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In hindsight, it should have been evident Ronan’s preparation for camping lacked thoroughness based on his sagging, collapsed backpack.
Adam thought to say something about it when they were unpacking the Pig, how next to Blue’s, Gansey’s, and Adam’s packs, Ronan’s appeared significantly underfull, but he didn’t. Ronan hadn’t been tasked with carrying anything extra — Gansey and Adam took responsibility for their tents, and, because she didn’t want Ronan hauling anything she was fully capable of carrying herself, Blue took responsibility for their food — so it was logical his backpack wasn’t as stuffed as anyone else’s. Except before Adam had even packed the two person tent he’d found at the Barns, the seams of his secondhand camping pack had strained with how much he’d put inside it. With the tent, Adam’s backpack looked gargantuan beside the one Ronan pulled from the Pig’s trunk and threw over his shoulder. Ronan’s bag might as well have been empty.
For all Adam knew, Ronan had dreamt himself a backpack with unlimited capacity while looking weightless, and bringing up the emptiness of Ronan’s pack would probably end in two ways: Ronan would make a crude joke about Adam checking out his sack, or he would criticize Adam for not having faith in Ronan’s packing abilities.
Neither outcome particularly appealed to Adam, so he kept his mouth shut. Currently, he and Ronan weren’t in a fight, and though another one was inevitable, the knife-thin edge they balanced on between arguments wasn’t the worst place to be. Precarious, yes — the lightest breeze would topple them in one direction or another — but while Adam waited for the fall, he could at least appreciate the calm. That summer had been rough enough with everything surrounding Kavinsky’s Fourth of July party and Blue’s mom going missing — on top of all of Adam’s personal revelations right before his eighteenth birthday — so if Adam could spend time with Ronan at Monmouth or St. Agnes or the Barns without either one of them raising their hackles, Adam would take it while it lasted. Time spent with Ronan usually wasn’t entirely wasted, but it was better if they weren’t butting heads.
Really, Adam should have listened to his gut and asked Ronan about the emptiness of his backpack before they hiked away from the Pig to the campsite they’d decided on — a small clearing in regular woods, not Cabeswater. But, for the first time in a while, Adam ignored his intuition as they started hiking, Chainsaw swooping in circles above them, the sun warming Adam’s scalp through his fair hair. They all wanted their overnight camping trip to be normal. The less magic involved, the better, and that extended to Adam’s abilities and his connection to Cabeswater.
If he’d said something though, their problem could have been solved before they realized they had a problem. The mountain they’d chosen for hiking and camping loomed just west of Henrietta, and they could have driven back to town and returned to the mountain before it got too dark to hike out. But Adam didn’t say anything, so no one knew Ronan hadn’t packed a sleeping bag until they’d reached their clearing, pitched their tents, and started unpacking.
“Well, that’s fucked,” Ronan said as he squatted inside the tent designated as his and Adam’s — an unspoken decision made by Blue undoubtedly based on a combination of Adam’s behavior toward her earlier in the summer and her growing closeness to Gansey, which Adam noticed despite Blue and Gansey’s apparent desire to hide it. Adam and Blue hadn’t fought recently, and it soured Adam’s stomach that Blue would be sharing a tent with Gansey for the night. With Adam, there’d be no temptation to kiss him — and he wasn’t her true love anyway — but sharing a tent with Gansey seemed dangerous. There would be temptation, and if 300 Fox Way’s predictions were accurate — which they always were — there was a non-zero chance their camping trip could result in Gansey’s death.
So Blue and Gansey sharing a tent didn’t thrill Adam. Partly because of jealousy he couldn’t shake. Partly because he didn’t want his best friend to die, by Blue’s lips, Adam’s hands, or any other way.
Not that the prospect of sharing a tent with Ronan thrilled Adam either, but it was a slightly easier pill to swallow and not all that different from Ronan sleeping over at Adam’s tiny apartment above St. Agnes. The only real difference would be that instead of Ronan sleeping on the floor while beside him and elevated a few inches, Adam laid on his thin IKEA mattress, they’d be sleeping side by side in sleeping bags.
Or Adam, at least, would be sleeping in a sleeping bag.
“What’s wrong, Ronan?” Gansey asked from the open mouth of his and Blue’s tent. Its unmarred navy nylon made Adam think it’d never been used before, or if it had been, it’d been at one of those sterile campgrounds where you pitched your tent next to your car in case of bad weather or discovering camping just wasn’t your thing. Gansey’s polar fleece looked just as unused as the tent, the fabric unpilled and the embroidered brand logo on the chest crisp and unfrayed. He’d probably gone and bought it at the local outdoors store as soon as they’d decided to camp while Adam worried if his Aglionby gym hoodie would be warm enough to wear. It left Adam looking like he lived in the woods, whereas Gansey — in his cargo pants and name brand hiking boots and flawless fleece — looked like he should be in an REI catalog.
“My sleeping bag’s gone,” Ronan replied. He at least joined Adam in the living in the woods category, the shoulders of his black hoodie dusty from Chainsaw perching on his shoulder while they hiked, his jeans — though expensive — ripped like they usually were.
“Gone,” Adam said, “or never packed?”
It had little to no effect on Adam, but Ronan glared at him as he stuck his head out of their tent, his cool blue eyes narrowed. “Gone, Parrish,” Ronan said. “Vanished.”
“Use that magic brain of yours and dream yourself one,” Blue told him as she pulled the drawstring of her backpack closed after unpacking everything that wasn’t food. She shoved up the sleeves of her hoodie — aqua and large enough it hung almost to her knees with the crocheted granny squares she’d sewn to the hem — and held up her bag like a fisherman held up a good catch. “There’s bears here, right? Do you think this needs to go in a tree?”
“To be safe,” Adam replied at the same time Ronan said, “No.”
“When we turn in for the night, I think. Yes,” Gansey said, the deciding vote and voice of reason. Food security situation handled, he looked at Ronan. “I reminded you, Lynch.”
“And it appears I did not heed your reminder, Dick,” Ronan replied, which to Adam sounded like an admission Ronan had forgotten to pack his sleeping bag. “I’m not dreaming one. We said no magic fuckery during our overnight stay in Normal Ass Forest Resort and Spa, so I will not be performing any magic fuckery for the audience.”
“How, exactly, are you going to sleep then?” Adam asked him. He wouldn’t put it past Ronan to be contrary and say he wasn’t going to sleep, which was more than likely anyway. Many of the nights he stayed at St. Agnes, Ronan laid sleepless on the wooden floor, awake long after Adam passed out mid-conversation, too exhausted from cramming shifts in all summer to stay up talking, no matter how interesting the topic of discussion.
“Obviously without a sleeping bag,” Ronan replied, half as snide as it should have been and twice as sensible, and certainly not the answer Adam expected.
“The forecast said it’s going to get chilly tonight,” Gansey said so Adam didn’t have to. As if autumn wanted to make an early appearance, the end of the summer had been cooler than normal in the valley. Late August days were warm enough in Henrietta, but the four of them had ventured into the mountains, and the elevation promised a drop in temperature that wouldn’t be seen back in town.
“I’ll survive,” Ronan replied with finality.
Gansey, Blue, and Adam all exchanged glances that said they didn’t doubt Ronan’s survival, even if that survival would come with its fair share of complaints. Complaints the three of them — mostly Adam — would be subjected to, but that was that. Nothing more was said on the topic of Ronan’s absent sleeping bag as they finished building camp and started building a brilliant fire in the middle of their little clearing, thanks in part to a lighter Ronan had dreamt that ignited wood no matter how dry or damp. The sun angled itself further west over dusty purple mountains as they roasted sausages then marshmallows until there were none of either left. They talked about their quest, the Barns, their upcoming senior year, until, by Adam’s watch, around one o’clock in the morning, an outstanding yawn escaped Blue and they agreed to turn in, though in all likelihood, only two of them would actually sleep.
Still, after hoisting Blue’s backpack into a tree, banking the fire with dirt, and making sure Chainsaw hadn’t taken up with any natural ravens, they zipped themselves into their respective tents, though in his and Ronan’s tent, only Adam actually prepared for sleep. Backlit by an electric lantern, the silhouette he cast on the side of the tent moved along with him as he rolled out his sleeping bag, and as he and his shadow unzipped the bag, Adam asked Ronan, “You’re really just gonna lay on the ground all night?”
“No, Parrish,” Ronan replied as he took off his boots, throwing one then the other into one of the tent’s dark corners. “I’m gonna go outside and hang upside down from a tree like a bat.”
“Fitting.”
“I thought so.”
Losing his own boots — hiking, not combat — Adam lined them up at the foot of his sleeping bag, and as soon as his shoes were off, the night’s dropping temperatures seeped through the soles of his socks. Already chilly, the tent wouldn’t hold the cold at bay for long, meaning Ronan was in for a fun night with little more than his hoodie and jeans for warmth, because, like he’d neglected to pack his sleeping bag, he’d neglected to pack anything to wear as pajamas. Were it anyone else, Adam might have empathized, but Ronan had kind of brought this on himself.
“You kind of suck at the whole camping thing,” Adam said as he swapped his jeans for sweatpants. “I thought you used to do this as a kid.”
“I did.” Ronan punched his backpack into the shape of a suitable pillow, though its remaining contents made a rather lackluster cushion. “But I wasn’t exactly the one packing the car. I was just along for the ride and then throwing shit in the fire.”
“And pissing in the woods.”
Lantern light glinted off of Ronan’s straight white teeth as he grinned. “Don’t need to camp to do that.” Done punching, he rocked out of his crouch to sit on the tent floor, a thin barrier between himself and the ground. Before they’d pitched the tent, Adam had cleared away as many rocks and sticks as he could, so potentially Ronan could be more comfortable in their tent than he’d be on the splintered wood floor at St. Agnes.
The forest floor might even be more comfortable than Adam’s thin mattress.
As Adam peeled open his sleeping bag, the muted, filtered glow of Blue and Gansey’s tent winked out where it shone watery green through the side of Adam and Ronan’s tent, leaving the lantern by Adam the only light in their small clearing. Not for long though, because as soon as Adam laid down and zipped himself in his sleeping bag, Ronan flicked their lantern off, leaving them with only the thin silver light of a moon a few days after full. That didn’t brighten the tent any, the tent itself and the trees above it blocking most of the moonlight, and Adam heard rather than saw Ronan lay down and rustle himself into some semblance of comfort. He’d set himself up — probably strategically — to Adam’s right, though with only night sounds outside and their own breathing in, Adam would have been able to hear anything Ronan said.
Except Ronan didn’t say anything. They just laid side by side like they had so many times before, though they were feet closer than usual. Adam often wondered why Ronan did it, came over and slept on the floor at St. Agnes, especially after the Fourth of July. He tried, but he hadn’t managed to perfectly conceal his crush on Adam, and Adam couldn’t understand why Ronan willingly — repeatedly — put himself alone with and in close proximity to Adam. Were Adam in that position, he thought it’d be torturous, constantly being around the guy he liked, constantly being filled with want. Being around Blue all the time proved difficult, and her not wanting Adam, not liking him that way still pinched deep in his gut, tightening and twisting every time he caught her looking at Gansey.
Possibly it was some Catholic thing, Ronan putting himself close to temptation without being led into it. That wouldn’t surprise Adam, and it twisted his gut in a different way, subtle and quite a bit warmer. Someone like Ronan liked someone like Adam, and even though he didn’t want to, it left Adam feeling a little vain.
“I could dream a sleeping bag,” Ronan said when their silence grew heavy enough to become a little suffocating. “Built in pillows. Make you feel like you’re sleeping on the best mattress ever.”
“Make it all-weather — or temperature controlled — while you’re at it,” Adam replied. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that, if he turned his head, he could probably make out Ronan and some of his shadowed features, but Adam stayed looking at the peak of the tent, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ronan waving a dismissive hand through the air. Adam continued, “And bear resistant. When you zip it all the way up, they can’t see or smell you.”
Ronan snapped his fingers, and Adam didn’t need to see him to know he was pointing in Adam’s direction. “Ideas like that, Parrish,” Ronan said, “are why I keep you around.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why.” Adam rolled his eyes before pulling a hand from inside his sleeping bag and scrubbing his face with the cuff of his sweatshirt. The scent of smoke from the campfire clung to the cotton, and so did the piney scent of sap from the branches he’d dragged from the woods, and Adam mentally noted he’d have to do laundry again before school started the following week. He also noted that, in the few minutes he’d been inside his sleeping bag, the temperature in the tent had fallen despite the close quarters, their breathing, and their body heat. Not by much, but enough to be noticeable, and Adam wasn’t quite sure they’d get through the night without Ronan manifesting at least a blanket, if not a whole bed complete with linens. “Weightless, too,” Adam said. “Make it weightless.”
They started rattling off qualities for the sleeping bag Ronan could dream — self-packing functionality, rolling up so small it can fit in your hand, the sensation of having your feet stick out from under the blankets — until some indeterminate time later when Adam ducked his face into his sleeping bag to stifle a yawn.
“Jesus, you sound like you haven’t slept in seventy-four years,” Ronan said. “Go the fuck to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” Adam replied, though he knew he should sleep. He had off from all three of his jobs the next day, the first time since the Fourth of July, but that day, he’d run all over Henrietta with Persephone fixing the ley line and hadn’t been able to take advantage of his day off. Adam could count on one hand the times he’d been able to sleep in over the summer, and though it likely wouldn’t be quality sleep, he had no alarm set for the morning, nowhere to be once he woke up, and he knew he should take the opportunity to sleep for as long as he could.
But like on the nights Ronan slept over at St. Agnes, Adam wouldn’t give himself over to sleep willingly, not when he enjoyed assembling a hypothetical dreamt sleeping bag between fits of laughter as features grew more absurd. Though he’d never own up to it — he’d probably jump off one of the bridges over the Shenandoah River instead — Ronan’s mind brimmed with ideas of things he could dream now that they ley line and Cabeswater were back, and Adam liked hearing about them, no matter how useful or inane.
As if he sensed Adam’s hesitation toward sleep, Ronan said, “Because fine people yawn so hard their jaws crack.” Adam was about to argue his jaw hadn’t cracked — not that time — when Ronan repeated, “Go the fuck to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Adam replied after a few silent seconds punctuated by an owl hooting and Chainsaw cawing a response. He yawned again before he agreed more emphatically, “Alright. Okay.” Scooting down in his sleeping bag, Adam pulled it up to his chin, breathing in the musty smell of it before he turned onto his left side so his back was to Ronan. “Good night, Lynch.”
Ronan grunted a reply, and he shifted around so the nylon tent floor rustled beneath him until he settled down. Adam listened until the rustling stopped, then he waited for Ronan to say something more, but when he didn’t, Adam closed his eyes. Within the space of a few breaths, he started falling asleep, a slow, dripping loss of consciousness, until, from the other side of the tent, teeth chattered.
Once, then twice, before they stopped. Then the owl hooted again and silence returned to the tent, but it wasn’t long before more chattering filled the space, stopped, then started again, as if involuntarily.
“Lynch,” Adam said, opening his eyes and turning onto his back. “Just dream a damn sleeping bag. It’s not gonna get any warmer.”
“I’m fine,” Ronan snapped back, voice tight and thin like he had to divert energy to force his muscles from shaking as he spoke.
“Because fine people shiver so hard they crack their teeth,” Adam replied. “Dream a damn sleeping bag.”
“I’m not dreaming a damn sleeping bag,” Ronan said in a mimic of Adam’s Henrietta accent, more apparent in his exhaustion, his vowels long and his consonants clipped. “We said no magic.”
“I’m not gonna tell Gansey and Blue.”
“We said no magic.”
Adam turned to look at Ronan, who laid with his arms insouciantly crossed beneath the pillow of his backpack, so unmoving he might as well have been an effigy carved into the lid of a tomb. The tent’s shadows helped turn him more sinister than usual, and Adam could just make out the curve of Ronan’s nose and the corner of his sharp, square jaw against the span of nylon beside him. His eyes were shrouded in darkness except for one tiny glint, a pinprick of light in the eye Adam could see, and Adam could have sworn Ronan wasn’t even breathing.
“You’re an idiot,” Adam said, rolling back onto his left side before he started studying Ronan like a museum piece. It wasn’t long before Ronan’s teeth chattered again, and Adam rolled his eyes before he sighed and told Ronan, “Freeze, then.”
Closing his eyes again, Adam made another attempt at sleeping, but between being keyed up from their minor argument and Ronan’s chattering teeth, sleep seemed unattainable. So Adam faked it, though Ronan had slept next to him enough to know how Adam truly slept, until Ronan shivered so violently the tent floor crackled beneath him.
If Ronan’s stubbornness continued, Adam wouldn’t get any sleep at all. With their proximity and how the tiniest sounds rose enormous within the confines of the tent, there was simply too much going on for Adam to find any ease and rest. Barring Ronan dreaming a sleeping bag — or at the very least a damn blanket — nothing Adam could do would stop Ronan’s temperature problem.
Except one thing.
A particularly bad idea for more than a few reasons.
One Adam only entertained as a last resort. If he had other options, he wouldn’t have even thought about it, but he wanted to sleep for at least a few hours. And that wasn’t guaranteed even if Ronan did agree, though Adam didn’t take Ronan to be a restless sleeper based on past experiences.
Turning back to face Ronan, Adam yanked down the zipper of his sleeping bag and, lifting the top half up, he said, “Get in.”
“Are you off the reservation or something?” Ronan asked, backpack and tent rustling as he turned to look at Adam. “Were the sausages bad? Is botulism affecting your brain?”
“Your damn teeth are affecting my brain. I’m not gonna sleep if you keep laying there shivering. So get in, Lynch.”
“I’m not—”
“Get in, Lynch.”
Despite the dropping temperature outside the tent, inside it rose a few degrees either from the heat radiating from Ronan’s stare or possibly from his cheeks. The dark hid any blush that might have spread across his face from Adam’s offer — more like demand. Adam knew he’d put Ronan in an impossible situation. He’d put himself in an impossible situation. Just a glimpse of Blue’s bare thigh still turned Adam on. He couldn’t imagine what sharing a sleeping bag would do to Ronan. They were teenage boys, and at their age, bodies made a habit of acting against the will of their occupants at incredibly inopportune moments.
Adam didn’t know what it would do to him either. He’d never so much as shared a mattress with anyone, let alone a sleeping bag, but the two of them would be crammed together inside Adam’s without any option except to be close, limbs tangled as they pressed up against one another. Were Adam willing to sleep on the naked tent floor, he’d unzip the bag completely and throw it over the both of them like a blanket, but it’d be warmer anyway, zipped in together.
There would be no more chattering teeth. No more shivering.
Which resolved everything except the biggest problem of all: Ronan Lynch was far from unattractive.
That worried Adam most, that between all the touching and Ronan’s good looks, he’d wake up in the morning and they’d find themselves in an incredibly awkward situation.
So Adam decided he wouldn’t think about that until it happened.
Time stretched as they stared at one another across a few dim inches. Outside, the owl hooted once, twice, three times, and Chainsaw croaked a response from whatever perch she’d found in their clearing. Inside, the staring went on for so long it started looking like Adam wouldn’t get any sleep at all, not because of Ronan’s shivering, but because of his stubbornness. But, finally, Ronan relented. After a creatively compound curse-filled complaint that reminded Adam of a passage of purple prose they’d had to read in an English Literature class Ronan hadn’t attended, Ronan scooted across the tent floor and — following a barely perceptible hesitation — shoved his legs alongside Adam’s in Adam’s sleeping bag.
Their feet and ankles tangled, their knees knocked, and the fronts of their thighs pressed together as Ronan struggled to fit into the sleeping bag with Adam, who wedged himself as far as he could against the opposite side of the bag but offered no other assistance. The nubby pills of decades-old fleece pressed into Adam’s back so hard he felt them through his hoodie, and the temperature in the tent rose another five thousand degrees as they resolved their leg situation: after much kicking and scooching, Adam found one knee awkwardly trapped between Ronan’s in an embrace resembling a dovetail joint. All that remained was closing the sleeping bag, and Ronan contorted himself to zip it up, which only served to squeeze them closer together and created an arm-and-chest situation.
“It’s a goddamn straight jacket,” Ronan complained, his elbow colliding with Adam’s chest in a move Adam didn’t think was meant to be violent but sent his breath out of his lungs with an oof nonetheless. “And your breath smells like shit.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you expected me to brush my teeth in the middle of the damn woods.” The back of Adam’s fist accidentally crashed into Ronan’s ribs. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
After a flurry of forearms, they both wound up with arms crossed and held tightly to their chests, Egyptian mummies turned on their sides and bandaged together as they shared a sarcophagus. Adam felt mummified, holding himself as stiff as he could to minimize contact with Ronan, but proximity rendered the effort fruitless; elbows pushed together every time they inhaled, and every exhale left them as far apart as they could be within the confines of Adam’s sleeping bag, which wasn’t far apart at all. They were two boys, both over six feet tall, crammed into a sleeping bag that hadn’t had much room to spare when only Adam had been inside it. Now there wasn’t a part of Adam not touching Ronan, from their feet to their thighs to their hips, and it wasn’t — unpleasant. Ronan was solid, warm — so warm Adam thought his sleeping bag might get too warm with both of them in it.
That left Ronan breathing right in Adam’s face as the only truly annoying thing about their position.
“Can you — not do that?” Adam asked after a particularly long exhale blew hot air right against his closed mouth.
“Considering the circumstances,” Ronan said, “no.”
Six inches between their faces made it difficult for Adam to focus his stare on Ronan, but he tried. “Then turn over.”
“After we had to reassemble Pangea to manage this?” Ronan flapped his crossed arms between them, elbowing both Adam and the sleeping bag. “I’ll pass.”
“Lynch.” Adam stabbed his knee into Ronan’s. “Turn over.”
“You turn over.”
“It’s my sleeping bag. You turn over.”
It took another forever, but again Ronan relented after Adam made no move to shift position and put his back to Ronan, in part because he didn’t want to smother his hearing ear and in part because he didn’t want to be little spoon. Their bodies crushed together as Ronan rolled over, and a miracle saved sleeping bag seams from ripping, though they creaked and strained through the additional round of jostling.
“Happy?” Ronan asked once he’d situated himself on his right side.
Their new position nestled Adam’s knees behind Ronan’s, and Adam canted his hips back so the front of his sweatpants didn’t come in contact with the back of Ronan’s jeans. The situation could have been worse, and as he hugged himself tighter to tuck his arms into his body, Adam replied, “Ecstatic.” He closed his eyes once more, hoping it was for good this time, and repeated, “Good night, Lynch.”
Ronan grunted his good night and, slowly, Adam started falling asleep again, focusing on Ronan’s rhythmic breathing and letting it lull him back toward slumber. Sleep approached, then ebbed, then approached again, and Adam finally stood on the precipice of falling into the abyss when Ronan said, “What the hell is your vendetta against my kidneys?”
Jerking back to full consciousness, Adam kicked the back of Ronan’s ankles. “What the hell, Lynch?”
“Your bony ass elbows are murdering my kidneys,” Ronan replied. He shoved his elbows back into Adam to push him away, which left them elbowing, kneeing, and kicking one another another hard enough Adam would probably wake up with bruises until Ronan reached behind him and shoved at Adam’s shoulder hard enough Adam had no choice but to turn over unless he wanted his spine wrung out like a dishrag.
“See if I share a sleeping bag with you again.” Adam kicked his heel into Ronan’s calf, not hard, but not not hard, and he jostled Ronan a lot more than he needed to as he tried to find some semblance of comfort curled up — if it could be called curled up — on his right side.
“Yeah, well. This isn’t by choice,” Ronan replied, trapping Adam’s feet between his shins and neutralizing the threat of Adam thumping his heels into Ronan’s calves again.
In their new position, their shoulder blades crushed together and Ronan’s ass pushed back into Adam’s — Adam couldn’t tell if this was purposeful or because Ronan’s ass naturally took up more space than Adam’s. Either way, Adam had felt worse things, so he didn’t say anything about it. His elbows weren’t killing Ronan’s kidneys and Ronan’s breath wasn’t in Adam’s face, so overall, back to back was an altogether better situation, and if Adam woke up in the morning with a—
“Good night, Lynch,” he said for the third and hopefully final time, but more to keep his thoughts from straying. Adam hugged himself with one arm, made a pillow with his other, and then he pushed himself as close as he could to the side of his sleeping bag so he could put an additional millimeter of space between him and Ronan. Then finally — finally — Adam closed his eyes.
“Sleep tight, Parrish,” Ronan replied. He remained tense behind Adam, shoulders stiff, spine straight, and Adam let himself relax just a little bit more knowing Ronan’s enjoyment of their situation was possibly lower than Adam’s. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
As Adam gradually fell asleep, all he could think about was how no one had ever sent him off to bed with that tiny rhyme before.
Cabeswater brushed against Adam’s consciousness as he began waking up, a gentle, timid touch like a bright green fern unfurling. Firm ground supported him, not his mattress, and his nose filled with the lingering smell of campfire, not the old flower must of his room above St. Agnes.
Camping, Adam remembered as he continued surfacing from sleep. They’d gone camping. He laid in a tent, in his sleeping bag, which explained the firm ground. The campfire though, charred wood and ash, surrounded him. Too close. Not just campfire, Adam realized. Sweat, too. And fabric softener. Adam’s left arm was numb because something pinned it down, and — he could hear, which didn’t make sense since he’d fallen asleep on his right side. Except he wasn’t on his right side anymore, and his chest pressed into something solid and warm.
Someone solid and warm.
Because in his sleep, Adam had turned over to spoon Ronan. He laid with his arm draped around Ronan’s waist, his knees nestled behind Ronan’s, his hips flush to Ronan’s ass, and his chest pressed to Ronan’s back, holding Ronan so close the hood of Ronan’s sweatshirt swallowed Adam’s face.
Awareness and awakeness returned to Adam in the time it took him to open his eyes, and he excavated his face from Ronan’s hoodie enough the hooks of Ronan’s tattoo resolved themselves into focus in the hazy morning glow lighting the tent.
No, Adam blinked. Not a hazy morning glow. Outside the tent was still dark, not even close to dawn.
But inside…
Hundreds of tiny glowing spheres lit their tent from within, not unlike the fireflies Ronan had dreamt for the Barns. They bobbed in the air, bumping into the sides of the tent, and blanketed Adam and Ronan where they laid curled together in Adam’s sleeping bag. The sight stole Adam’s breath, and when he finally exhaled, it scattered the lights resting on Ronan’s shoulder, sending them upward into the tent’s peak. Beautiful and awesome, the small golden balls fascinated Adam, holding his attention despite knowing he needed to turn over and orient himself away from Ronan. But Adam couldn’t stop himself from holding Ronan a few moments long as he watched a single light flutter down and land on the shell of Ronan’s ear.”
“Stop gawking and go back to sleep,” Ronan said after Adam let out another breath that scattered more of the tiny lights around the tent, his voice dripping with fabricated disdain. Adam didn’t know if he’d just woken up, or if the paralysis that came with bringing something back from a dream had just worn off, but Ronan speaking snagged Adam in a net, caught holding Ronan and gaping at his dream lights in one fell swoop. But when Adam tried to free himself and wrench his arm from beneath Ronan, Ronan stopped him with a hand to the arm around Ronan’s waist. “It’s — whatever. It’s fine. Just — go back to sleep.”
Spooning Ronan felt anything but fine. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff with only the option to jump, and Adam wasn’t ready to take that leap. And for Ronan? The guy he liked held him — held him like a lover, and he couldn’t do anything about it. That alone made Adam want to reel away, to stop giving Ronan something that could be construed as false hope, because in a year, Adam would leave, and Ronan showed no inclination toward anything other than staying.
Like he sensed Adam’s reluctance, Ronan repeated, less disdainfully and more firmly, “Go back to sleep.”
“Fine, but—” Adam shook his numb arm where it remained trapped beneath Ronan “—move.”
Ronan moved and Adam freed his arm, and after he stretched it out and the pins and needles of numbness faded, Adam curled his arm beneath his head. He kept his nose out of Ronan’s hood, but it didn’t stop campfire and sweat and fabric softener from surrounding Adam again as he settled in to go back to sleep, but before he closed his eyes, he imprinted the lights above, around, and on them deep into his brain.
Adam didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he knew when he woke up. The stuttering, snagging grate of the tent’s slightly rusted zipper drew him out of sleep as soon as he heard it, and his body drew taut as a bow as he opened his eyes. True morning light, not bobbing specks of gold, flooded the tent, and when Adam lifted his head from the pillow of his left arm, he looked at Blue where she crouched in the mouth of his and Ronan’s tent. Disheveled from sleep and clipless, her hair stuck up in every direction, and it was too early for the fiendish grin on her face as she waved at Adam and Ronan, still spooning, and said, “You know, I always thought you’d be little spoon.”