Work Text:
It was a mid-summer afternoon and it was boiling.
The heat enveloped everything.
Sounds were muted, asphalt became one with the air, time stopped. The world as everyone knew it was gone, too tired to keep moving.
It was unbearable.
The trick to surviving the summer heat, Adam knew, was to seek what still remained.
Stillness. The shade of a tree. The trunk pressed to his back. The pleasantly warm breeze, rushing through his hair. The undisturbed droplets of sweat running down his arms. The shabby, wooden jetty by the lakeside. Its occasional creaking beneath and around him. The freezing water up to his knees. Glittering reflections of sunlight on the surface through tired, slow eyelashes. Peace. Summer. A familiar feeling, a familiar scent.
“Look at that fucker, it's here again.”
Adam slowly peeled one eyelid open and glanced to his right.
Another sweating body with sweaty arms pressing and sticking to his own side.
Adam leaned his head to rest on Ronan's shoulder, looking in the direction of Ronan's nod.
“The fish?”
“Yup, third time I see it.”
“Hmm,” Adam nodded and leaned further into Ronan.
“I'm melting over here, Parrish,” Ronan muttered while finding a comfortable spot for his cheek on top of Adam's head.
Adam closed his eyes and smiled.
The breeze kept them company for a while.
Home.
Heat.
Everything boiling, including Ronan's skin. Adam pressed a kiss to it before sitting up straight.
Ronan's eyebrow quirked up.
“What, too hot for you, Parrish?”
“Maybe it's the other way around, Lynch?”
Ronan shrugged.
Adam huffed out a laugh and bumped their shoulders together. “I just thought you might need either a swim or a fresh bottle of water soon.”
“And you won't?”
“I'm fine.”
“Alright,” Ronan said after a short consideration. “I'll go buy some.”
The boards creaked under Ronan's angry the-fuck-is-this-heat steps, while Adam returned to finding what was there.
Beneath closed eyelids there was still warmth, still the shade and whistling of tree leaves. Ronan's fish sneaking around. Sweat and pleasant wind. Peace. Creaking. A familiar feeling, a familiar scent.
A freezing-
“What the- Ronan?! What's wrong with you?”
“Take it.”
Adam caught the small packet.
“Popsicles?”
“They don't sell them separately and I ain't eating all of this shit on my own. Take two.”
Adam stared at one already discarded plastic wrap and wooden stick in the packet, then the other wrap squashed in Ronan's hand and popsicle disappearing at the speed of light inside his mouth.
Adam took a popsicle for himself and handed the last one to Ronan.
“My brain will freeze,” Ronan pointed out, but took it nonetheless. It, too, disappeared in two seconds and the wraps were neatly disposed of in a nearby trash can.
Adam carefully unwrapped his own and got to it slowly. You shouldn't move fast under the sun if you wanted to survive it, after all. In fact, you shouldn't move at all, lest it notices you and burns you to ashes. Adam looked up at Ronan.
“This was freezing as well. Did you have to press the pack to my face or...?”
Ronan frowned and squatted next to Adam. Adam held his gaze. Ronan leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.
“Better?”
“Oh my god, Ronan,” Adam barely contained a too happy smile.
“Do not swear upon a deity's name in vain,” Ronan said and stared straight into the boy’s soul, “Adam.” Their blue hazes held until Ronan turned and jumped into the lake. His smile was sharp and not hidden at all.
Adam looked after him. He would join him later, when the tumult inside him would extinguish. Outside, the air was still hot, toasty and lazy. The popsicle vanished slowly, and the magical boy munched on the stick absentmindedly.
The sky was blue.
The stick caved underneath his teeth and a small cloud vaguely changed its shape.
Adam was sweating.
He held the bitten stick between his lips, closed his eyes, let his arms rest down.
It was hot.
He could fall asleep-
“Fuck, Lynch! What's wrong with you today?”
Ronan's icy cold hands pressed onto Adam's warm thighs.
“I made a mistake,” Ronan growled, frowning.
“Right now? Yes.”
“Parrish, you bastard.”
“Me?”
“I'm never getting you a- put that fucking thing out of your mouth and get in.”
Adam looked at Ronan, then at the fucking thing in his mouth, and at Ronan again.
At what remained of his chewed-on stick and someone else’s flushed cheeks that had only little to do with the sun.
Fingers twitched on his skin.
Adam stood up, responsibly got rid of the stick and took off his shirt.
It was infinitely hotter than before and he had no choice but to listen.
Well into an autumnal November evening golden leaves fell among the mist and dusty, grey buildings. Puddles gathered on uneven roads by the river and the air was cold enough to make you feel lonely and miss home.
Beneath orange lights, between cloudy breaths, with an elbow hooked around his own, Adam found it charming.
Admittedly, Ronan driving all the way there for the weekend and booking an apartment conveniently close to perfectly walkable parks because I might not be allowed on campus but they can never get me here, fuckers – was charming enough on its own.
Adam glanced at the knitted beanie Blue had gifted to Ronan and the scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. That one, Adam's.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.” Ronan glanced at Adam's slightly wavy hair, as it often decided to take on a mildly unruly appearance when it rained, and glared at the hand tucked safely in his pocket. Ronan's favourite pair of hands, wearing gloves that were a gift of Gansey's, because I got each of us a pair, Blue thought it would be great if we all had something to match. So, now there was an evil layer of cold protection testing Ronan's patience. “Are you cold?”
“I'm alright,” said Adam.
“Are you?”
“Why?”
Ronan shrugged and kept walking, and as he did, his gloveless hand reached down Adam’s arm, right to his wrist, right to where his fingers could rest on the inside of it, longing.
Adam stopped.
Ronan stopped with him and looked. And stared at the glove being removed, the well-versed bend of his wrist and fingers when he took Adam’s perfect, elegant, rough hand in his own. He could look no more then, for blue eyes blinked up and those perfect, elegant, rough fingers made space between his own as if that was what home meant.
Ronan took a deep breath and resumed walking.
“She fits well, doesn’t she?”
Ronan’s thumb was ever so carefully finding old and new paths over Adam’s hand in his lap. It was cold and windy and the bench almost colourless, but it was as good a reason as any to keep Adam more to himself.
Ronan knew he would never have enough of Adam for as long as he was alive. He had thought numerous times of dreaming up a door handle that would lead him to Adam and only half-jokingly threatened Gansey with the idea once. Adam, too, pointed out it would undoubtedly lead to too many unknown outcomes and then proceeded to make Ronan forget the rest of the day, as if Ronan needed any proof that Adam wanted this as much as himself.
He was entirely ready to give up the Earth if it meant spending more time with Adam, but alas, they did need a place to live and stand on, so Harvard would survive another couple of years, Ronan patted his generous self on the back.
It was easy to forget in times like these, anyway.
He followed Adam’s gaze up the trees and kissed the back of his hand.
“Of course she does, she’s my bird,” he smirked proudly and watched as Chainsaw croaked her way in a circle above them. “Matthew took her around for Halloween. Part of his costume or something, he said everyone was scared shitless.”
Adam chuckled. He thought of the Barns and the pumpkins and witches and costumes, which he never had time nor desire to indulge in. Hot drinks and red sunsets and chilly mornings in Ronan’s bed, which he was more than happy to entertain. “Decorated this year too, then?”
“Sure did. New stuff even.”
“Matthew’s idea?”
“Nope, all mine.”
Adam leaned in curiously.
Ronan did little to hide his pride.
“Yeah. It was squash one, squash two, squash three-”
The silence of autumn drowned between curses and laughter of two halves of one.
Late winter nights were cold more often than not.
“Parrish?”
There was not a single optimistic reason Adam could come up with to explain Declan's name on his phone screen after a, with the exception of occasional ‘no changes’ and ‘he’s okay’ during the first few months, long-lasting mutual and well-established silence since everything had happened. Not one. All he could think was Ronan, and will himself not to carve nail marks into his skin.
“Hello? Parrish?”
Breathe.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Ronan?”
“No, it's not...” Declan sighed on the other end of the line. “I have a favour to ask.”
“From me?”
“Yes, it's...” Adam could see Declan rubbing his eyes in stress without any scrying. “Do you have plans in January?”
“Why?”
“It's winter break, and...”
Adam waited.
“Okay, listen, Parrish. You're coming to Ireland.”
Adam waited more questioningly.
“It's just for a couple of days, I'm taking Jordan, Matthew-”
“I'm not going.”
Declan groaned. Because he intended to spend his end-of-year vacation in peace with Jordan. Because Matthew would be perfectly content exploring Mór’s town and a list of natural wonders Gansey had provided him with, but this is a family trip, Deklo, Ronan has to come too. And Declan wasn't sure he could survive this on his own.
“I need you to be with Ronan.”
“...”
“Parrish, I am going to call as many times as I need. I understand if you don't say yes now, but for God's sake, at least think-”
“How...the plane tickets. How much?”
Now Declan stopped talking. The silence was a weird pile of both-sided shame, pride, acceptance and considerations. When he spoke again, it was low and eerie.
“Don't get me wrong. You go to Ireland and make sure I don't age one second more than the natural progress of aging requires. It's a job, I'm paying you for it. As simple as that.”
Adam said nothing.
“Parrish.”
“What?”
“I am serious. I need you to keep an eye on him. For my sake and...”
Ronan's.
Adam exhaled.
“I'll think about it.”
“Great. I’ve already booked everything. Ronan will mail you later.”
Adam stared at the finished call screen. His bitten thumb hovered over the block option for a moment. Adam clicked it. Fifteen seconds passed. Slightly appeased, he tapped on unblock and put his phone away.
So if anyone had asked Adam how he would be spending the last days of his winter break, his answer would not have been somewhere in Ireland, waiting out the last hours of a snow storm.
Legs warm under a blanket with four pages to the end of a reading assignment and Ronan’s head and closed eyes waiting in his lap and a faint echo of a song coming out of the headphones, however, were not too different from what he had wished for.
Having a favour owned by Declan Lynch, too, was not a bad deal all things considered.
The first night had gone better and worse than they had expected.
Better, because the nightmare was not a monstrous creature or crabs or Ronan’s arms bleeding.
Worse, because it was a nightmare of sadness that settled deep in Ronan’s bones and Adam woke up to an arm tightening around his waist and tears he quietly picked up with the tips of his fingers.
He had kissed Ronan’s forehead and lips and found his hand to hold.
“Ronan,” he had whispered, “let me.”
And Ronan had. He had let Adam take away the miniature rag dolls in the shape of the three brothers Lynch, and their parents, those dreamt and those not. He had let Adam carefully put the tattered figurines lacking arms and legs and eyes to the floor and fit between Ronan’s arms tight enough to slowly, painstakingly fill the empty hole the nightmare had bitten away.
And then the hardest day was over and Adam was glad to see Ronan smile at the Ireland trees too. He could feel the nearby ley line humming behind his lids. It was a good place.
Almost as good as this, smaller one. He put his book down and stretched.
Ronan lifted the headphones.
“Done?”
“Mhm.”
The entire headset flew off immediately as Ronan rolled to his side and slid a hand behind Adam’s back. Both boys shivered when the palm found its rightful place underneath a Harvard College sweater.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“Ah, I didn’t think it would take me that long.”
Ronan shrugged and complied when Adam moved to lay them both down, tangled. “I’m not gonna sleep anyway.”
“Not tired?”
Ronan shrugged again and only relaxed the semi-permanent very-intentional intimidating frown of his brows when Adam’s fingers rubbed at the wrinkling skin. His eyes slid shut. Adam’s neck felt too soft not to be kissed, so he did. Thrice, for good measure.
His golden boy exhaled softly and leaned further into him.
“Parrish.”
“What, Lynch?”
“The potatoes are so fucking good here. I’ll have to make some space at the Barns.”
“Alright,” Adam smiled.
“Could convert me to a whole new religion. You’re cold.”
“I’m quite comfortable.”
“Shut up.” Ronan pulled the blanket up. “Grew up too close to the sun.”
“'Never regret thy fall, o Icarus of the fearless flight, for the greatest tragedy of them all, is never to feel the burning light', was it?”
“Look at you, top-of-his-grade Harvard student.”
“Shut up,” Adam returned equally nonthreateningly and settled to his usual space between Ronan’s arm and side. Then he pressed a kiss to Ronan’s shoulder. Thrice, for good measure.
“I should dream another blanket,” Ronan murmured a whole hour of more and less innocent touches later.
“Don’t you have one already?”
“Yeah, at the Barns. Need another one. A good temperature blanket. Folds to a very small size. You can bring it around and then you won’t freeze.”
Except Adam wasn’t really freezing, and when he was, he much preferred heading directly to the maker of dream blankets. Because Ronan burned and shone and made Adam feel in a way that had always seemed unobtainable before Ronan.
He felt it in their closeness and the space for decisions Ronan let Adam make. In the hands that held his own as if they were an object of worship and brought tears to Adam’s eyes. In the genuine grins and smiles and laughter he could hear on only one side but feel on both and even more so inside. In the little scary feeling Adam only rarely allowed himself to look at, that he was not only enough, but all that Ronan wanted.
“What will you call it?”
“Don’t know.” Ronan frowned. “Ideas?”
“Not really.” He reached to caress Ronan’s head. “Maybe sleep will tell.”
“I can…try, I guess.”
“Okay,” Adam whispered. “I’ll wait till you do.”
“I’ll call it FREAKSHEET.”
At four in the morning, Adam gave up on sleep and began laughing.
Ronan's completely impartial opinion was this: no place could beat early spring mornings at the Barns.
Whether the magic came from his father, himself, or just good old nature, Ronan didn't care. The barns were his and he loved them, from the green grass to the buds ready to wake, the cows, the dreams, the trees, the car tire marks, the old veranda stairs he was sitting on that offered him the best view of the Barns' backyard, cold spring breeze and all that good shit included.
He was proud of it.
His, loved.
The wood creaked.
The view had improved.
A delightful smell reached Ronan's nose.
Adam nudged at him with a cup of freshly made coffee. Ronan took it and raised it up in cheers.
“Morning,” said Adam.
“Pretty fucking good one,” replied Ronan.
With coffee to his mouth his eyes wandered to the boy standing next to him, in a worn-out shirt that had started out as Ronan's but was now theirs, loose socks and not enough pants over his underwear for Ronan to be normal about it. Discarding their clothes somewhere vague on their way to the couch had seemed like a great idea yesterday, but he was starting to regret it now. Somewhat. Adam knew what he was doing and Ronan had singlehandedly brought this onto himself.
“You could’ve taken my pants,” he grumbled and hooked an arm around Adam's knee to pull him closer and lean against him and then, there it was, the hand resting against the nape of his neck.
Loved, his, home.
Adam.
“Not gonna sit?”
“I don't mind standing.”
Ronan reached for a chair pillow and placed it on the stairs next to his own, then patted it vigorously. Adam sat down and kissed his cheek.
“How was sleep?”
“Uneventful,” said Ronan. “Short.”
“You could've woken me up when you decided to plant a new tree. What is it?”
“You need sleep more than I do, Parrish. You only sleep during breaks. Also, that's a plum.”
“Dream one?”
“You fucking bet.” Ronan grinned. “Fruit of yesterday’s nightly labours. Grows plums, no idea what flavour. Could be strawberry, watermelon, figs, you'll know when you eat it.”
“Where's the catch?”
“None, unless you're Declan. I made sure apricot flavour is included and you'll know when he gets it.”
“You're terrifying, Lynch,” Adam said as he leaned into Ronan's side and sighed softly when an arm placed itself around his waist.
“Damn right I am. You too, though, the fuck are you drinking? Smells like poison.”
“Mm. Maura gave us some. I'm not throwing it away.”
Us, Ronan thought, us, us, us, how easy it was to think like that.
“Well, how is it?”
Adam's lips pressed together. “Herbal?”
“Hah, it sucks, doesn't it? Let me try.”
“…So?”
“Sucks.” Ronan kissed Adam and pretended to think. “Well, better, I guess.”
Adam kissed him back, harder.
In a practiced, familiar gesture, tamquam, his lips seemed to motion; alter idem, Ronan’s wordlessly responded.
And so the year passes, and years will pass.
Ronan thinks of the Barns, Hennessy's paintings, of Declan and Matthew, of where to go, where to stay. What else he could dream of.
Adam thinks of a trailer park, classes and graduation, work, something secure for himself, of taking control. What kind of life he could have.
Some things were doomed to end.
Their high-school innocence, Monmouth, Cabeswater, the long summer before college, all of their firsts.
And then they think of when to scrape some time to meet next. Of the Barns being home in the end. Of friends and future. Of being certain of them. Of dreams and cards and hands holding tight and sharp-teethed smiles, quiet words, deep kisses, blue eyes, blue eyes.
And just like that, some things are blessed to last forever, and so they will stay, entwined, inevitably woven, forevermore.