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Click. The front door shuts, and Adam’s eyes open to the dark room. The pain in his chest has him curled up, knees to his chest, sweat peppering his forehead and upper lip. His jaw aches from having been clenched for the past hour. Adam optimistically wished that keeping his eyes closed would be the cure to the bone-shattering crack on his sternum. That if he did not open his eyes, it would fade, and he could fall back asleep.
Ronan. He’s done something. Adam’s sure of it.
An hour ago, when the pain erupted in his chest, a hammer clang on his sternum, he had blindly reached for Ronan. Hands slicing through the bedsheets, groping for the warm body of the boy who has been beside him for over a decade. Except it was empty, and no matter how far he travelled on the endless marital bed, getting tangled in the covers, it did not lend him the body of his husband. It was cold and merciless as the agony in his chest.
He bit his tongue, enough to taste the iron from splitting it open, one hand on his chest. The difference in pain was enough to remind him that Ronan was at a party, one that Adam refused to go to.
He should have gone with Ronan. Why had he been so himself and refused?
“Come on, I’m only going because Benji is dragging me to it. You can come as a plus one. This ain’t a formal dinner,” Ronan had said earlier that evening, putting his legs into his jeans, nearly wobbling onto the bed. “How many parties have we gone to where everyone was strictly invited?”
“Shut up and get ready,” Adam chided, turning onto the next page of his book. Although ever since Ronan started getting ready, he had read half a page. His eyes trailed to the top of the book and across Ronan’s body. No book was fascinating enough in the world when it came to stand against his lover’s body. “I’m not going to a party I was not explicitly invited to. I don’t care if other people do it.”
Ronan shrugged into a black t-shirt with some faded, obscure words across its front. “What will you ever do with this ego, Parrish?”
Adam re-read the same sentence for the fourth time. The sky outside had a light blush. “Take it to the grave with me.”
“Hopefully it won’t take up the space that’s reserved for me, or else tell me to lose weight before I die, won’t you?”
Adam nods, a warm laugh escaping him. Years away from their hardest years, laughter came easier to the pair, something Adam was eternally grateful for.
He shakes his head, eyes meeting Ronan’s in the vanity’s mirror as Ronan goes for the Boss perfume. He takes the sample bottle next to it; it’s a little more subtle but better suited for a party.
Ronan comes over to kiss Adam, his lips lingering a little too long. Adam inhales him in, a hand clawing on his back. When the pair separates, Adam says, “Wear the red Diesel leather jacket.”
“Nah, it’s far too good for a party of this sort,” Ronan says, walking to the bedroom door.
“What are you saving that jacket for? A runaway show?”
Ronan opens the door, is about to leave, when he says, “Something like that.” He wants to wear it when Adam’s with him. Silly, silly boys in love.
It’s the pair's favourite leather jacket, especially Adam’s on Ronan’s body. They had thrifted it in a quiet neighbourhood in Copenhagen. The faded leather was so intense, it was more cream than red. Adam preferred the Danish fashion to almost any other he had seen on his travels. His jaw had been perpetually open throughout their entire trip, although he had never really paid much attention to fashion before. Now that he had been out of survival mode for a handful of years, he could spare his thoughts for things such as fashion.
The first time they had gotten out of the metro from the airport, they were surrounded by roughly 70 bikes, all in a semicircle around them. For the next week, he had been entralled by the sheer stubbornness of the Danish people to cycle. Whether it be to work, picking up their kids from school, or getting groceries. Every bit of their life was done on a bike, the same one he had cursed himself for owning when he was young and struggling. Yet, in this country where the standard of living was one of the best, people opted out of fancy cars and actively chose, sometimes arrogantly so, to bike, no matter the climate. And oh, was the climate of Denmark quite awful.
The trip rewired some of the neurons in his brain, enough that Ronan noticed. Because of course, Ronan would notice. He was always watching Adam, all these years into their relationship.
Ronan. He’s home. Adam coughs from the dryness in his mouth, worsening the pain in his chest. He’s sure if he lets go of his chest, his hand will come back bloody. There is no way this amount of pain can exist without there being a physical attribution. But what had caused it? Adam was not the dreamer capable of bringing god-awful creatures back from his dreams.
There was only one person to blame for it.
Adam stands on the landing and calls for Ronan.
Silence.
He’s not loud enough. And, however much he tries, he can’t seem to bellow out the name of his husband. It comes out as wisps of a call, floating down to half the staircase at best.
The cold of the wooden bannister is foreign as Adam claws his left hand along it and climbs down. Has their staircase always been this long? His breath catches on the way out, and he nearly crumbles on the stairs. He has done hard things all his life; he is not letting a set of stairs stop him from getting to Ronan. Adam exhales shakily and makes it down the rest of the way.
“Ronan!” The doors to the kitchen, living room, and dining room are all closed. “Ronan?” There is a light under the bathroom door. Next to it lies Ronan’s jacket, crumpled up. Adam focuses enough to hear the sloshing water of the shower. Why is Ronan showering?
There is not enough oxygen in the world for Adam. He would not. Ronan was the single most monogamous person to have existed on the Earth. Ronan could not. His entire being was against cheating.
But it would explain the ache in Adam’s chest, calmer now that Ronan was closer to him. And the showering downstairs. Since the pair had moved into their home, they had never had the need to use the downstairs shower. So, why was Ronan in it now?
Sweat tracks down his back into the waistband of his boxers, and his teeth were grinding so hard he was sure he would chip them. Ronan couldn’t. Could he?
The gush of water from the shower is making Adam’s head spin. And the corridor is filled with a heavy stench. He cannot stand it. He shoves open the door closest to him and stands in front of the sofa in the living room. His legs are crumbling beneath him, but if he sits, he is sure he will burn away into the fabric.
There is enough light from the corridor for Ronan to notice Adam in the living room. He walks towards Adam, a towel wrapped around his waist. His otherwise pale body is now red raw.
Ronan’s eyebrows crinkle, his head tilts as he takes in Adam. He breathes heavily. Adam is going to burn the world to embers; he only needed enough fuel. He walks over to Ronan, grips his shoulder and trails his nose along his jaw, neck, and clavicle.
And then he takes a few steps back. He cannot believe his eyes. It’s not real.
“You washed away the smell.” His words taste of ash in his mouth.
Ronan takes a step forward. “Of course, I washed away the smell. I knew you’d be mad if I bought it to bed.”
Was this a dreamt-up version of Ronan? One capable of cheating on him and admitting it? No, even if there were an infinite number of Ronans, none would be capable of such a thing. Yet. Here he was. Was there a weak link in his mind that some virus had crawled into and was now creating these illusions?
“What’s wrong with your chest? You look ill.” Ronan asks, walking closer to Adam.
The sofa hits his calves as Adam inches back. “Don’t touch me. You can’t.” His legs give in, being so close to the sofa, and he slumps onto it.
Ronan does not listen to him. He kneels on the carpet and places his hand over Adam’s on his chest. “Your chest hurts?”
Adam does not answer. He will never speak to him. There were a lot of things Adam was good at, and not speaking to people who did not meet his needs was one. He could not share Ronan with anyone else; that was not part of the agreement between them.
He moves Adam’s hand away from his chest and replaces it with his own. Adam breathes properly for the first time since he woke up with the pain, which feels like a century ago.
“Can’t you hear me? I said don’t touch me,” Adam utters, the words are chalky and stick to the sides of his cheeks. Except, he would do anything to keep Ronan’s hand where it was; he was not sure if it was the lack of sleep or the extensive pain he had endured, but he could feel his sternum stitching back together.
Yet again, Ronan shoves away Adam’s hands as he tries to push him away, and with his hand still on Adam's chest, he wraps his other arm around Adam, into a hug. Ronan gently lays his cheek on Adam’s bare shoulder.
When Ronan has calmed himself down enough to let go of Adam, he takes both of Adam’s hands into his and kisses his inner wrists. “Your chest hurts because I nearly died.”
“What?” Adam pushes him back. He searches for signs of harm. He looks fine, albeit his face is flushed from the hot shower. His nose is especially red.
“Something I took at the party landed me unconscious,” Ronan says, leaning his face into Adam’s right hand. “Apparently, I woke up a few seconds later and vomited everywhere and nearly choked to death.”
“Where were your friends? God, Ronan, what?” Adam had been in the warmth of their bed whilst Ronan was at some stranger’s party, choking to death.
“They were trying to help, but you know vomiting doesn’t follow any rules. It’s a lawless action of the body. Truly unnatural,” Ronan says with a shiver.
“That’s why you were showering downstairs?”
“I reeked of vomit and everything else wrong with parties. I didn’t want to get into bed with that muck on me,” Ronan says, shaking his head, teeth clenched.
Adam looks into the face of the boy he loves so darn much. To the point he wakes up in the middle of the night with his chest aching, as if someone had cleaved it in two, because somewhere across the city, he was nearly dying.
“You can say it.”
“No, I can’t. You didn’t marry that sort of a man.”
“We’re married, you can tell me not to take drugs at parties from strangers, Adam.”
Adam blinks slowly at him. Ronan nods. “I’ll be careful next time.” Ronan was admonished without Adam having uttered a word because the two rarely needed them.
“Why were you not letting me touch you?” Ronan asks, meeting Adam’s eyes full on.
The pair do not lie to each other. Adam stays silent. He is embarrassed to have ever thought his Ronan, the Ronan Lynch, would be capable of cheating.
“What did you think I’d done?” Ronan pushes, sitting taller, still on his knees.
Adam yawns. “Let’s go to bed. I’ve had a night from hell.”
Ronan puts his hands on either side of Adam’s shoulders, the warmth seeping into him. His entire body is sticky with sweat, Ronan’s flesh a respite to it. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’d not let me touch you and looked like you were standing in the midst of hell.”
“You don’t want to know.”
Ronan runs his tongue over his teeth. “Try me.”
Adam stares at Ronan’s right earlobe. “It was the pain, it derailed my thoughts.”
“You’re waffling.”
“I thought you, um, perhaps, cheated on me,” Adam says, each word sounding as foolish as the next. Ronan audibly gasps. Adam looks at him. “Look! There was this intense pain in my chest! And then you were showering in the middle of the night after going to a party filled with strangers! It was the pain, please, Ronan.”
“I’d rather die,” Ronan says matter-of-factly.
Adam puts his right hand behind Ronan’s head and another on his upper back, and pulls him into a crushing hug. “Exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
They end up asleep on the sofa, Ronan lying on Adam. They both know they are not young enough to pull off such a stunt, but the effort of going upstairs is too much. The damp towel covers a portion of their body, but with the summer heat and each other’s bodies, it’s enough to lull them to sleep.