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“Maybe I’m just fucking tired, okay?”
Adam brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose, the way Gansey used to when he was frustrated.
“I know you’re tired, Ronan. We all are,” Adam sighed. He closed his eyes slowly, just in time to miss the look of hurt flash across Ronan’s face.
“That’s not what I mean,” Ronan’s voice was low.
His words were strained and hollow sounding, as if he was speaking from somewhere far away. His voice was beginning to sound like that more and more lately.
Adam’s eyes flew open to stare at Ronan.
Over the past few months, Adam had grown used to Ronan’s expressions, he’s grown used to decoding every emotion he’s hidden under that plastered-on look of indifference he so often wore to hide whatever he was really feeling. Adam had begun to learn exactly how to look beneath the surface of Ronan, to learn when anger translated to fear or to hurt or to confusion. He’d learned when indifference translated to affection or fondness or love.
He was so used to looking past the surface that right now, when he looked at Ronan, he was struck suddenly by the realization that something was very wrong.
Ronan was standing close enough to Adam that he could reach out and touch him. In fact, they had been touching only moments before, really touching, for the first time in days. The fact that Ronan was bare chested and Adam was breathless was enough to affirm that. But then suddenly, Ronan had stopped him, pulled away and retreated into himself. For a few moments, Adam couldn’t speak to him at all. Ronan was lost in a way that was becoming more and more common lately.
Adam couldn’t blame him for being distant, or moody, or even angry. Hell, given the circumstances, Adam was just glad that Ronan and Adam were still together at all. He knew they’d have some rough patches, probably even more so than a normal couple, given their history. But that didn’t mean...
“I’m tired of this,” Ronan continued, pulling his arms up to wrap around his bare chest.
Something twisted inside Adam and everything suddenly felt very cold.
“Define ‘this’,” he asked slowly, his voice careful but shaking beneath the surface.
If Ronan could hear the fear in Adam’s voice, he didn’t show it.
If Adam was cold, Ronan was burning.
The thing with Ronan, it was that even a spark of anger was bound to become a raging fire. He didn’t feel things half-assed. He was never mad, but always furious. When he was sad, he was devastated. And when he was worried, he was desperate.
Which is why right now, as Ronan stood in front of Adam, his face blank and his words clipped, Adam worried.
He’d seen Ronan furious before. He had seen him punching someone bloody, teeth clenched, muscles taut. He'd seen him murderous, jaw twitching, eyes burning. He’d seen him curse until his throat was raw, he’d seen shoulders so incredibly cold that the other person might as well have never existed at all. Ronan’s anger was bold and bright and poetic. It was loud.
This was different. This was a quiet anger. A dangerous anger.
Adam wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.
“I mean, I’m tired of everyone leaving,” the words tore from Ronan’s mouth. Suddenly, it became all too clear where he was going with this. Adam could feel Cabeswater humming around him, sensing his discomfort, his fear. No, no, no…
“First my father,” It was an old pain, but still real. “Then Kavinsky,” Ronan continued.
Adam hadn’t heard that name in a long time. It was like poison coming from the other boy’s lips. He flinched at the sound.
“Then Declan…” Of course he would name his brother as well. Ronan felt the loss of Declan more than he would ever let on. He’d lost more than just his parents on that horrible day so long ago. They tried, once, to rebuild what they once had. But they never really fit again.
Adam braced himself. He tried to brace himself.
“And Noah.”
It still hurt. Of course it would still hurt. Adam clenched his fists, nails digging into his bare palms. The loss of Noah was strange and bitter and empty. It was hard to miss someone who was never fully there. But it was even harder to get over the fact that they were gone for good. For months, Adam would whisper his name to himself, hoping that he would somehow reappear, smiling or patting Blue’s hair, ready throw in a cryptic warning or make a dumb joke at any moment. Even now, after so long, Adam thought that the next time he did something with the others, Noah would appear, looking upset that he’d been left out of the fun.
Ronan took a deep breath, looked away from Adam’s gaze.
He could feel what Ronan was about to say next, feel it pulling at him like the swell before a wave.
And then it came crashing down.
“Gansey.”
Something in Adam and Ronan snapped with the sound of his name. An unspoken promise was broken and now they could never go back, never patch the rift that word had made.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt more than any blow Ronan’s fists could ever land.
It tore Adam open from the inside out.
He would rather Ronan had punched him right in the fucking face than say that name.
He had been so much, it was impossible to imagine that now he was nothing. Gansey was the star that had pulled them into orbit.
Now, what was he, if not even a name?
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
They were supposed to honor him, to sing praises in his name, erect statues in his image. They should have been inspired by his passion, his life. They were supposed to travel to all the places he never had the chance to see. They were supposed to read his favorite poems and hear his voice. They should have finished building the mini Henrietta and they should have gone on road trips in the pig and smiled sadly when they tasted mint. They should have lived full lives in his memory and explored the unknown. They should have found Glendower.
But they didn’t. Because when a star dies, it takes everything with it.
“Don’t say his name,” Adam couldn’t hide the shaking in his voice any longer.
“It’s the truth. Gansey left us. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.” Adam had never heard Ronan’s voice so hollow. “And soon, you’ll be gone too.”
Suddenly, Adam understood his anger.
Ronan had found Adam’s acceptance letter to Harvard in the mail a few days ago. He hadn’t said anything at the time. That should have been Adam’s first clue that something was wrong. But Adam had just been so excited.
And now, here they were—both boys shaking only feet away from each other at one in the morning, chests ripped open with a single name, breaths shaky beneath bursting ribs.
He moved towards Ronan, and then stopped short, his outstretched hand hanging in the air between them. Was he going to hug him? Punch him? Pull him close and kiss his lips like it was the last kiss they’d ever share?
He definitely wouldn’t do the latter. If he kissed Ronan now, Adam was scared it really would be for the last time. He let his hand drop back to his side.
“Ronan,” he couldn’t keep his voice from breaking. Adam didn’t know what exactly he was begging for, and yet he felt like falling to his knees. He said Ronan’s name like a plea.
Ronan stepped back until he was no longer close enough to reach out and touch.
Adam wouldn’t be leaving for another two months, but it felt like they were miles away already.
“And don’t give me any of that ‘I’ll come back for breaks’ bullshit.” Ronan cut him off, his eyes dark. “You’ve always hated it here, but you hate it even more now. He’s everywhere here.”
“You could always come with me,” Adam said weakly, but his promises were as hollow as Ronan’s voice sounded.
Ronan laughed without humor. “Yeah, because I’d do so well at an Ivy League.”
“You don’t have to go to school there you can just…” Adam trailed off. Ronan was never going to leave Henrietta, no matter how many bad memories it held.
“Save it.” Ronan said. “I don’t care anymore.”
“You know that’s not true.” Adam knew Ronan almost as well as he knew himself, maybe even more. Ronan did care. He cared a lot. Didn’t he?
“Which is worse, Parrish?” Adam flinched at the sound of his last name. Ronan hadn’t called him that since before they’d gotten together. Perhaps once it had been endearing, but It sounded so wrong now, so…cold. “Someone being taken from you,” he turned away from Adam then, his last words almost too quiet to hear, “Or someone choosing to leave?”
Then he left.