Chapter Text
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
Declan was attempting to help fix Ronan’s tie, but was really just making it tighter and tighter the longer he fussed. Ronan swatted his brother’s hands away and turned to the mirror to try fixing the strangled fabric around his neck. He lost count of how many times Declan had repeated that mantra over the last few months.
The “ this” that Declan was referring to was getting married to a complete stranger on television for the world to see. This was something that was very out of character for Ronan, but when his best friend, Gansey, decided to sign up for the reality show Married at First Sight and asked Ronan to join him, he couldn’t refuse. Mainly because Ronan thought it would be hilarious when the casting team kicked him out at the first round of interviews, telling him he was unloveable or unmatchable or whatever. Not to mention, this season they replaced the team of experts - sociologist, sexologist, and marriage counselor - with three proclaimed psychics. It felt sacrilegious to go through even the initial interview, but Ronan stuck with it for Gansey, just waiting for the psychics to toss him out and blame it on “a bad vibe,” but after six weeks of interviews and other countless hours with their psychic “experts,” Ronan did find a match with… someone. He’d meet him in a minute.
Unfortunately, Gansey did not land a match and he was devastated , but trying desperately to be happy for Ronan, who didn’t even want to do this in the first place. Somehow Gansey convinced Ronan to go through with it anyway and promised to be right by his side.
Sure enough, looking out into the church, Ronan saw Gansey in the front row on his side, waiting.
Both sides of the non denominational television-staged church set were pretty bare. Ronan’s side had a few friends, a couple relatives, but half a dozen rows were left empty. On his soon-to-be husband’s side of the church it was a similar state of affairs - empty. He didn’t recognize anyone of parental age or even grandparents, but maybe they were off with his husband to be. When Ronan turned back around, he bumped right into a camera that was a little too close for comfort.
“ Jesus .”
The cameraman backed up quickly and Declan immediately stepped in front of Ronan again, handling his tie. Ronan was going to snap.
“If you don’t back the fuck up, Dicklan-”
“Where the hell is Matthew?” Declan muttered, ignoring Ronan’s grumblings.
Suddenly Orla, one of the producers burst into the room. Ronan had only met her that day, but she was extremely.. touchy . She walked right up to Ronan, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and winked.
“How are we feeling, Lynch brothers?” she asked with a grin, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Ready to get started?”
“We’ve lost Matty,” Ronan said, stepping out of Orla’s arms.
“Found him!” Noah burst into the room with Matthew in tow. “Little bro just got lost.”
Matthew smiled at his older brothers sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, guys.”
Declan huffed and undid Matthew’s tie. Ronan was grateful for the distraction. And for Noah, who quickly wrapped his own arm around Ronan’s shoulders and pulled him away from Orla.
“I’m going to sneak a peek at the husband before the wedding,” he whispered, knocking his hip into Ronan’s. “I’ll let you know if you need to dip at the altar, ‘kay?”
Ronan huffed a nervous laugh. God, how was he nervous? He nodded and Noah rubbed a hand over his shaved head, pushed him back toward his brothers, and laughed his way out of the room. Why was he nervous? He didn’t even want to do this. This was ridiculous, this was absurd. The room felt like it was getting smaller, Ronan felt his chest constricting. What the fuck was he doing?
“I need you all down at the altar in two minutes,” Orla said, giving his arm a squeeze before she, too, left the room.
Ronan flinched at the door shutting behind her, turning to look at his younger brother, looking for some of his blind optimism. “Matty?”
Matthew laughed. “You look like you’re gonna puke, man!”
“What the fuck am I doing?”
Declan sighed, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded like, “I told you so.”
“I don’t know, but this is the craziest thing you’ve ever done.”
Matthew, beautiful, always smiling, relentlessly happy Matthew, went over and wrapped Ronan up in the biggest bear hug he’d ever given him. Ronan held on.
Time seemed to pass in a blur after that. He somehow made it up to the altar, standing next to probably a paid actor, who was meant to officiate this shit show. He wondered if it was even legal. He wondered if the marriage license he’d be signing was legitimate, if he’d actually have to file for divorce when this was all over. He wondered if this guy was even going to show up. He wondered if Gansey would stop looking at him like that.
Noah burst into the room, rather dramatically, and walked speedily down the aisle to his seat in the front row next to Gansey. On his way, he shot Ronan a wide-eyed look, thumbs up, and mouthed, “he’s hot!! ” before taking his seat. Without time to unpack or process that , the music started and a hush fell over the crowd.
Ronan tried to stop fidgeting with the leather bands at his wrist and looked up as the doors opened and his husband stepped through. The cameras moved in and obstructed Ronan’s view, but he couldn’t catch much anyway. The man was backlit at first, Ronan could only make out his silhouette. He was tall, maybe Ronan’s height, maybe a little shorter. He had cropped short hair, thin frame, a little wiry, but the suit looked tailored to fit him snugly. When he stepped into the room and the cameras dispersed, Ronan’s eyes adjusted and oh .
The man walking up the aisle was tan, freckled, with dusty colored hair and a nervous crooked smile. He had high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and his hands were nervously hanging onto what Ronan could only assume was a friend of his. She was nearly half his height, had short, cropped black hair, a ridiculous looking dress made of shreds of fabric and scuffed boots, but Ronan was too focused on the man on her arm to really pay her much attention.
When they made it to the altar, Ronan caught Noah’s grin from over the man’s shoulder. He tried not to roll his eyes.
Ronan reached a hand out to help the man up the steps onto the platform, but the woman’s hand shot out.
“If you hurt him, I’m going to murder you,” she said quietly, but her voice was impressively dripping with venom. “Slowly. Painfully.”
Ronan wanted to be impressed, but really didn’t think he deserved the shovel talk before learning the guy’s name first. “Aye, aye, captain,” he replied with a mock salute to her. Her gaze narrowed, she looked between them, seemed satisfied, and walked off to her seat.
The man huffed a nervous laugh and climbed up the steps to stand in front of Ronan. “Sorry about that…”
“S’fine.” He felt the camera creeping in again, but tried to ignore them as best he could. They stared at each other for a moment or two before Ronan whispered, “what’s your name?”
The man laughed and Ronan felt his heart thump wildly in his chest. “Adam,” the man said. “What’s yours?”
“Ronan.”
The actual ceremony was a complete blur. Ronan felt self conscious when sliding the ring on Adam’s finger, his hands were clammy and shaking. He reminded himself that this was ridiculous and finding his husband of the next six weeks attractive was nice, but he didn’t know anything about him. He needed to keep his expectations low, that always seemed to be the best course of action for him in his life. He tried to focus on not looking like an idiot on television.
They exchanged rings, said their I do ’s, and then everyone in the room giggled nervously when it came time for them to kiss. Ronan felt his cheeks heat up and watched Adam duck his head.
“Is it okay?” Adam asked and Ronan could hear the slight dip of an accent in his vowels. He tried to place it and then at Adam’s searching gaze realized he hadn’t answered.
“Uh, yeah.”
It was brief. A quick press of lips, like a peck on the cheek to a distant relative or family friend. Ronan’s experience kissing strangers was limited to the context of a bar, trashed out of his mind, with a need to find company for the night. Even then, he probably said more words to the person than just exchanging names. Still, he was grateful for Adam asking permission, for being a bit cautious about the whole thing… despite deciding to do this ridiculous social experiment in the first place.
He tried his best to ignore the cheers from either side of the aisle as they walked down and out the door. They were quickly ushered off to a private room by Orla and two camera operators. The room barely fit them all, it almost looked like a storage room that was quickly staged for this awkward first conversation and would soon be filled with the clutter from the rental event hall or larger hotel when they were done. There was a small standing table in the center of the room with a cream tablecloth, an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes engraved with the word husband on both. Ronan tried not to roll his eyes, but failed miserably.
“Bit much,” Adam agreed, reaching for the bottle.
As soon as Ronan stood on the other side of the table, the camera folks stepped in close, one over either of their shoulders to get the other’s reaction. It was awkward enough what they were doing, but to have cameras hovering around… Ronan was not good at small talk.
Adam popped the bottle gracefully, catching the cork and setting it down on the table. Ronan tried not to stare at his hands, masculine, thin boned, knobby knuckles, long fingers, a palm full of callouses from hard work, he assumed. He grabbed the champagne flute from Adam’s outstretched hand. They clinked glasses and took a sip, desperate for something to do that felt normal. They set their glasses down on the table, looked at each other, and each opened their mouths to speak.
“So-”
“Uh-”
They stopped. Adam laughed breathlessly and looked down. His cheeks flushed. Ronan took another gulp of champagne.
“I like the ring,” Adam said, looking down at his own hand. Ronan got to choose the ring for his husband before he knew his name was Adam. In turn, Adam chose Ronan’s ring. Ronan hadn’t even looked at his own hand, really.
“Oh, uh, good.” Ronan looked down at his own ring, it was a similar simple gold band, no frills. Nearly identical to the one he chose for Adam. A safe choice. “Me too.”
Adam looked up and smiled, fiddling with the champagne glass in front of him, twisting the stem back and forth between his fingertips. “So what do you do, um, for a living?”
Ronan held back a sigh. He hated small talk. “I’m an artist.”
Adam’s eyes widened and Ronan searched for judgment there. Normally he led with the artist bit because farmer did not always give him the best reactions. Also, Ronan was always of the mindset to downplay his money, not just because he didn’t care so much about it, but because it brought up the topic of his parents and no matter how many years passed, it still hurt to talk about them. And most strangers never approached it delicately.
Where’d all the money come from? My parents.
Wow that’s nice of them, do they still– They’re dead.
Oh, well at least you have a couple mill’ in the bank . Thanks…
“What’s your medium?” Adam laughed, but he sounded as nervous as Ronan felt. “Is that the right thing to ask? Like, uh, do you paint or-”
“Painting, yeah. Mainly drawing… like charcoal stuff. I don’t know, I don’t paint so much anymore,” his voice trailed off. He felt dumb talking about himself, never knowing if someone was asking because they wanted to know or because they were trying to be polite. “What about you?”
Adam rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from Ronan as he said, “I’m a lawyer.”
Record scratch. Huh? Team of “experts” put the lawyer with the artist? Didn’t they always try and pair people up who had a lot in common? Entrepreneurs with entrepreneurs, generic business folk with generic business folk, apples to apples, right? That’s what Gansey had been saying, trying to reassure him. At least you’ll find a friend, Ronan, someone you have stuff in common with.
“What kind of law?” Ronan asked to hopefully find the connection.
“Family law,” Adam cleared his throat after another gulp of champagne. Ronan poured him another glass and topped up his own. “Thanks. Um, mainly custody cases.”
“Sounds heavy.”
Adam sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it can be.”
They fell into silence. Ronan watched the camera behind Adam shift to get a different angle. He was curious, wondering where their compatibility lied. Art and law were different, but maybe there was something else. According to Gansey - yes, Ronan listened to him occasionally - folks on Married at First Sight were normally from similar areas of the country so that when they eventually got to the stage where they attempted to live with one another, they could do so without much cost to the production. Maybe Adam was a family lawyer out near Singer’s Falls.
“Where do you live?”
“D.C. Georgetown area,” Adam said, eyes also hopeful and searching no doubt for where their commonalities lied. “What about you?”
Ronan couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Art versus law, country versus city, not to mention high school dropout versus law school grad. Maybe they were meant to be the drama couple of the season.
“Uh, Singer’s Falls,” Ronan said and then remembered that no one knew where that was. “It’s about thirty minutes from-”
“Henrietta, Virginia, right?” Adam asked, but his expression shifted to something else, something Ronan couldn’t quite place. He could’ve sworn he saw Adam’s hand shake as he lifted the glass to his lips.
“You know Henrietta?”
Adam swallowed hard. “Spent some time there, yeah. Did you go to school around there?”
“I went to Aglionby in Henrietta. Did you g-”
Adam quickly pivoted the conversation. “Where’d you go to college?”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay,” Orla interrupted them with a grin from her corner in the room outside of the view of the cameras, before they could linger on that line of questioning. “Have a nice first chat? Lovely . We’re off to the reception. Come on. Leave the bubbly.”
“That’s it?” Ronan looked at Orla incredulously. “That couldn’t have been more than five minutes.”
Orla smiled, holding the door open for the camera operators to exit first. “You’ll have a whole season of television to get to know each other,” she shrugged. “Now come on, we have a schedule to adhere to. They have to clean up tonight for Couple Two’s wedding tomorrow.”
The reception was held on the balcony of the hotel. There were not a lot of people between Adam and Ronan’s guests, so outside was a more appropriate venue, looking less sparse outdoors than inside a large ballroom. Ronan and Adam gravitated toward their own parties, too awkward to really continue to get to know each other with so many people watching, and with desperate friends wanting to know their first impressions of each other. Ronan beelined for Gansey and Noah, who was offering up the second drink in his hand.
“So,” Noah was nearly squirming with anticipation as Ronan gulped down some cheap wine. “What’s he like? What’d you think? He’s hot, isn’t he? I told you he was hot.”
“Noah, this isn’t about if Ronan finds him attractive or not,” Gansey tutted. “It’s about building meaningful connection. They’ve barely got to speak for more than five-”
“Gansey, I swear to God, you are the only person on the planet that believes true love can come from reality television.”
Ronan snorted and glanced over at his husband. Adam had his head ducked, talking quietly to the woman from earlier who walked him down the aisle. His cheeks were flushed, his hands gripping a hefty pour of wine. Beside them both was another man, black hair spiked up and tall, grinning from ear to ear. When he caught eyes with Ronan, Ronan looked away.
“I don’t know why I did this,” Ronan grumbled.
“Was he nice?” the beautifully innocent Gansey asked.
Ronan rolled his eyes, finishing his drink in another large gulp. “Yeah, Gans, he was nice.”
Much like the whole day, the reception was a blink and you miss it affair. Ronan got to speak to his brothers briefly, was swept into a pep talk from Jordan and Hennessy that he didn’t know he needed, but was grateful for, and mainly avoided the other side of the party altogether. In fact, everyone seemed to stick to their side of the evening, except for Gansey, who wandered over to the short woman from the ceremony to introduce himself. Whatever he said did not go over well and he quickly retreated back to Noah looking horrified and embarrassed.
Ronan was grateful for the time with his family and friends, feeling a bit more relaxed about the whole situation, but no less regretful. He tried to remind himself that it was only six weeks, that maybe his second impressions of Adam and their match were unfair, and that regardless he could get out of this when their filming contract was over. Maybe it was the alcohol calming his nerves after all…
Sooner than he would have liked, Orla came up to him with Adam on her arm, and reminded them that not only were they going on a honeymoon tomorrow morning, but they needed to say their goodbyes quickly so the cameras could get a shot of them going into their shared hotel room tonight. He really hoped there would be two beds, but didn’t hold his breath.
On the elevator ride up to their hotel room, Ronan and Adam were pressed close, sharing space with three cameras and always-smiling Orla.
“So, just be natural,” she was saying, attempting to block out the shot. “It’s your wedding night. Most folks will go for a little shy wave over the shoulder. If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe carry your husband over the threshold.” She winked.
Ronan rolled his eyes. Nothing about this whole day, show, experiment was “natural.”
“We’ll get the shot of you both going in and then another of you closing the door,” Orla continued. “Ooh, maybe you can put a do not disturb sign on the door and-”
The elevator chimed, opening the doors and allowing space between the newlyweds. They walked down the hall, their suitcases had already been left in the room by producers earlier in the day. Ronan could feel the discomfort radiating off the both of them, nervous energy amplified by an audience. He glanced at Adam, whose eyes were glued to the floor. He grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together, giving it a squeeze. Adam, without looking, squeezed back.
In the end their exit was without flair. Ronan went in, Adam opted for the shy wave, they got their shot of the door shutting - sans do not disturb sign - and then there was just Adam and Ronan. In a generic hotel room that was thankfully without the romance of rose petals or congratulatory amenities, but did in fact, only have one bed. At least it was a king-sized mattress.
They awkwardly shuffled around the room that barely fit much more than the furniture inside. They spoke with purpose, covering which side of the bed each wanted and who was taking the bathroom first. Adam did, showering and changing into plaid pajamas and a t-shirt. Ronan took next, changing into sweatpants and a tank top. They barely spoke since their five minute meet-and-greet after the ceremony and he was feeling so lost. Everything was so painfully awkward. He wished the whole sharing a hotel room bit was just staged for camera and not reality. He wished he had said no to Gansey all those months ago.
He splashed cold water on his face and tried to remember to breathe before entering the room again. Adam was on the left side of the bed, phone in his hand, but when Ronan entered he looked up. His eyes widened.
“Oh.”
“What?” Ronan already felt on edge; he froze.
“The tattoo,” Adam explained, eyes roaming his snakeskin sleeve. “I didn’t notice before.”
Ronan rubbed at his arm self-consciously. Adam wasn’t giving him much of a reaction one way or the other. Were tattoos a deal-breaker? Was this another difference to add to their mounting list? “Yeah, my in-law’s sister did it.”
“It’s cool,” Adam said after a beat. He put his phone down on the side table. He rubbed at his neck, gesturing to Ronan’s other tattoo. “How many do you-”
“Just the arm and the back piece,” he said, hanging up his suit garment bag in the closet and making his way over to the right side of the bed. “Tattoos a deal breaker for you?”
Adam blinked, shook his head. “No.”
“Cool.”
Ronan turned off the lamp beside the bed, slid under the covers and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Adam mirrored the motion, both lying in the dark silence for a moment or two.
“This is really weird, isn’t it?” Adam whispered.
“Yeah,” was all Ronan could say.
Adam turned to face him, propping up his head on the pillow. “Do you know where we’re going tomorrow?” For our honeymoon was left out of the question.
“No,” Ronan replied. “Orla said we’ll know when we’re at the airport.”
Adam hummed. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
“Are we doing first date questions in our literal marriage bed?” Ronan huffed.
“Well seeing as this is our very unconventional first date, yeah, I think we are.”
Ronan sighed. “Nowhere tropical.”
Adam laughed. “Hate to break it to you, but most honeymoons on this show are in the tropics.”
“Bummer.”
Adam rolled back over on his back, closer than he had been before, but still with distance between them. Ronan could feel the heat radiating from his body, but kept to his side.
“For what it’s worth, me either.”
“Hm?”
“I’d prefer somewhere other than Jamaica or whatever,” Adam continued. “No offense to those places.”
It was a small olive branch. Adam was trying and Ronan could tell. Trying to fill the gap with something they had in common with each other. They had weeks to figure out more, but in the wake of their astounding life choices coming to a head, Ronan could only assume that Adam was also feeling on edge and brimming with regret. He knew he should probably reciprocate, but Ronan Lynch was never great with words. He slid his hand across the mattress, brushing his fingertips with Adam’s.
“Well, fingers crossed,” Ronan whispered back, turning his face to look at Adam. His cheek was pressed to the pillow, looking back, hair mussed and eyes searching. His smile was hesitant, but warm. And because Ronan was great at making fun of any sincere moment, he teased, “g’night, husband .”
Adam laughed. “Night, Ronan.”