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Adam driving to the Barns on Monday afternoon is a welcome surprise. Ronan had seen him just the previous day after church, had spent a cold afternoon with him in his room at St Agnes, aimless hours talking and not talking. They’re both obsessive and awkward with each other, equal parts unrestrained wanting and fearful of coming on too strong. But they’re getting better, learning themselves and the other, growing together – or whatever cheesy shit Blue, Gansey or Henry would come up with.
Ronan was feeding dream cows in a far field when Adam arrived, so he only realizes Adam's presence when he comes back to the house. He speeds up when he sees the Hondayota in the driveway, kicking off his muddy boots as he walks through the house. "Parrish?"
"In here," Adam replies, voice muted. Ronan finds him in the room with the desk and the nice window, which Adam has deemed his primary studying spot at the Barns. In reality, Adam does his work in bed, on the dining room table, on the couch, wherever he ends up that doesn’t result in him being too distracted by Ronan. Ronan is proud to say that he's become skilled at diverting Adam's attention away from the crushing weight of everything he's got going on – the lengths Adam pushes himself to are insane, but Ronan can usually reel him back to real life.
Ronan braces an arm on the desk on either side of him, leaning in and breathing in the sweaty, slightly sour smell of an overworked Adam. "Hey." He noses behind Adam's hearing ear, a spot that makes it way too easy to tempt him away.
"I'm not in the mood," Adam says tersely, rolling his shoulder to dislodge Ronan. This close, his voice sounds rough, scratchy and sore.
"What's up?" Ronan switches tracks. "Communicate with me and shit."
Adam enunciates every word deliberately. "I've got things to do.” He's clearly come already pissed off, keyed up and exhausted. Ronan knows this Adam; he used to pick fights with him when Ronan still went to high school, petty arguments that Gansey had to mediate. Ronan's all grown up and no longer has the mind-melting pointlessness of school to deal with, and he and Adam get along better now, to say the least. Ronan can defuse this Adam.
"Come on. Parrish. Let's dream something no one's dreamed before. Music that touches inside your chest. A house with organs. A bike that flies. Live a little." There's a familiar push-and-pull to them, Ronan's wildness, Adam's uptight attitude, the utter adoration that Adam brings out in Ronan and the wonder that Ronan sees in Adam's eyes when he looks at him. Adam is facing away from him, all hyper-focused intensity Ronan gets to view from behind.
"They did a bike that flies in ET," Adam says, the know-it-all that he is.
"They didn't dream it, did they, they just thought of it."
Adam sniffs, part dismissal, part whatever sickness he's probably caught. Ronan has a few cards up his sleeve; this one's a classic, especially helpful with a determined-to-kill-himself Adam. Suggest something impossible, then when they say no, suggest something possible that they're unlikely to agree to without the other, impossible option. "At least come lay on the couch with me." It's cold in this room, anyway, and whatever's wrong with Adam, the chill can't be good for it.
"Fine." Adam sniffs again and Ronan moves back so Adam can stand. When he does, gathering his books and papers in his arms and turning to leave the room, Ronan wraps his arms around him and squeezes, holding Adam against him.
"Ronan," Adam says, but he has that note of laughter in his voice that makes Ronan's heart light up. "I can't even-" He pushes back and Ronan lets go, waiting for Adam to drop his things on the desk – he doesn't even look behind him to check that they landed neatly, which makes a quiet thrill run through Ronan. Adam gets back in his space, the neediness that Ronan loves clear in Adam’s beautiful hands clutching the back of his shirt. Ronan presses his arm securely to Adam's lower back the way he likes, not that he’ll admit it, but his pleased, subconscious sigh is enough. They stand that way for a long moment until Adam coughs.
It’s deep and harsh, and Ronan rubs his hand over Adam's back firmly. "Sounds bad, Parrish."
"It's nothing." And like that, Adam is closed off again, and Ronan's on the outside. Adam squirms out of his arms, but allows Ronan to keep a hand on his lower back as he grabs his work again. "C'mon." The o comes out longer, drawled, and Adam tries not to let the twitch of irritation show on his face.
"Can't expect me to behave when you whip that out," Ronan says, to make Adam's face twist into an unimpressed look instead. "What? It's a sexy accent."
"Shut up," Adam says, leading the way out of the room to the big, comfy couch. Ronan follows him. Adam? Convinced and in arm's reach. Score. Ronan Lynch is winning at life and nothing can convince him otherwise.
Adam inhales sharply as he bends down to dump his books on the couch. He sways and drops to his knees and puts his forehead to the couch cushion, taking a deep, slow breath in through his mouth.
Ronan goes with him, keeping his hand steady on Adam's back. "What? Adam. Adam, fuck."
"Relax," Adam says absently. He sounds uncomfortable, so Ronan tries to settle the roiling worry in his gut. "Just a little dizzy."
"A little?" Ronan scoffs. "Don't lie to me about this." There's a hidden inflection on the 'me'. Don't hide from me. Let me help. Let me in.
"Really. It was just a spell." Adam lifts his head and smiles without joy to appease Ronan. Ronan cups Adam’s face and presses his thumb to his mouth like he's done so many times before. Adam puts his hand over Ronan's and kisses his thumb. "I'm okay."
"Sure," Ronan says, trying to make it sound smooth and aloof. It doesn't work, and Adam looks pained, so Ronan takes his hand away. "Do whatever bullshit you need to, Parrish." It's a cop-out and Adam rolls his eyes, but he doesn't want to face this just as much as Ronan doesn't want to cause a fight over it, so he spreads his pages out over the couch cushions and leans against Ronan's side as he reads and annotates.
Ronan falls asleep for a bit, because he's become the horrible type of person that wakes up at 6am to go out and do farm shit, and when he wakes up he's alone on the couch.
Adam's an opportunist, which Ronan usually likes because it means they have plenty of opportunity to touch each other and make each other sigh, but now it just pisses him off. He groans and gets up off the couch, seeking Adam out.
He peers into the study, empty, before he goes up the stairs to check the bedroom. Sometimes Adam likes to read there, and sure enough, Adam's curled up on top of the sheets, a blanket draped over his shoulders as he concentrates on his book. Ronan wasn't particularly quiet coming up, but Adam seems a bit checked out, so he knocks on the doorframe before he walks in.
"Hey." Adam looks up at him, nose a bit red, eyes hazy. He blinks twice, hard.
"You left."
"I didn't want to disturb your nap." Adam shakes his head and makes a note of something in his book, copying something onto a sheet of paper. It's all so tedious that Ronan wants to tear the papers to pieces, but – it's important to Adam.
"You wouldn't have." Ronan paces forward to sit on the bed to the side of Adam, facing him. Adam doesn't look up; so he's back to thinking he's invincible. He's harder to draw away like this, so hellbent on doing whatever he thinks is best. Ronan doesn’t always have stellar judgement, but at least he's got Adam beat when it comes to dealing with sickness.
Ronan puts the heel of his palm on Adam's warm forehead, his fingers resting in Adam's greasy hair, because he can. This is allowed. Adam doesn’t react and keeps scribbling on the page, which is fucking rude.
"C'mon, Parrish." Ronan pulls lightly at Adam's hair, not harshly, but enough to tug pleasantly. It’s a weak spot, something that can make him moan if the mood is right, or something that can make him melt in other moments. "Opal's been outside all day. I want to go watch her eat sticks with you."
"She's not supposed to eat sticks," Adam says evenly, doing a remarkable job of appearing like someone who is neither affected by the hand in his hair nor going to walk himself right up to death's door with an illness.
"We better go stop her, then." Adam pauses, almost tricked by Ronan's diversion, before he shakes his head and dislodges the hand there.
"I need to finish this, Ronan." He presses his lips together, irritated, more so than usual. Probably because of the giant fucking headache he thinks I don't know he has, Ronan thinks. He can see it in the pinch between Adam's brows and the subtle stretch of his neck.
There's no use arguing with him in this state. He'll work himself to death whatever Ronan says, no matter how much he just wants to make Adam better. "Fine." Ronan gets up and kicks the leg of the bed. Adam jolts with the movement. He's set in his ways; who is Ronan to try to help him? "Come get me when you die."
"I'll come when I'm done," Adam huffs, and Ronan hears the catch at the back of his throat. But Adam is too stubborn to prove Ronan right, so he physically holds the cough in until Ronan stomps down the hallway. He can faintly hear the sound of Adam hacking up something as he goes downstairs.
Of fucking course Adam would never let himself just rest when he's sick. This is why whenever he catches something he always goes down with it so hard; because he never takes some time off, he keeps plowing through like he doesn’t need to recover like any other damn person.
But Ronan can be equally as stubborn as Adam is, and he won't give up just because Adam won't, either. So he bangs into the kitchen and rifles through the cupboards loudly, heating up some (probably really fucking old) canned soup on the stove and hoping it isn’t inedible. He eats some himself – nothing special – and leaves the rest for Adam in a Tupperware on the counter, labelled PARRISH – LYNCH’S NUTRITION PACKAGE.
He goes back out to the fields to hunt down Opal and bring her inside. Opal refuses and says she’ll sleep in the large dog bed Ronan had installed in one of the safe, animal-only barns when they first understood that Opal was a wild thing and wouldn’t always sleep in a human bed. Ronan chases her and scrubs her skullcap until it comes off her hair, and she shrieks at him in that slightly inhuman way of hers and hugs his knees.
He leaves her after making her promise not to eat anything poisonous or go in any of the dangerous barns and goes back to the house. It’s not quite dark, still early in the evening, and Adam is hunched over a bowl at the table and eating quickly.
“Hungry?” Ronan says scathingly, because he’s very aware that Adam hasn’t eaten since he got there, and he’s mad about it. Adam just grunts and keeps shoveling soup into his mouth. Ronan doesn’t even think he warmed it, the psycho. “You don’t wanna nuke that, maybe?”
Adam half-glares at him over the bowl, eyebags somehow deeper than they were before. The shadows in the room stretch over the floor as they reach out to him. “It’s fine.” He sounds even worse, like he’s been smoking every day for thirty years, like he’s exhausted to the point of snapping over every little thing. Ronan wants to hold his palm to Adam’s chest until he lets him inside, but there’s no way that’s happening at this stage.
Ronan shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And god damn him, he hovers, idly putting the Tupperware away and actually rinsing the saucepan before putting it in the dishwasher. It’s when he starts wiping down the perfectly clean counters that Adam sighs aggravatedly.
“I said it’s fine, Lynch,” Adam says, ground out like it’s a serious effort to even speak.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ronan wipes his hands on a dishtowel.
"I don't need to be taken care of," Adam says, like he's offended by the very idea, like it’s repulsive to him. It’s a little slow and patronizing, which he knows pisses Ronan off, the bastard. "I'm completely fine."
"Sure," Ronan says, trying not to rise to the bait. "That's why you blacked out in front of the couch earlier."
Adam rolls his eyes. The sheer attitude he exudes would be impressive if Ronan didn't know him already. "Hardly. I got dizzy."
“So you should eat more.” Ronan looks meaningfully at the meager bowl Adam had filled. It’s not enough, and he doesn’t eat enough at St. Agnes, anyway, so he may as well take as much advantage of the Barns’ food as he can. But it’s Adam, who doesn’t accept charity, and who’s fine, so he won’t.
“You don’t know better than me,” Adam says, throwing his spoon down. The hard clink of metal against ceramic makes him wince, and he covers it with a scowl. “Stop acting like it.”
“Fuck me for trying to help, then.” Rona throws the towel down and crosses his arms, hand flexing where Adam can’t see it. “Stop acting like you’re fucking above being sick.”
“I can handle it myself!” He’s classically defensive, standing up in anger with his hands spread on the table, shoulders hunched up. His eyes are piercing and frustrated, squinting at Ronan in the dimming sunlight from outside. Ronan would flick the light switch on, except he thinks that would make Adam’s headache worse. “Just back off, Lynch.” He finishes with a coughing fit, which really makes the whole thing very ironic and dramatic, then pins Ronan with a glower as though daring him to comment.
Ronan squeezes his arms tighter over his chest. “You promise you’re fine?”
Adam’s posture shifts, something less opposing and more accepting in the set of his shoulders. It’s Ronan’s secret anxiety, that hidden fear, that can make him open up and realize it’s not only about him. “Yes. It’s just a sniffle. It’ll be alright by tomorrow.” It clearly won’t be alright by tomorrow, and Ronan hates that Adam is still lying to him, but it’s more than he had five minutes ago. It’s better than nothing.
“Fine.” Ronan uncrosses his arms and leans back against the counter, sighing. “I’m going to bed. You coming?” It’s late enough, and Ronan sleeps early and rises early, now. This usually means there’s a gap between when he and Adam fall asleep, which Adam fills with studying, or sometimes with teasing Ronan in bed. It’s not going to be the second one tonight.
“Soon,” Adam says, though it sounds reluctant. Ronan nods. He’s not sure he can push it this time, not so close to an argument.
He steps forward to where Adam’s been leaning on the table this whole conversation, running a hand down his arm. “Wake me up if you need.” The words hold weight, no matter how many times they’ve been used since that first instance. They hold intention.
Adam closes his eyes, and Ronan lets his hand linger until Adam quietly says, “Okay,” and opens his eyes again. Ronan nods and steps around Adam, heading for his bedroom.
His bed, a dream thing, is the perfect height and the perfect size. He fits comfortably inside it, and even more comfortably when Adam is in here with them; it’s a tight fit, but it keeps them close together, which is how they like it. Tonight, Ronan stays close to the wall, hoping that when Adam said soon, he meant it. But after an hour Ronan stops being able to keep his eyes open.
He wakes with a start. The room is black, and at first Ronan thinks he’s dreamed, except he doesn’t remember anything, and he can move. There’s a horrible sound across the hall, where the bathroom is, a scratchy, wet noise that makes him get out of bed very quickly and go investigate.
Once he’s in the hall the sound becomes clearer. Retching, then a sharp intake of breath. Adam wasn’t in bed with him. Ronan pushes the bathroom door open, half-ajar like someone had tried to close it in a hurry, and kneels beside Adam for the second time that night.
Adam is gripping the porcelain edge of the toilet hard. He doesn’t even look up when Ronan enters, staring into the water and making awful, about-to-vomit noises and choking them back. He grimaces, the expression twisting his whole face in pure, miserable pain.
“Calm down,” Ronan says, needing some calming down himself. He doesn’t touch Adam, aware of how he flinches away when vulnerable, and instead breathes loudly and evenly, a slow drag in and open-mouthed exhale out. Adam shudders and hunches over, heaving twice before neatly throwing up, directly into the toilet. He gags, again and again, for long enough that Ronan starts to get seriously concerned. Then Adam succeeds in biting it back and spits out the long string of drool that’s spilling out of his mouth. He eases back on his knees as his body loosens.
"So it's not just a cold," Ronan says.
"'S just some throwin' up," Adam mumbles, resting his elbow on the toilet seat and his head on his hand. His shoulders twitch like he wants to gag again, but he swallows, visibly in pain. It makes Ronan’s heart ache.
"How much?"
"Twice," Adam says, then adds more shamefully, "and this time." So, three times. And he hadn't come to Ronan for help at all. "I didn't make a mess."
The last part throws Ronan off guard. Adam sounds small, sorry, and it's unlike him in its fragility. Ronan doesn’t care if Adam ruins the carpet with his sick, as long as he tells Ronan and tries to get better. "I don't give a fuck."
Adam tenses, as though expecting to be told off, so Ronan makes his voice real soft and careful. He thinks that Adam would usually cringe at being even close to babied, but maybe he’ll be more receptive now. "I don't give two damns about mess, Adam. It doesn’t matter to me. You’re way more fucking important." He gently threads his hand through Adam's hair, guiding him back to rest again Ronan's chest. Adam clutches Ronan's shirt with one hand, turning his face away. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Adam says quickly. His face is a bit red, either from embarrassment or the probably feverish heat under his skin, so Ronan pushes the hair back off his forehead and thumbs at the crinkle between his eyebrows.
"You think you're gonna vom again?"
"Never say vom," Adam says, some of the life back in his voice. "And no."
Ronan smirks. "Okay." He tugs on Adam's hair, teasing, and Adam elbows him in response.
"I want to sleep," he says, and Ronan breathes a silent sigh of relief that he's finally stopped working himself to the bone.
"Yeah, alright. About time," he can't resist saying, and Adam elbows him harder. Ronan catches it and pulls him up to his feet. "Good?"
Adam closes his eyes and Ronan holds on. "Mhm." The sound draws out lengthily, unsteady, and Ronan hugs him from behind.
They’re incredibly touchy, as a couple, to the point where it’s a little awkward with other people sometimes. They’re both starving for each other, always, even if they don’t speak about it. Adam being sick makes Ronan nervous and it puts Adam on edge; he clings in one moment and pushes Ronan away the next, desperate and denying himself all at once. It drives Ronan insane, but he knows Adam's feeling a lot worse than him. "What, you want me to carry you?"
"No," Adam says, successfully annoyed. He breaks out of Ronan's hold and goes for the sink to brush his teeth of the vomit taste. Ronan flushes the toilet and walks back to the bedroom to turn on a warm-toned lamp, low enough that it won’t be abrasive on Adam’s headache. He bunches the blankets up and fluffs the pillows, something which he's not sure he's ever done before but feels right in the moment. Adam comes out of the bathroom, leaning heavily on the doorframe, and Ronan goes to him.
Adam reaches for him and hugs him hard. He's suddenly clingy again, and Ronan makes sure not to hug him so tight he can't breathe easily. "Having fun?" Ronan asks, and Adam groans, tilting his forehead down so he can dig his nose into Ronan's neck.
There's a long silence before Adam says, very quietly, "I don't feel great." It's probably the biggest admission Ronan will get out of him, but he silently relaxes with it anyway.
"Yeah, no shit." Adam groans again, frustrated this time, and Ronan tries to soothe him with a hand in his hair. "I'm tired as hell. Let's go to bed."
Once Ronan has said it, Adam moves to the direction of the bed, shedding his pants and shirt and leaving his undershirt and boxers on. He crawls into bed and all but collapses into the mattress, wriggling until he lies still, boneless. It’s unfair and stupid how gorgeous he is.
Ronan watches him for a moment before he joins Adam, climbing over him and lying down against the wall. He gets himself comfortable and pulls Adam closer into his side, rubbing a hand down his back as his coughs unhappily. “Fucking misery, Parrish.”
“God, I know,” Adam moans. It seems he’s reached the stage where he isn’t as opposed to complaining as he usually is and is allowing himself to freely take Ronan’s affection. Ronan, for his part, would do anything for Adam, and gets Adam’s hang-ups as much as he hates them and thinks they’re stupid. “And I’ve got work tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t call in sick?” Ronan asks, despite knowing the answer.
Adam shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes still closed, and for a second Ronan thinks he’s gone to sleep.
Then he does this short inhale, the one he does before he’s about to say something that’s important to him. “I know I’m difficult,” he starts haltingly. It about near breaks Ronan’s damn heart, so he interrupts him before he can continue.
“I like difficult things.” Adam huffs, and Ronan knocks the top of Adam’s head with his chin. “And you’re not, anyway.” It’s not the most skillful answer, but it’s late and Ronan is tired. So is Adam for that matter, so really they should both stop talking and go to fucking sleep, but. Adam has something in his head that he needs to get out.
“But,” Adam presses on, “I make things harder on you.” There’s genuine guilt in his voice, and Ronan fears for this Adam who thinks he’s bad for Ronan. It’s impossible to imagine a world in which Adam is anything but the best thing.
“It wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t hard,” Ronan says, and the innuendo catches up as Adam snort-coughs. “Fuck, I meant that to be nice.”
“It is. Nice,” Adam says. He drapes the arm that’s been resting on his own waist over Ronan’s, hugging him closer. He’s getting sleepier, and Ronan has to capture these precious moments before they’re both lost to the waking world.
“I mean it,” he says, the tips of his fingers digging into Adam’s shoulder lightly. “So you better fuckin’ believe it.”
Adam exhales through his nose, a tired laugh. “Yeah. Okay.” He’s so incredible, such a smooth, distilled and perfected Adam, that Ronan has to crane his neck over for a kiss. “Don’t, I’m sick,” Adam mumbles, tilting his mouth away. Ronan grins.
“Won’t stop me, Parrish.” He cups Adam’s cheek as he plants a firm, sloppy kiss on his lips, hardly romantic at all, unless you were them. “Kissing it better.”
“Thanks,” Adam says dryly, and immediately coughs again. “You’re screwed now.” His words are slurred, on the edge of dropping into dreamland.
Ronan shrugs minutely, careful not to dislodge Adam’s head on his shoulder. “I’ll live.”
He stretches out the crick in his neck and slumps back down, sighing. Even looking half-dead and having freshly thrown up, Adam is borderline angelic in sleep. “You’re hot when you look like shit,” Ronan says, just to make him roll his eyes, but they remain firmly closed. He’s gone. Ronan huffs and shuts his own eyelids. He’ll have to save it for the morning.