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“Adam.”
Adam Parrish was thoroughly entrenched in dreams. It was the first time in a while, the first time that his sleep wasn’t interrupted by work, or homework, or Gansey or Ronan needing him, or Cabeswater reaching soft fingers of moss and light into his consciousness. It was summer, and he’d been convinced to take a few days off of work. Yesterday had been the first of three days of freedom, of the sunwashed sides of the Barns and the roar of a camaro and greasy pizza and incredible iced tea. Adam Parrish, the magician, college-bound and perhaps in love, was free.
He was dreaming of light and music and everything he hadn’t let himself dream of before. His dreams had been so dark for so long. First his childhood and the fears that came with it. Then the unsettling magic of a place none of them understood. Then the demon that threatened everything.
But now he was a boy who was allowed to dream of his deepest heart. Of the hearts of everyone he loved.
“Adam.”
The first mention of his name had been easily dismissed, an echo of his dream, a shade of Ronan, Opal. The second wasn’t.
No coincidences.
He stirred, felt it when he came back to himself. The floating bit of him returned, slipping back into his heavy limbs, his legs tangled in blankets, the feeling of a body next to his. The previous night came back to him in fragments: wandering the Barns with Ronan, talking to Gansey and Blue as they leaned against the car, dusk and all the miracles in light that came with it, Opal skittering around like a puppy or a bird. Watching the stars and dragging his tired body to bed, the way Ronan’s hands felt cupped around his jaw, lips on his.
“What?” he whispered, knowing that it was Ronan who had said his name. Ronan, whose stomach was pressed to his back, whose fingers were now treading a path through Adam’s hair. He’d been meaning to get it cut, but he rather liked the way Ronan tugged on the not-quite-curls, the way Ronan could slip his entire hand into the soft brown strands and set Adam’s skin on fire.
“Look,” Ronan murmured, pressing a kiss to Adam’s shoulder. “Outside.”
It was still dark in the room, lit with the dim glow of stars painted on the ceiling in dreamt paint. Blue had done them, and even though they were sloppy and inconsistent— ”I sew, not paint”— Adam sort of loved them. The dream clock, which glowed with yellow numbers and made a soothing ticking sound, read 5:13.
Adam craned his neck as best he could without disrupting Ronan’s position and peered out the window. He couldn’t see much from this angle, just the underside of the tree standing against the house, leaves dusted with the tinges of a dawn about to come. There was an echo of sunrise there, a hint of orange and pink in the light, but Adam’s view did it no justice.
“I can’t see,” he whispered, and Ronan rose to his feet. Immediately, Adam missed the warmth of a body against his, the solid presence of his dreamer.
“Come on,” Ronan said. The hooks of Ronan’s tattoo, peeking around his neck, looked soft in the morning. Not thorns or ravens’ claws. A curl of a stem, of a vine, of a hope. He wasn’t brutal or threatening. Just radiant.
Adam came, shoving the blankets aside and finding his footing on the dream cluttered floor. His hand found Ronan’s, fingers slipping together like spokes, and together they left the room.
As they passed through the kitchen, Ronan elbowed a machine that hissed for a second, and then opened to reveal two steaming mugs. Adam grabbed one, which he turned around in his hand and saw that it said “World’s Gayest Bi.”
“Thanks,” he said drily. Ronan just grinned and brandished his own mug, which said “World’s Gayest Farmer.”
Before Adam could take a sip, Ronan had tightened his grip on Adam’s hand and propelled them both onto the porch. There was a ladder outside, as all houses need, and Ronan let go of Adam’s hand only to climb up to the roof. The second Adam settled beside him, he felt fingers find his again.
The sunrise was on full display by now, the top of the sun peeking up over the trees, the sky painted in a kaleidoscope of colors. Adam wasn’t even sure that some of the colors existed anywhere else. The sky was blending and twisting and moving and nothing like Adam had ever seen before.
“Did you dream this?” he whispered.
Ronan laughed, and it was almost unnerving. It was Ronan’s real laugh, one that Adam had only recently learned existed. It wasn’t mocking, or hiding fear, or bitter, or brutal. It was pure amusement, it was happy, it was a boy who dreamed paints and animals and light.
“No,” Ronan said, a hint of a laugh still coloring his voice. “I didn’t.”
Adam watched in awe as the stars melted away, as the candy colored sky spread and grew and became day. At Adam’s side, Ronan muttered something that Adam couldn’t catch.
“What?” he asked.
Ronan would have flushed, if Ronan ever flushed. His eyes did.
“Nothing,” he said, looking away.
“Tell me,” said Adam, squeezing Ronan’s hand, which was still in his.
Ronan kept his gaze on the treeline. “I said thank you,” he said. “For thinking I could dream something like this.”
Adam laughed. “You could dream anything,” he said. “You could dream a galaxy.”
Ronan looked. Adam looked back. He brushed a thumb over the top of Ronan’s hand.
“You’re the magician,” Ronan said. “You could do better.”
“Why would I bother,” Adam asked, leaning in and letting their lips meet. “When I have a dreamer?”