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Ronan knows why he has his phone on him. Most days he loses track of it completely, only to find it buried between the couch cushions or sitting atop a hay bale in one of his barns.
It's a constant point of contention between Ronan and Gansey, Ronan and Adam, Ronan and Declan. Everything is a point of contention with Declan though, he thinks bitterly.
Today, Ronan looks down at the black screen, and for a single moment he aches with the loneliness of a needy thing.
He shakes his head, scowling at himself in disgust. He's not Gansey, sighing over the phone in the dead of night, waiting with bated breath for Blue to call after spending an entire day with her.
It's just that Ronan hasn't seen Adam in five days.
Every morning he sits in the BMW in sleep clothes he hasn't changed out of, checks his silent phone, and grips the steering wheel with white knuckles. He never starts the car.
On Monday the last time they saw each other, they met briefly at St. Agnes. Adam very clearly stated that Ronan could not come over this week. He was too swamped with work and college applications, and Ronan was too much of a distraction. Ronan does not flinch at the word distraction, not in his own thoughts, but he grits his teeth at the clear place he has in Adam's life.
Still, he doesn't go to St. Agnes because Ronan is difficult and needy and distracting, and he wants to make this easy for Adam. This. Adam and Ronan, quickly becoming AdamandRonan. He wants to make this easy even as he knows he'll fail because Adam's world is already so difficult.
The aggressive buzz of his phone in his hand jerks him out of his thoughts. He expects Gansey or Declan, maybe Matthew if he's lucky. Instead, Ronan is confronted with a number he's only seen pasted on Adam's back.
“Hello?” he answers cautiously, he does not know what this means.
“Lynch?” Boyd’s gruff voice reaches his ears. Brief disappointment slices through him like a knife. He didn't realize he was expecting to hear Adam's voice.
“Boyd,” Ronan replies. He doesn't know what to say. Is there a known protocol for your boyfriend’s boss calling you?
“Your boy is making a right mess of my shop.”
Ronan sucks in a breath, “Adam is? You sure you got the right person?” Adam would never make a “right mess” of anything, especially not his job.
Boyd grunts, “Oh it's him alright. Walked in swayin’ like a reed, nearly dropped the hood on himself twice, won't take a break outside his fifteen even though he's sweating like a sinner in church.”
Ronan swears, a loud colorful string of words that seems to amuse Boyd more than anything else, “I can be there in twenty.” Ronan hangs up before he can reply, racing towards the BMW.
Adam can hate him for this later, but at least by then he'll be bundled up somewhere Ronan can take care of him. Hopefully.
Ronan pulls up to the garage with five minutes to spare. He hops out of the car without a second thought for the careless and possibly illegal park job. Adam's still got six hours of his shift left, it's going to be an absolute bitch to get him out of here early.
He marches past Boyd only to careen to a stop the moment he catches sight of Adam.
“Woulda thought you'd keep him outta here sick as he is,” Boyd murmurs behind him.
Ronan can't tear his eyes away, “He hasn't let me see him in days.” Is this why? Could he feel it coming Monday night when he ushered Ronan out so unceremoniously?
It's too easy to imagine. Adam curling up alone on his hard mattress in his cold apartment knowing he still has classes to go to and shifts to work. Adam choking down those cheap granola bars he pretends to like along with entirely too much tylenol as he prepares for his shift at Boyd's.
He looks half dead, the bags under his eyes even worse than normal. He’s as pale as a ghost, the only color on his face Ronan attributes to the fever he’s surely working with.
He also looks beautiful, almost delicate, as eye-catching as the stained glass in St. Agnes. He looks like the only real thing Ronan has ever wanted.
Ronan strides forward, “Adam.” When Adam turns, it's with a smile that haunts Ronan's dreams.
It's usually reserved for when they're tangled together, curled around each other on the couch or in the sheets, private, soft and incandescently happy. Unpracticed, like Ronan is the only one who has ever put that smile on his face, who has ever made him feel this way.
“Ronan!” even Adam's voice is soft, and the sound of it engulfs him like a desert rain.
The reality that Ronan is here when Adam has been avoiding him must hit in the next second because Adam's face shuts down like it's been powered off. Ronan grieves the loss of that smile like a limb.
“What are you doing here?” There’s caution in Adam’s voice, anger and frustration as well.
“Boyd called me. The fuck are you doing working like this Adam?” He can’t help the anger that crawls up his chest, a perfect match to what he finds on Adam’s face.
“Like what? Like I need to pay rent? Or buy groceries?” Adam crosses his arms, swaying to the side as he unbalances slightly.
“Like you’re a machine and not a human fucking being who’s about to pass out any fucking second that’s what,” Ronan replies hotly.
“Boyd called me because it’s dangerous to work on heavy fucking machinery when you can’t even see straight,” Adam opens his mouth, but Ronan bullies onwards, “Have you eaten any real food or just those shitty granola bars? Did you go to class? What about your factory shift? Have you taken a single break?”
Ronan cuts himself off. He doesn’t want to do this here, he doesn’t want to do this at all. He doesn't want to be angry or fight. He wants to wrap Adam in the quilt his mother made him, feed him chicken noodle soup from a can because he still doesn’t know how to cook anything besides pancakes, he wants to make sure Adam’s okay.
Adam is glaring at his feet, shoulders racked up to his ears, all sharp lines and defensive posture, but he says nothing, which is an answer in itself. Ronan hates himself for putting that look on his face, when earlier Adam smiled at him like he was seeing the sun for the first time in years.
Ronan moves closer to him and is gratified by the way the tension in Adam’s body slowly unspools. He lays his hand gently on Adam’s shoulder, curls the other one into the hair at his nape. Adam shudders before allowing Ronan to slowly guide him into the crook of his neck.
“Tell me you’ve been taking care of yourself. Tell me you didn’t cut me out this week because of this, and I’ll sit here and watch while you finish the next six hours of your shift. I’ll even take you to St. Agnes afterwards,” he speaks softly into Adam’s good ear.
Adam shudders again, and suddenly there are two arms around him pulling them together even tighter.
“I knew I would want this too badly,” Adam mumbles.
Ronan wonders what Adam means when he says this. If he means RonanandAdam the same way he does. Or maybe he just means someone who cares, who gets angry when Adam doesn’t eat, or goes to a shift while looking like he has one foot in the grave.
Maybe he just means someone who loves him.
Ronan wonders if he’s ever felt anything worse than this. Not even the night horrors tore through his chest so badly. To be the first to love Adam Parrish, Ronan struggles under the weight of it. It is both a privilege and an atrocity.
“Let me take you to the barns,” he says shakily. “Please Adam,” he adds on only a second later.
Adam is silent, arguing with himself most likely, before he squeezes Ronan tighter. “Okay,” Adam acquiesces, and then suddenly Ronan is contending with the full weight of Adam Parrish’s body. He bears the weight easily, though he might be having a heart attack over Adam’s easy trust and acceptance.
He checks the time and it’s barely been ten minutes since he walked in. Ronan is so full of love for the boy in his arms he can hardly breathe around it. Adam is practically melted into him, as if Ronan’s mere presence is permission to finally let himself rest.
He debates carrying him out to the car, but he figures the fight in the middle of Adam’s workplace is enough embarrassment for him to deal with.
“Alright Parrish, we still need to get to the car.” Adam grumbles, but he allows himself to be maneuvered so that Ronan can get an arm around his waist. They stumble through the shop. Ronan ignores Boyd’s nod of approval as they leave. He’ll call him later to reschedule Adam’s shift for when he’s not actively dying.
It’s relatively painless getting Adam into the passenger’s seat. He makes sure his music is off before starting the car, watching Adam shiver and shake with his head pressed against the window. He drives slower than normal, but they still make it to the Barns in less time than they’re supposed to.
He feels Adam’s forehead before leveraging him upwards, cursing as he does so, “Jesus Parrish, have you even taken your own temperature? Are you trying to die?”
Adam glares in response, but it’s weaker than normal, “It was only 100 when I left for my shift.”
“Only 100, he says,” Ronan looks to the sky and prays for strength.
“Get comfortable on the couch, ‘cus you’re not fucking moving until you no longer look like a walking corpse,” Adam flips him off in response, but he moves towards the house with less than steady legs.
Ronan detours to the kitchen first. The soup is easy to find, the pot which was dreamt to always be the perfect temperature less so. He finally grabs it with a curse, puts the soup on, and grabs a large bottle of water before making his way back to Adam’s side.
Adam is in the fetal position, not having bothered to grab a blanket to drape over his still shivering body. He’s still in his work clothes as well, and Ronan knows that Adam deserves better than this even if Adam doesn’t.
He rearranges his plans. “Alright up,” he pulls at Adam’s hands.
Adam hums, “What happened to not moving from the couch?” It’s probably supposed to come out smug, but instead Adam just sounds tired.
Ronan raises an eyebrow, “You think you’re gonna be comfortable like that? We’re showering first.”
So, Ronan ushers Adam into the largest bathroom to the sound of minimal complaints. He strips Adam routinely, making sure the water isn’t too hot despite Adam’s complaints, because he knows he needs to get his temperature regulated.
Slowly, the shivers cease to rack through his body, and Adam peeks open a single eye to take in Ronan’s still clothed body, “Why aren’t you naked?”
Ronan snorts, “Rather bold Parrish, but we’re not fucking when a single stiff breeze could from knock you over.”
“I’m sick, not dying. Can’t I at least appreciate the eye candy?” Adam honest to god pouts as he speaks, and Ronan is so entranced by the sight he forgets to argue back.
He strips, and Adam looks him over appreciatively. His eyes are quick to close again as Ronan takes his time gently washing Adam’s greasy hair. He takes just as long with Adam’s body, maybe longer, and by the end of it Adam is nearly falling asleep on his feet.
Ronan turns off the water, “Alright out, I still need to get some food and water in you before you can sleep.”
Adam grumbles something that might be a reply but really just sounds like noise before he steps out. Ronan dries himself off quickly, grabbing his fluffiest towel for Adam (dreamt) and wrapping him in it. He dries Adam just as gently as he’d washed him. Then, he sits Adam down on the edge of the tub while he runs out to grab his comfiest sweats.
As a general rule of thumb Ronan feels quite a lot, but it’s nothing compared to the tidal wave of emotion that swamps over him when Adam pulls the collar of his sweatshirt to his nose with a soft hum. Ronan does not pet his hair like he would Chainsaw’s feathers, but it’s close.
The soup is perfectly warm when they get to the kitchen, and Ronan forces Adam to get down half a bowl and then the full bottle of water with two aspirin before he lets him go back to the couch.
He’s searching for a container when Adam’s voice calls to him from the living room, “Ronan?” Ronan gives up on finding the container, the soup will be just fine on the stove.
“Yeah?” he replies. Silence. He quickly makes his way to the couch, only to find Adam with his head peeking out of a quilt, looking like a somewhat disgruntled turtle.
“What’re you doin’” Adam asks.
Ronan raises an eyebrow, “Getting the soup put away. I hope you like chicken noodle because it’s all you’re eating until you’re back to normal.”
Adam says nothing in response, his frown slightly deepening before he holds a hand out to Ronan. Ronan doesn’t ask, he simply takes it.
He’s dragged into the cocoon before he can react, positioned by Adam’s sure hands until Ronan ends up on his back, smothered by the heat of Adam and the blanket on top of him. One of Ronan’s hands has somehow made it into his hair, the other one is resting along Adam’s spine.
Adam’s cheek is resting against his chest, and he lets out a luxuriating sigh. That’s right where his heartbeat is, Ronan realizes, and he closes his eyes as the burn in his chest finally reaches them. Adam mumbles something unheard into his chest, but Ronan doesn’t need to hear it to know what he means.
Thank you for this. I’m sorry I’m so difficult. I love you I love you I love you.
Ronan shushes him, “Go to sleep, Adam.”
If God wills it, if Ronan is lucky enough to deserve it, he will get to do this tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. If God is kind, and Ronan doesn’t fuck it up too badly, oh how he prays he doesn’t fuck it up too badly, he might get to do this for the rest of his life.