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"Have you ever made a wish list?” Adam looks up from his book at Ronan, who is resolutely not looking back at him.
Ronan’s eyes are out the window, tracing the stained glass with a calloused fingertip. It’s past ten and dark outside, but the snow reflects whatever small amount of light the shitty streetlamp radiates and hits the side of his very angular face. Adam has to fight not to stare.
“Do you mean for Santa? Or what?” He tries to make it dismissive.
“No, the tooth-fairy.” Adam raises his eyebrows. “Oh, fuck off. Of course I mean for Santa, why else would you write a wish list?” There’s no bite to Ronan’s voice; he mostly sounds tired and knowing that it’s because he’s been staying up studying with him sends a shiver down Adam’s spine.
Still. Instead of biting back that he knew not to expect things, he cuts straight to the chase. “Lynch, you’re not getting me something for Christmas.”
“I wasn’t saying that.” Adam notices the season-appropriate flush at the top of Ronan’s cheeks but doesn’t mention it. He’s grown accustomed to Ronan’s helping with the rent, to the random gifts that keep turning up in corners of his apartment and his car, but that’s not the same. He sighs.
“Christmas was just… my mom cooking and my dad… being dad. I didn’t write any lists or bake cookies or whatever and that’s just the way it is, you know,” he doesn’t have to try to keep his voice calm. He’s used to the idea of his life by now, that Ronan and Gansey and Blue, and even Noah, probably, though he doesn’t talk about it, have had different familial situations. Almost used to the idea that maybe Adam's not to blame for how his turned out.
If there’s anything the past year has taught him, it’s that people aren’t as simple as they seem. He’s not the only one with issues, and looking at Ronan now, so much softer around the edges while he’s sat on Adam’s bed, it’s hard not to be ashamed of it. That it took him so long.
He still gets angry, and feels left out, but it’s easier yelling at Ronan or Blue than it is walking around with it. And they yell back, will give as good as they get, but they never hurt him. It’s not perfect, far from, he’s not saying that… It’s just not the same. He’s better. They’re better.
Ronan’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.
“No, hey, I get that.” There’s an apology in there somewhere, but they’re not quite there yet. It’s still good. Ronan doesn’t get it, but they know what it means. I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything.
Adam gets back to Alexander Hamilton and Ronan gets back to whatever-it-is-he’s-doing, but it’s not long before “... how pissed off would you get if I chucked a snowball in your face?”
Adam hopes the eraser he throws at his stupid grin is answer enough.
-
“Ronan hasn’t talked to you about Christmas presents, right?” Adam asks Gansey when he drops down on the Monmouth Manufacturing couch. The large, empty spaces that usually smell faintly of men’s shower gel and old books, if anything, tell the story of Orla’s baking.
Blue doesn’t cook, but she’s the one who’s brought Orla’s christmas cookies to Monmouth; she’s the one who’s shown Gansey how to warm them up and by doing so make the entire factory smell… homely. When he closes his eyes, Adam sees Christmas cartoons and a childishly decorated tree. It doesn’t make him as sad as he would have expected.
Gansey looks up from where he’s reading about medieval Christmas traditions and his eyebrows come together, creasing his faultless forehead. He’s wearing what is probably the most ridiculous Christmas sweater Adam’s ever seen, green and speckled with glitter and red Christmas trees and white reindeers. It’s very absurd, but then what is Richard Campbell Gansey III if not absurd?
“Was I not supposed to?” He sounds genuinely concerned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Adam groans and drops his head on the worn-down leather furniture, closing his eyes. By habit, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t know that. I know how you feel about gifts, but it’s Christmas, Adam.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he hasn’t bought you anything yet!” comes Noah’s voice from somewhere not too far away. Adam wets his well-bitten lower lip and contemplates telling them that what bugs him isn’t really the money, but the giving itself. It’s Adam’s turn to give Ronan something, and he doesn’t have the means Ronan (or Gansey) does. It shouldn’t be a competition, but Adam makes everything a competition.
He opens his eyes to find Noah looking at him inquisitively from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. “Are you nervous? You look nervous.”
Adam huffs. “I’m not nervous. Why would I be nervous?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t ask, Adam,” Noah sighs, as if Adam’s the one who’s acting weird. Gansey hums in agreement and circles something in his two hundred year old book before grabbing a cookie off of the plate next to him, eating it in silence. He’s probably lived off of cookies, since Blue left them. Adam smiles.
“Speaking of not understanding things; Gansey, what are you wearing?”
“Oh, this!” He pulls the front of his sweater out to put the pattern on display properly, and frowns as he brushes off cookie crumbles, human that he is. “It was a present, from professor Mallory! He remembered that I had a thing for Christmas jumpers, so he sent me one. They’re very popular in Britain around this time of year. He sent me one that looks like a giant Christmas pudding, too, but I figured that this was more understandable.”
Adam has no idea what a Christmas pudding is, but if it’s English (or Welsh), then he probably doesn’t need to know. Instead of asking he gets back to thinking about what he could get for Ronan that says hey you’re very important to me, but doesn’t cost too much and is something that Ronan would actually use. He’s very particular about his things, much like Adam (and all around just impossible).
He wants to get Ronan something thoughtful, something that only he could come up with. It doesn’t have to be expensive, he knows that doesn’t matter to Ronan unless it’s about a car, but it needs to be personal...
He falls asleep before he comes up with anything, and wakes up only briefly when he hears Ronan huff from somewhere above him. Arms come around to circle his back and knees, and in the morning he faintly remembers being carried off to Ronan’s bedroom in the middle of the night.
Nonetheless, he wakes up in Ronan’s bed, surrounded by Ronan’s weird and scary dreamed-up things. The other boy is still asleep next to him, on his front, arms folded beneath his head, bare with his skin prickling. No doubt he wanted to make sure Adam was warm enough, even though Adam never hogs the covers or wakes up without.
“Stubborn asshole,” Adam mutters sleepily as he untucks himself only to instead tuck Ronan in, kissing his shoulder once before falling back asleep. It’s snowing, and still dark outside, and he has the afternoon shift at the store. The world can wait.
-
Blue is the one who starts it.
They’ve all got so much pent up energy and frustration, knowing that Gansey’s… that something’s going to happen soon. Gansey is the only one who doesn’t know, but it doesn’t seem like a very seasonal thing to say, so no one mentions it. That and no one would ever bring it up with him anyway.
As if it’s Gansey’s last, a silent agreement has been made between the three still living members of the Gansey-gang to keep Christmas as pleasant as possible. Adam has helped Blue put up Christmas decorations all over the factory, while Ronan has been less irritable than usual and Noah more often than not just watches them, smiling to himself as if in on some private joke.
They know better than most that keeping things to yourself rarely results in anything worth having, and so it doesn’t really come as a surprise to anyone when one day while out exploring in the snow, Blue gets to the point where she throws a snowball in Ronan’s face in the middle of his bite at her bitter attitude.
“What the fuck?!” Blue’s cheeks are red from what appears to be both the cold and her feelings, and crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “You’ve been rude all day and need to stop.”
Ronan raises his eyebrows in challenge. “You think so?” Before Adam or Gansey, who are walking ahead of the two, realise what’s going on, Ronan and Blue are running in opposite directions and engaged in a very serious snowball fight.
The seriousness of it doesn’t last for long, as Blue slips on an icy patch of the trail and ends up laughing at her own mishap, shrieking when Ronan grabs the opportunity to cover her face with snow. Gansey, the knight in shining armour, then comes to the rescue and hits Ronan with a ball of his own.
Even Noah joins in, cackling with delight as he dodges every attempt to hit him, and just as Adam bends down to assemble revenge at the snowball that Blue throws at him the minute she’s back on her feet, Adam catches sight of Ronan’s hands.
They’re red from the cold, skin irritated and frost-bitten. Adam can still see traces of blue and green veins, follows his dry knuckles down to his bitten-down fingernails.
Knowing Ronan, his love of fighting and confrontation, he must have had a few snowball fights in his life. Despite this, Adam can’t remember ever seeing him in gloves, black leather or otherwise. Nor a scarf, or a hat. Ronan is half-dream, but he’s still real, and alive, and obviously gets cold. He gets cold feet at night, and shivers when it rains, and still won’t ever dress properly.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Ronan has always prioritised the well-being of others (a chosen few) and often forgets about himself, leaving it up to Gansey and Adam and even Noah, sometimes, to do it for him. He rarely accepts the help without a fight, but they try.
Adam gets hit on the left cheek with a big lump of cold.
“You alive, Parrish?” Ronan’s grin is down-right mocking, and he laughs loudly when the ball Adam throws in his direction fails to reach it’s goal and instead ends up on a close-by tree. Adam doesn’t notice that the tree isn’t a normal one, too busy trying to dodge various attacks to see the light that’s been lit in Ronan’s eyes.
It fades again when Adam tackles him to the ground, replaced by an entirely different kind of gleam.
-
There’s a wrapped gift sitting in Adam’s second desk drawer. He’s acutely aware of it when Ronan texts to tell him that he’s picking him up in five minutes, not telling Adam where they’re going or what they’re doing.
Now isn’t the time, he tells himself and leaves the present where it is.
It’s past midnight, and Adam had actually planned to get some rest, but there’s no way he’ll be able to tell Ronan no. Lately, it’s as if he’s only ever really feeling things when Ronan is around to enhance them. They talk about Blue making things louder, and Adam can only think of how Ronan makes everything move slower, every touch or memory or thought so much more when he’s involved. He blames his softness on the season.
They’re not really boyfriends. Adam has never called Ronan his boyfriend, barely ever calls him Ronan, for God’s sake, but he knows that if Ronan made out with someone else, or looked at someone else like he sometimes looks at Adam, he’d be upset. Not surprised, because Ronan could have anyone he wanted, but upset.
It’s not that simple, he knows.
For all intents and purposes, they’re in a relationship. Adam sleeps over at Monmouth, in Ronan’s room, when he doesn’t have the morning shift, and even when he does Ronan sometimes sleeps over at Adam’s. It’s not as much sleeping on Ronan’s part, but they share a bed, like couples do. They kiss, like couples do, fight even worse. Adam will trace every bone broken and every mark made on Ronan’s body into the small hours of the night, will shiver when Ronan kisses the sensitive spot behind his deaf ear, but still can’t imagine them as boyfriends.
His toes curl against the cold floor before he walks up to the armoire, pulling out a sweater that looks warm enough but not too warm and pulls it over his bare upper half. Just after he’s got his socks on his new, but old enough only to be able to receive calls and messages, phone beeps.
what a show you’re putting on for the neighbors
The only people who could possibly see me are the nuns, Ronan.
even worse
He rolls his eyes, ignores the present burning a hole in the back of his mind and takes his time getting down the stairs, just to be a pain. Ronan sees him coming, unimpressed but smirking when Adam pulls open the door and gets in, driving off before he’s got his seat belt on properly.
“Considering the nuns have nothing else to look at, I’d say they’re more likely than others to look through your window at night.”
“Don’t be a creep, Lynch, and even if you are don’t bring the nuns into it.”
“Now would you mind letting me know why we’re doing this in the middle of the night and what it is we’re actually doing?” Adam asks, trying to stifle a yawn with the palm of his hand, as Ronan puts on some music on low.
Christmas music, apparently. There has yet to come a day where Adam is not surprised by the inner workings of Ronan Lynch, who taps the steering wheel to the beat of The Little Drummer Boy. Maybe Adam is dreaming and has actually fallen asleep at Blue’s house, or something.
“Nope.” Ronan’s face is completely neutral now, focusing on the somewhat slippery road but still going just as fast as he would were it the middle of summer.
Adam has since summer come to realise that the reason Ronan loves testing life’s boundaries is because he questions the reality of his own existence. Ronan needs to constantly have it confirmed that he’s not completely made up, that what has happened to him and his dad and his brothers isn’t all in his head.
A year ago, Adam wouldn’t have understood that, had Ronan tried to explain it. He hates it, thinking of the times that Ronan could have gotten seriously hurt or injured, the times he did, but he gets it. After Cabeswater, Persephone’s disappearance, all the nightmares and dreaming, he understands why Ronan does it. So he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he puts his hand to Ronan’s wrist, squeezing once, before he looks out the window.
There was a time when Ronan and Adam couldn’t stop bickering whenever they were around each other, fighting tooth and nail to have the last word. Now they’re mostly quiet on their lonesome. Luckily, their silence says everything Adam never had the ability to word.
After what feels like no time at all, they come to a stop by a trail, trampled by their own feet only a few days ago. Not much snow has fallen since, and Adam gets out with a questioning look on his face. Ronan walks up to the trunk, clicks it open and pulls out a flashlight and..
“An axe?”
“Relax, Parrish, I’m not going to murder you,” Ronan says, and because he’s Ronan, adds, “and if I were I definitely wouldn’t do it with an axe in the forest. It’s too cliché.” He earns a punch to the arm for that, turns on the flashlight and starts walking.
“Have you finished that philosophy paper yet?” Adam feels his cheeks heat up slightly and kicks up some snow with the top of his shoe, following in Ronan’s footsteps. Some of it lands on Ronan’s jeans-clad calf.
“Yes, I have. I would have had it done earlier if you hadn’t distracted me.” Adam can tell through the dark that Ronan is looking way too pleased with himself when he answers, “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. I’ve never seen your face look that -”
“Oh shut up, there’s no one here to embarrass me in front of.” His ears still feel like they’re on fire when Ronan turns around and though he isn’t more than a couple of centimetres taller than Adam, if that, he’s still looking down on him. That axe suddenly feels a lot more threatening than it did a minute ago.
“I wouldn’t talk like that in front of anyone else and you know it.” He looks Adam deep in the eye, silently saying don’t you dare fight me on this. “What we do is no one’s fucking business.” He turns back around and walks, more decided and firm in his step, muttering under his breath as he pushes branches out of the way. Adam mumbles “literally” and walks after, ignoring the way his heart rate picks up at Ronan’s words.
And this.. this is their thing. They go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, and Adam has no way of keeping up. They’re both self-deprecating, destructive at times, confrontational and bitter. But they’re also boy-ish, awkward and down-right stupid. Adam is stupid for Ronan. Sometimes he believes Ronan is stupid for him, too.
They come to a halt in front of a large, taller than the two of them though not by much, green tree, and Ronan hands Adam the flashlight.
“If you see anyone coming, though I doubt it, we’re going to make a run for it.” He speaks calmly as he grips the wooden handle with both hands, broadening his stance and planting his feet firmly on the white-clad ground. Then he swings the metal tool and hits the trunk of the tree with a heavy thump and Adam gets it.
“This is illegal! What if we get arrested?! Ronan, stop,” he hisses, looking around to make sure they’re still alone but not reaching out to stop Ronan’s swinging. The tree, though solid and healthy-looking, gives in easily to the metal and to Ronan. Adam relates, but still doesn’t approve. “This is crazy.”
“We’ve done worse. Anyway, I’m almost done, just shut up and keep your eyes open.”
“What?”
Ronan takes one final, heavy swing at it and the tree, a green Christmas tree in a forest that does not consist of Christmas trees, tips and falls in front of them with a soft thud. Ronan moves to the cut-off end of it and gestures for Adam to take the top, still not acknowledging Adam’s confusion as Adam does as Ronan shows him.
They start walking, and Adam feels as if his brain has been covered with fuzz, too tired and surprised to understand what’s going on before they’ve tied the tree to the roof of the car, Ronan putting the axe back in the trunk and getting in the driver’s seat.
And that's when it hits him.
“You… You wanted to get me something so bad that you dreamed up a Christmas tree?” Adam finally asks. Ronan almost-smiles, quietly, discretely, and rolls his eyes as they get back on the road. The only real sign that he’s smiling is the twitch the corner of his mouth does.
“I didn’t dream it.” He takes a quick look in the rear view mirror and speeds up. “When we were out looking for magic, or whatever, and Blue started a snowball fight? I saw it; you hit it when you were supposed to hit me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it didn’t belong there, you know, and then I figured it would probably fit in your apartment. And I know you haven’t put up any Christmas decorations.”
Adam looks at Ronan in awe, at loss for what to say. He can’t protest that the tree did belong in that forest, or that he didn’t need a Christmas tree for it to feel like Christmas, or that he’s got anything smart to say at all. If they were boyfriends, Adam would probably lean across the console and kiss Ronan’s cheek, but then they wouldn’t be AdamandRonan.
They get back to the church, Ronan unties the tree and still quiet, Adam helps getting the tree up the stairs and into the apartment, where it stands tall and proud, the tip just below the ceiling. From the backseat of the car, Ronan fetches a tree stand, and like he’s done it a hundred times before puts the tree up so that it stands steady.
Adam’s apartment is tidy, but strange. The walls are empty save for a few pictures that Gansey printed out a while ago, of them and Blue. He’s got two bookshelves worth of books, most of them hand-me-down copies of books required at Aglionby. His bedsheets are a faded red, the wooden floors stained in places. It’s not dead, nor that empty to begin with, but the tree makes it feel like a home. It’s green, and fresh, and somehow brings out the faded spines of his books and takes up the space that Adam never could.
A thought occurs. “What you said earlier, about the tree not fitting in… Were you saying it’s symbolic? Like… you know. Like me, always feeling like I don’t belong?” He asks it quietly, not sure if he’s talking to himself or Ronan more. It’s honest in a way they usually never are out loud, and Adam regrets it the minute it’s out. Ronan, however, looks at him. Takes him seriously. Shrugs.
“Would you blame me? The tree might not fit in there in the woods, but it fits here, with you, and once we’ve decorated it, it’s going to be the most beautiful fucking Christmas tree anyone’s ever seen. It’s not a present, I didn’t pay for it, so just don’t. Don’t say anything.”
Adam snorts and opens his mouth to protest, but Ronan is there to shut him up with his lips on Adam’s.
It’s a sudden kiss, neither of them prepared for it to happen. Ronan’s hands come up to cradle Adam’s face, keeping him upright despite the force with which they come together, stumbling back a step or two. By reflex Adam’s hands come to rest on Ronan’s hips, clutching the material of his too-thin t-shirt, lips parting when Ronan bites down just enough for Adam to feel it. If anything, it’s an invitation.
“For a scholar, sometimes you’re pretty stupid,” Ronan mumbles between kisses that taste of peppermint toothpaste, Adam too busy feeling out whatever parts of Ronan he can reach with his hands, Ronan keeping them pressed close together. When the words register, he grins where before he would have been offended, taking Ronan’s full bottom lip between his and biting down in retaliation.
When they first started fooling around, Adam was scared to do it at his place. Their.. thing, whatever it was, felt too fragile already, and he didn’t want Ronan to be uncomfortable. What with him living on top of a church.
Ronan confronted him after a while, thinking that it was to do with Adam being too scared to bring Ronan into his space, to have it be that serious. They had a row, Adam instinctively defensive and frustrated that he had to try and explain his worries when they were all about respecting Ronan’s feelings. Ironically enough, they ended up having angry sex on Adam’s bed.
Safe to say he’s not as nervous about what they can and can’t do anymore, head falling back when Ronan presses kisses along the line of his neck, as teethy as anyone would expect, yet all the more gentle.
Adam pulls his head back up and with a hand by Ronan’s jaw makes their lips meet again, licking into Ronan’s clever mouth, feeling none of the sharp poison he’ll spit out when he feels the need to. Instead feels only the warmth from his hands when they reach below his sweater, gripping his hips and running up and down his spine, seeking out skin.
Ronan is different with Adam. He’s angrier when he’s angry, but when he’s not he’s everything he isn’t with the others. Adam is the only one who gets this side, the softest, most secret one. And in turn, Ronan is the only one who can get Adam to forget about the rest. The only one to whom Adam will surrender and be worshipped by.
He pulls away to breathe, and Ronan’s eyes are shot, lips red like Gansey’s mulled wine and candy cane stripes. That Adam can get Ronan to look so… so overwhelmed, still doesn’t register as real. He swallows thickly.
“Thank you.” It’s quiet but too loud in the dark bedroom. Ronan shakes his head, steals another kiss, kisses from the corner of his mouth up his Henrietta cheekbones, down his jaw and chin. It’s not romantic, not really, but it’s thorough. Like Adam’s lips aren’t enough, like he’s still obsessed with all that Adam is, forgetting all that he isn’t.
They keep kissing as if unable to pull away, and Adam lets Ronan drag him towards the bed, long fingers circling his wrists, pulling him down with him on the mattress by the window. With his knees firmly planted on opposite sides of Ronan’s legs, Ronan’s hand reaching for his belt, Adam shakes his head and leans back. With every gentle scratch of nails, every nip and lick, Adam shivers as his skin prickles, every nerve aware of Ronan’s energy and persistence.
Rather than explaining himself, he shuffles back, Ronan sitting up only to let Adam pull off his shirt, throwing it aside and getting back down. His chest falls and rises again as Adam puts his hands where his heart is, the steady thump a testament to just how real and there they both are. Anchoring.
“You’re so lame,” Ronan mutters and closes his eyes, but there’s a flush to his cheeks that removes any bite there might have been. Adam bites at his pec in retaliation and gets on with it, moving down his torso, putting his lips to random spots that catch Ronan by surprise (if his twitching fingers are anything to go by).
As Adam unbuckles his belt, trying to go slow but not awkwardly so, he feels Ronan scratch carefully at the back of his head, gently running his fingers through his longer-than-usual dirt-colored hair. He hides his smile against Ronan’s hipbone, nods when Ronan stops for a second in lieu of a positive reaction. They’re still trying each other out, finding what works and what doesn’t.
Ronan inhales sharply when Adam takes him into his mouth, trying his best not to grip his hair too tight, tug too roughly. It’s a lame excuse for a thank you, but Adam does his best to get across that he cares, that he knows what the tree means or at least thinks he does. He kisses beneath the crown, closing his eyes to block out anything that isn’t Ronan’s breathing, Ronan’s hands, Ronan’s voice when he says “Adam” like it’s his favourite word, his voice soft and altered to be only for him.
He hollows his cheeks, keeps his eyes closed as Ronan’s thumb strokes along the outline of himself, feels his eyes sting with the weight of what they are, what Adam feels when Ronan comes still saying his name, when he gets up to be at eye-level and Ronan kisses him again.
“Did you know that the smell of pine makes me think of you?” Adam asks, out of breath, kicking off his pants while Ronan bites and sucks at his neck in intervals, rolling on top of him and taking Adam in his hand. Adam’s hips rise momentarily of the bed, biting his lip when Ronan twists his wrist just so.
“Didn’t,” he replies, smiling into the hickey he’s just left by Adam’s collarbone, spreading the wetness from his tip and down, slowly. Adam pulls him in by the neck and licks inside his mouth, pants when Ronan moves his hand faster.
“That tree is going to make the entire apartment smell like you,” he says. Ronan groans and shakes his head and they’re going to feel embarrassed, come morning, about what they’re saying, but right now it’s just right, and Adam spills on their stomachs when Ronan says his name again, whispers it like a secret.
It’s like a string wound too tight has broken, and Ronan comes down on top of him, and they kiss, quiet and slow, sloppy and uncoordinated. Falling apart only to come together again, slowly catching their breaths.
Before Ronan, Adam had never felt comfortable being out of control. Being out of control meant losing control, meant losing overall. It’s not like that, with him.
Eventually they get too tired to kiss properly, and the mess between them gets unbearable.
Because Adam is who he is, they’re only back in bed twenty minutes later, having showered and brushed their teeth next to each other, unintentionally bumping elbows and hips, only looking at the other in the mirror when the other one isn’t. (Neither reflect over the fact that Ronan, who doesn’t sleep, has a toothbrush in Adam’s bathroom).
Ronan curls around Adam in bed, chest to back, Adam’s face facing the rest of the apartment and heavy-lidded eyes immediately falling on the wild Christmas tree. If he were less tired, he’d laugh, or snort, or roll his eyes, but as it is he only shuts his eyes and tucks the arm Ronan’s tossed over him closer to his chest.
“You know I can’t afford any decorations for it,” he mumbles, half-asleep. Ronan taps his fingertips against his chest, presses his lips to the back of Adam’s neck. Post-sex, neck-kissing is okay. Half-asleep, neither of them have the energy to keep up a façade of not being that tactile.
“Don’t need any. Like ‘t as it is.”