his eyes and sighs softly. Then, he actively chooses the truth. It feels like an achievement.
"Something happened that time back at school. I didn't tell you because it was nothing. Well, I guess it wasn't nothing."
"Oh."
"It's fine. We're fine." He's not entirely sure they will be though. When this is all over. They can't stay here forever, Adam can't anyway, and he's scared of what might happen to Ronan if he left again. Sometimes, it feels like being here is the only thing keeping him alive.
"Hey, Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"Be good to him, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course." Adam's surprised by how much he wants to keep that promise, even though he doesn't know if he can. If he can ever really be that person.
"I just want you both to be happy." It would sound laughably trite coming from anyone other than Gansey.
"Yeah, man, thanks."
*
The next few days are a blur of alternating between E! and the news; Ronan finding more and more effective ways to distract him from his work; Adam forgetting to eat most of the time and then frantically whipping up something with actual vegetables because he's not sure if Ronan's diet actually contains anything necessary for sustaining human life; the firm press of Ronan's body against his back while he's stirring something on the stove; swapping really ridiculous stories about Gansey that no one who doesn't know him as well as they do would ever believe (sometimes Ronan talks about his childhood; Adam doesn't ever); Ronan practically dragging him to bed in the wee hours of the morning (like he knows he's been sleep-deprived for most of his life; maybe they've both been — Ronan has too many nightmares and Adam has too many dreams).
The last night, they don't talk much and there's a palpable tension in the air. Eventually, Ronan says he's going fucking crazy stuck in the house and he grabs the car keys, only he hands them to Adam when he follows him outside. So, he speeds up and down dirt roads with Ronan's hand on his leg, urging him to go faster, faster, faster. He complies.
They end up back in their field, kissing lazily until the sun comes up.
Ronan drives them back, just cruising below the speed limit, music a low hum, and Adam leans his head against the glass, watches the never-changing view. He used to hate that monotony; now he kind of doesn't want it to end. Maybe they could drive forever, and never leave this stretch of road.
Adam just lets it fill him up, the silence and the cool air rushing by and the sliver of space between his and Ronan's fingers. He needs it; he needs to keep it close.
The world around them is dead and asleep, but he's more awake than he's ever been.
*
He's driving straight to an event and he feels weirdly self-conscious, putting his suit back on. It feels like it doesn't belong to him, kind of like it did all those years ago. Like he was putting on a mask and everyone could see right through it. Only now it's just Ronan that's seeing through it.
Ronan just inspects him for a minute before he casually says, "You always look really good in a suit."
"What do you mean, always?" Adam asks, puzzled.
"I mean that I used to check you out on TV. All the time."
"What? You're not serious."
"I'm totally serious," Ronan says, rolling his eyes like he's mildly frustrated that Adam doesn't believe him.
"That's…" Stupid, he wants to say. Really stupid. We're both total idiots. "You should've asked Gansey for my number."
We could've been doing this a long, long time ago. Maybe you would've been happy. Or maybe it would've never mattered at all. (Adam knows too well that the only person who can save you is yourself.) Maybe this is it, their one chance. Maybe this is the only way this could have ever happened.
"You should've given me your number that night at Harvard, asshole," Ronan says, and there's regret and an edge of anger to it. He's not angry at him, Adam knows.
"You could've given me yours."
"No, I never would have. I was far too self-loathing back then."
"And now?" Adam asks, kind of hesitantly.
"I — I still have stuff to deal with. But I think I'm gonna be okay." Ronan's always going to have his demons; maybe he's finally making his peace with them.
Adam intertwines their hands for a moment, holding his gaze, hoping he can communicate all the things he can't say, and then Ronan's opening the door for him and following him outside, and this is it, this is goodbye. They didn't make any promises; the future's just as unclear as the last time they left each other. They could walk away and never see each other again. It would be so easy to slip out of each other's lives as quickly as they came in.
In and out.
Adam doesn't want it to be easy. It's been easy for too long. Pretending.
"I'll see you," he says, and they're both aware of how vague that's meant to sound. "I mean, I'm not going off to war."
"Kind of feels like that, though."
"Ronan…"
"No, you don't owe me anything."
"Yeah, I do." It's probably the first time he's ever admitted that to anyone in his life.
"Adam, just, it's fine, okay? We're even. We're good. It was — a nice dream. I don't have a lot of those anymore."
He hates that Ronan thinks he's telling him what he wants to hear, letting him off the hook, giving him an easy way out. It's unfair and so stupid and he kind of wants to yell at someone, but this is what they have now.
He nods, and turns to walk to his car. Only he stops in his tracks, drops his bag, quickly walks back up the drive to where Ronan's still standing and brings their mouths together in a fierce, urgent kiss. He pulls away to look at him, foreheads resting against each other, breathing against each other's lips, and says, "Please, just come to D.C. after this is over. Just for a few days. Just —"
"Okay," Ronan says, gently squeezing his hand.
"I don't know what happens after that, but I just — I just —" I need you, I need you so fucking much, for as long as I can have you.
"Yeah, yeah."
Adam kisses him once more, and he's going to play this back in his head during the drive, and when the announcement is made three days later, and during the victory party, and on the plane back to D.C.
He's going to keep it close, as a reminder, a reminder that he doesn't have to leave it all behind to become what he wants to be, that he can keep the things that really matter, that he can hold on to himself. That he can choose to.
*
Ronan shows up at his office two days after the election.
"What — what are you doing here?" he says, looking up from his frantic typing.
"The car you sent for me is waiting downstairs, and you're going to come home with me right now, Parrish. Non-negotiable."
Adam considers it for half a second before he's grabbing Ronan's hand and practically dragging him out the door himself.
*
He leaves, eventually, though. He's never going to stay, Adam knows. It would kill him. Just like Adam couldn't stay in Ronan's beautiful childhood home that looks like it came out of a dream. Being there, being simultaneously so close to and so far from everything he wants, would shatter him.
He's going to see his mother, he says, with Matthew. He hesitates, probably for the first time since Adam met him, before he says, "I'd like you to meet them. Someday."
"Oh, I —" he says, fumbling around for the right answer. No one's ever asked him to meet their family before, not like that, not like Ronan's asking — like it's important to him, like Adam is.
"Just — stop reading into it, Parrish. If you want to, then we will. If you don't —"
"Yes," Adam says, sidling up to him, close enough to rest his hands on his hips, like they belong there. "I'd like that. Someday."
"Someday," Ronan repeats, like a promise.
Someday, someday. It's something to hold on to. It almost feels like enough for now.