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Ronan Lynch always got what he wanted.
Son of a dreamer and a dream- Aurora Lynch always had time for “juuuuust one more, please mom?!” story before bedtime. Even after Declan got too old and moody to sit with them, Aurora would take Matthew on her lap and pull Ronan beside her, sometimes resting her chin on his head so her long golden curls overtook his dark ones like a wig.
The younger Lynch brothers would sigh with happiness and snuggle close, and Aurora would begin to cast her personal brand of magic. Her husband and middle child could conjure items from their dreams, but every night she conjured a new world for her sons. Brave knights and daring princesses and beautiful princes and clever kings, dangerous dragons and vengeful ghosts and corrupt rulers and apocalyptic storms; hours of stories the length of novels cast spells on them before bed.
Once when he had been unable to hold it, Ronan had to ask her to pause the story so he could run to the bathroom. Though it had been almost two years since he apparently stopped attending group story time, 13 year old Declan was slumped outside Matthew’s room, listening to the tale with his head back on the door jamb. One eye slitted open and he growled, “Don’t say a word, you little shit.”
Ronan was too excited to get back to Aurora’s story- the conclusion of a days-long adventuring party’s wilderness trek to return the lost daughter of a kind and heartbroken wizard- to tear into Declan, or tattle on his cursing. He just smirked and quipped “takes one to know one,” (a comeback taught by Declan himself, of course) before running to the bathroom. He wanted more of the story, and Declan couldn’t stand in the way of what he wanted.
-
Niall was the same way, though he often pretended to hold out for longer against his sons’ wishes. “What, a remote control boat?! Whatever for, when it’s best to use an oar? How could you ride on a boat while steering it with a remote?” His crow’s feet gave away his delight at his own silly rhymes, and deepened as Matthew’s laughter sprung forth, a babbling brook of happiness even grumpy teenage Declan would bend over backwards to hear.
“Noooo dad, you’re so silly! Just a small one! For you to drive on the lake with me. Pleaseeeeeee? I got an A on my test today, see?!”
Niall playfully snatched the paper from Matthew’s outstretched hands, dramatically putting on Declan’s glasses that had been casually abandoned lens-down on the counter and lowering them nearly to the tip of his nose.
“Hmmmmm, yes, I see… ah yes the hypothesis of this hypotenuse is hypnotizing… Well your teacher gave you an A, Matthew, but are you SURE you got this one right? 5 times 2 is DEFINITELY 10?”
Matthew giggled again, jumping up and down in anticipation of his new toy and delight over his dad’s play-acting. “Yes daddy, of course! And 5 times 3 is 15 and 5 times 4 is 20 and 5 times 5 is-”
“Alllllright buddy, careful there, before you get to numbers higher than daddy can count. Your birthday is this weekend, you know, maybe Santa Claus will have time to add a boat to the list by then.”
“Santa Claus doesn’t bring me my birthday gifts, dad! You do!”
“Well then I’ve been wasting my time writing letters to him three times a year! Why didn’t you tell me Santa doesn’t bring you your birthday gifts?!” Setting Declan’s glasses back on the counter with considerably more care than his oldest, Niall reached down to bring Matthew through the air in a gentle arc, landing over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Ronan, beaming, tousled Matthew’s blonde curls as he pretended to protest in their father’s arms. “Maybe I’ll see if I can rustle you up a boat too, goldilocks. An even better one than what dad or Santa could find!”
“Hey now!” Niall spun around in place several times, to Matthew’s shrieking delight, before landing to face Ronan. “My boat will blow yours out of the water!”
“Guess we’ll see this weekend then, huh?” Ronan stuck his tongue out at his dad, and tickled one of Matthew’s kicking feet.
“You’re on, filius meus. Prepare for a boat-based butt kicking!”
Ronan smiled. He wanted, more than anything, a family to love and be loved by. He had it; and for several months yet, nothing would stand in the way.
---
Adam Parrish never got what he wanted.
Things didn’t come to him the way they did for other Aglionby boys, for other kids his age, for other people in general. If he wanted, the subject of his want was destroyed or taken or lost.
Robert Parrish was the best at said destruction. Never one to participate in an act of creation- even the task of heating up a noodle cup or a clearance frozen meal was left to his overworked wife or downtrodden son- he seemed to relish in the act of unmaking the subjects of Adam’s desires.
From simple childhood drawings that came home from school, made it through Adam’s long dusty trek from the bus stop to the trailer, and were proudly presented to Robert for him to simply ball up and throw away- to Adam’s only failed foray into owning a childhood pet. Adam’s mom had snapped that the scrappy mutt Adam had spent the weekend taking care of, painstakingly pulling ticks off her belly and ears and bathing her twice in the trailer’s tiny shower as her long tongue happily licked his face and hands, anywhere she could reach, had “just run away.” Robert was suspiciously quiet, not taking the opportunity to talk down towards Adam like he usually did. Adam didn’t want to think about what that meant for his sweet puppy.
Adam learned to not want, to not create. It was so much better than losing.
-
Between the demon and his tense conversation with his parents, Adam had dealt with quite enough unmaking and demonic forces. Climbing back into the BMW, he opened his shitty flip phone from its resting spot on his graduation gown, folded over the passenger seat. With a few satisfying clicks, he deleted his father’s work phone contact. He had been relieved of the burden of ever again feeling like Robert Parrish would get in the way of his wants, or needs, or life. His damage was done.
Adam’s fingers hovered over the home phone’s contact, his mother’s only method of communication to the world outside the double wide. Sighing and trying not to dwell on her request to send updates about his life, he scrolled past down to the Rs.
Except Ronan’s contact was no longer in his phone. Confused, he began tapping up again, wondering if he had somehow accidentally deleted the contact along with his father’s. He hit the top and was about to go down a second time when he caught sight of the contacts that started with punctuation, above the As. Apparently Ronan had taken it upon himself to change his name in Adam’s phone, a gesture that Adam knew was for his eyes only, because Ronan would not let anyone else who saw him type it live to see another day.
Navigating his way around Adam’s lack of emoji keyboard, Ronan had made up for it by typing “*~*~*~*~*~* <3 MY BOYFRIEND <3 *~*~*~*” in the first name slot and “TheCutestGuyEver” in the last. The tiny “notes” box contained a crude reference to a body part that Adam technically hadn’t even seen yet. Ronan had even managed to add a tiny, blurry, pixelated contact photo with the phone’s practically-nonexistent camera of something pale Adam couldn’t quite make out.
Smirking, he went to the photos folder where the phone could probably hold 10 pictures of the same shit quality before it spontaneously combusted. But it was Adam’s cheeks on fire when he saw the full version of his boyfriend’s new contact picture- a revealing display of his bare chest. A pair of low-slung dark jeans (Adam’s favorite on him) hung off his hips, daring someone to be caught staring at the zipper. One arm held the flip phone towards his bedroom mirror- four fingers hidden from view supporting the phone and the middle facing the camera in a very awkward flipping of the bird (that he still managed to pull off)- and the other flexed his natural, Barns-worked and amateur-farmer-tanned-but-still-pale bicep, Chainsaw perched right in the middle.
Adam quickly exited the folder, making a mental note to struggle onto St. Agnes’ crappy free wifi to send the picture to himself with the nearly-defunct email application then delete it. Better to only be able to access it on his brick of a laptop than have Blue accidentally discover the picture when borrowing his phone. (He blushed again at the thought.) Of course, the photo would pull up full screen if Ronan ever called him, and could be held by Blue, or Gansey, or Cheng, or be spied on by Noah… Adam smirked at both the impossibility of Ronan calling, and the thought of such a scandal within the gang.
He sent a quick text- “To <3 MY BOYFRIEND <3 : be home in 30. :-*”- and put the phone in his cup holder. Ronan wouldn’t respond, of course, but Adam knew he had a special ringtone for him and would maybe at least read the text. Possibly even before Adam made it back to The Barns. He was exhausted, ready to fall asleep in Ronan’s fancy bed, snuggled into his comfy, warm chest.
He sighed with happiness at the thought, and pulled out of the trailer park, never bothering to look back.
Adam had never been one to get what he wanted. But now Ronan was his, only his, his deepest desire, and he wanted to keep it that way.
---
Ronan was glad he had been struck by the thought to check his phone before driving home from the grocery store. Somehow, reading the text from Adam reminded Ronan to pick up ribbon for the flower bouquet he’d gathered that morning.
Settling back into the car after ignoring the cashier’s flirty advances (“Back again already? You must have missed me!” met with an eye roll and silence), Ronan carelessly tossed the sparkly silver ribbon spool in the passenger seat. Adam couldn’t complain about such a practical graduation gift, he reasoned- a fresh, homemade (well, with a premade crust) pizza and two fancy canolis with tiny flower petals as garnish from Nino’s, a bottle of wine he’d asked Declan to pick up, as well as a bouquet. On top of that, the dream flowers cost nothing and would be hung out back to dry and sent with Adam to his new dorm room as a wall decoration (two gifts in one, Blue would be so proud of us! Ronan could imagine himself arguing. Anything to justify spending money on his painfully thrifty and humble boyfriend). Besides, the bouquet-turned-wall-hanging in his dorm would be a gift that would remind him of Ronan’s love, utter adoration for him, (and the truth that had sunk deep into Ronan’s bones):
Adam inspired the act of creating.
He inspired new flowers, magic hand lotion, and silly baubles that lit up so he could safely walk from Boyd’s to his car. This one was created after an incident a few months prior, when a customer waited until his shift was over to leer and call crude phrases at Adam from the shadows behind the garage. Adam had come home exhausted and murmured the story into Ronan’s collarbone as they cuddled on the couch at the Barns, and Ronan became instantly furious.
“‘Sokay, Lynch. I can hold my own. It was just creepy.”
“I know you can, mei deliciae. It’s other people I don’t trust around you.”
“You’re protective.” Adam smirked, adjusting so his whole body weight was on top of Ronan’s, laying over him like a blanket with the taller boy’s fingers running through his hair.
“You’re mine.”
Adam looked up, sleepy and bloodshot eyes suddenly focusing deeply on Ronan’s clear blue ones, and spoke with a hint of amusement but an edge of seriousness. “Oh really? Yours?”
Ronan bit his lip, retreating quickly from his confidently possessive statement. Why did you say that? You’re going to scare him away, you’re too aggressive. Why would he want you, why would he be okay with you calling him yours? He was Gansey’s friend first, Blue’s boyfriend after that, he and Noah get along so well, he probably doesn’t even like possessiveness like that, you’ve met his shitty, controlling dad…
“I, uh-”
Adam burst out laughing.
Ronan remembered how late Adam had texted him goodnight the night before- nearly 3 a.m. despite the fact that he had to leave for school just before 7, with a full shift each day. He was struck with the idea that Adam was probably deliriously tired. Ronan blushed. This was too much to be putting on poor Adam, and he was right, anyway. He was his own person, he could defend himself- from murderous Latin teachers, demons both woken and paternal, from the forest that nearly killed him while he scryed, much less some creepy asshole at Boyd’s. Ronan just wanted to help, to be there, to be an extra layer of protection. To be by The Magician’s side.
Adam inspired creation, and Ronan wanted to embody protection. Can’t blame a guy for being utterly obsessed and dedicated to the sweetest, smartest, hardest working, kindest- His thoughts were interrupted by a cute snort that focused him back on Adam.
“Oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not laughing at you. I’m sorry, it’s just funny to see you stunned into silence. You’re cute, Lynch. You realize you haven’t asked me out yet, right?”
From Adam’s vantage point, chin still resting gently on Ronan’s bare sternum, he was able to see just how far the blush spread. All the way down to his chest, all the way up to the tips of his ears. Delicate, pink, pretty. God, this boy was pretty.
“Uh, we went to Nino’s last week, and right after we snuck into the movie theater…”
“I don’t think the risk of sneaking in was worth the reward. And I thought we weren’t going to mention it again.” Adam playfully quipped.
“Shut up Parrish, The Princess Bride is great, a classic. We’re lucky it was Film Fest week.”
Adam smirked again. “But we’re not going steady. Boyfriends. Official, you know. Something that would piss off my parents to hear, something that would make Declan question the intentions of me staying over half the time these past few weeks. Scandalize everyone around school: the rough-and-tumble badass and the skinny, tired nerd.”
“You mean the edgy bastard with the pet bird and the pretty, mysterious guy no one can get a read on. And I told you I’m not going back to school anymore.” Ronan stalled.
“I haven’t given up on you yet, Lynch. Just think of it- ‘Aglionby power couple graduates, finds dead Welsh king in the same week!’”
“Is that supposed to be a headline or something? Who would write about us?”
“I dunno, the Gay Henrietta Times?”
It was Ronan’s turn to crack up. “If that existed, I wouldn’t want to be on the cover.”
“Good, because ‘just two guys who hang out and occasionally make out and snuggle, but no homo’ isn’t cover-worthy.”
Ronan chuckled as he pushed himself to his elbows- Adam refused to adjust his position, so his dead weight was still draped over Ronan’s body, eyebrows raised from his comfortable position as they locked eyes again.
“Adam, my magician, most gorgeous man to exist, best student ever at the worst school ever,” Adam poked his side at this, a bit roughly, “will you be my boyfriend?”
“Ronan, my dreamer, brooding, stubborn, beautiful, a total asshole and a complete bastard- yes, I will.”
“Now can I call you mine?”
“You’re pushing your luck. Give it a few weeks and we’ll see.”
They kissed.
Ronan beamed, elated. He supposed he had been wondering too, deep down, what exactly they were. But Adam liked him- kissed him in between pages of his homework as Ronan doodled or fucked around on his own, brought ice cream to the Barns as a surprise for all of the Lynch brothers on one of his rare days off (Matthew was the most excited, of course, Ronan was enamoured by the gesture, and Declan was appreciative that he got his own pint of Ben and Jerry’s instead of a hot fudge sundae), was in charge of the music and Chainsaw as Ronan drove them around town in the BMW, no destination in sight. The little, Adam-est ways to say “I like you, I know you, I like that you know me.” Not that that part was ever out loud. His actions spoke louder. Adam liked him, and that was enough- Ronan had what he wanted.
But now, he had a word for what they were, what Adam wanted them to be- boyfriends. Adam had been right, the thought of Declan’s reaction was enticing enough to make it through the anxiety and embarrassment of asking the question. “I’m gonna tell him tonight.”
“Declan?”
“No, the president.”
“You’re a snarky fuck, Lynch.”
“Your snarky fuck, Parrish.”
“I like the sound of that.”
---
Adam pulled into The Barns, resting for a moment after he parked in the driveway. Ronan’s car was the only one there, and he was glad they would be alone. He was exhausted, and only wanted to see Ronan.
He pulled a small tray of appetizers from the local Greek restaurant into his lap, his contribution to the “four course meal” Ronan had promised. It was perfect, their personal celebration of Adam’s graduation and Ronan’s lack thereof. Just the two of them, eating and laughing and relaxing and being themselves. No one else to be defensive to, no sarcastic comments whether welcome or not, no more talk of their recent ordeals. Just bad movies, shitty jokes about the food and each other, and a night that ended in his favorite spot- next to, with, covered by, snuggled into-- protected by-- Ronan.
He turned off the BMW, after checking to make sure the gas tank was nearly full, how he always returned it. Ronan always lent it nearly empty. Adam smiled, and headed inside to his waiting boyfriend’s arms- all he wanted.