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Ronan Lynch is never going to get married.
It’s not for lack of wanting — for years, he thought he wanted nothing more. Aurora tells her sons beautiful stories about Niall and her being wed at the Barns on a perfect summer day full of flowers and songs, and most of Niall’s tales end with the hero marrying his blushing damsel in a soaring church. Aurora and Niall are deeply and truly in love and the matching rings on their fingers is unbreaking proof.
Ronan listens starry-eyed and dreams night after night of his own special day. His bride, always veiled and silent, never plays much of a role in these dreams. That part isn’t important. Ronan is confident everything will end happily ever after.
The first time the person standing with him at the altar is a boy, Ronan is ten. He wakes holding a sky blue rose, the color of the boy’s eyes. He stares at it until Aurora calls that breakfast is ready. Without quite knowing why, Ronan crushes the rose in his palm and stuffs it to the bottom of his trash can. Aurora’s lovingly made waffles sit uneasily in his stomach for the rest of the day.
The Lynches do not own a computer, but once a week, Aurora takes her sons to the public library. That week, Ronan waits until Matthew is lost in a comic book and Declan is showing Aurora a book about birds. Ronan goes to one of the library’s computers and carefully types into the search bar, “Can I marry a boy?”
He never does learn the answer. The librarian, who sees a child at the computer and wants to offer help, walks up behind Ronan and audibly gasps. Ronan whirls around, staring at her with a deep fear he cannot name. The librarian is an elderly no-nonsense sort of woman, gray clouds of hair floating just above her shoulders. She always has a kind smile for the brothers Lynch, but not today.
The librarian reaches past Ronan and closes the tab. She then kneels to be on his level and explains, very gently but very firmly, that boys marry girls, and that there is a beautiful and smart girl out there in the world just waiting for Ronan to find her.
Ronan doesn’t dream about marriage again.
By age twelve, Ronan is better at sneaking around, at never quite lying about what he needs the library computer for, at deleting his search history. In his furtive searches, Ronan learns about Massachusetts. He’d heard of it and thought the name was stupid, but apparently the place isn’t totally useless.
When Ronan is twelve, he reads an article about same-sex marriage in Massachusetts. It’s been legal since 2004. Three other states now allow it.
Ronan has another dream that night. He’s never been to Massachusetts, but he knows it’s cold and coastal. He walks with a boy down a snowy yet sunny beach, hand in hand. Ronan’s eyes can’t focus on the boy’s face, or maybe he doesn’t have one. Ronan holds the boy’s hand and slides a band of gold onto his finger. The boy does the same to Ronan, and Ronan wakes with a glittering ring. When he strokes the smooth surface with his thumb, he can hear waves crashing.
Ronan keeps track as the years pass. Four states, then five, then eight. The number grows, but every state named in the headlines – Connecticut, New York, Iowa – is miles and miles away from Henrietta, Virginia.
In his weaker moments, Ronan scrolls through dozens of pictures of men holding hands, putting rings on each others’ fingers, sealing their vows with a kiss. Ronan sees exactly what he wants and he knows he will never, ever get it. For all of Virginia’s beauty and wonder, its people are deeply conservative. For all of Ronan’s dreaming, he cannot yet change the world.
The world changes itself when Niall is murdered. Ronan’s carefully hidden list of states seems silly and childish, the fantasies of a boy who didn’t know better. He stops keeping track, stops furtively glancing at newspapers and websites. Ronan will never get married, and that’s just fine. Who the fuck would want to be stuck with him, anyway?
Ronan stops keeping track, so Ronan is completely blindsided in October of 2014. Had he paid attention, he might have seen articles about a Virginia lawsuit and a shockingly progressive court decision. Instead, Ronan learns that Virginia has legalized same-sex marriage from Tad fucking Carruthers.
Ronan is only at school to begin with for a Latin test. Tad is regrettably in the same class, so Ronan usually walks past him loitering in the hallway. Today, Tad is talking to some other student – Carlton or Edwin or who gives a fuck – and Ronan would rather not listen, but Tad’s voice is piercing.
“Did you see the news?” Tad laughs, an ugly sound. “Guess the gays finally got what they wanted. God, doesn’t that just make you sick? Gay marriage, here? It’s bad enough they can do it up north. There’s no reason they gotta force it on us.”
Ronan does feel sick. His heart is drumming loud enough for a rock concert, and a cold sweat breaks out across his entire body. He keeps walking only out of inertia, because he has nowhere else to go but forward, forward, stepping into the classroom and–
Adam Parrish is reading a textbook at his desk. The morning sun lays its rays gently over Adam’s form, even Mother Nature loath to disturb the beauty of the scene. One hand is poised to turn the page, another at his mouth, where from months of careful attention Ronan knows Adam is biting the nail of his thumb absently. He cut his hair a week ago and now it falls just barely into his blue-gray eyes, catching the sunlight and glowing dusty gold.
Ronan stops dead in the doorway. His heart flutters, beating along to a tune by now familiar as breathing – I love you, I love you. Normally, Ronan grunts and bears it. No point in doing anything about his stupid-ass feelings. But today…
Adam looks up, and the moment shatters. He brushes the hair out of his eyes and frowns at Ronan. “Lynch, what happened? You’re paler than normal, which is saying something.”
Ronan stares at Adam, thoughts crashing into each other like ocean waves and drowning any attempt to speak, and his heart takes up a dizzying new beat.
I can marry you.
“Lynch?”
As it turns out, Ronan does have somewhere else to go. His favorite direction, the way he turns whenever there is a truth so large he cannot obfuscate his way out. Ronan turns on his heel and runs away, past Tad in the hallway, out the doors, and ends up in his car, chest heaving and ears echoing from slamming the car door closed.
“Fuck,” Ronan swears quietly, following it up with a string of more colorful adjectives. He thumps the dashboard with his palm. “FUCK.”
He didn’t–
He’d never–
Ronan flips the stereo on, cranks the volume as high as it’ll go, and pulls out of the parking lot in a screech of tires.
The storm building in his mind drowns out any conscious thought, and it’s a surprise even to Ronan when he finds himself in the parking lot of the Henrietta Public Library.
Every few years, the tiny library finds itself the lucky victim of Aglionby parents hoping to smooth over town-gown relations with generous donations. The freshly painted windowsills and colorful book-themed mural stand in sharp contrast to the rest of the town center, which multiple guidebooks charitably refer to as ‘rustic.’ Ronan hasn’t been since Niall died and Aurora fell into a coma. He finds himself walking through the door anyway, BMW parked haphazardly across two spaces in the lot.
The librarian at the desk gives his Aglionby uniform and shaved head a suspicious look. Ronan gives her a look right back, walking past her without stopping. The no-nonsense librarian of Ronan’s childhood has long since retired, and this new thirty-something woman quails under Ronan’s glare.
It’s not until he sits down at one of the library computers that Ronan lets himself breathe. There’s every chance that Tad was making shit up, or read a headline wrong, or any number of reasons why what Ronan is about to type cannot possibly be true. This is Virginia, the state so famously against marriage equality that even interracial marriage took a Supreme Court decision.
No way out but through. Ronan types ‘Virginia gay marriage,’ hesitates, and hits enter.
The connection is unbearably slow, buffering and buffering until— there. Top of the results page, dated just yesterday, October sixth.
‘Same-Sex Couples Start Marrying In Virginia.’
In a haze, Ronan clicks the link. The entire screen is taken up by a photo of two smiling women, entwined hands raised to the sky in triumph. According to the caption, the two married yesterday in the state capital, hours after it became legal.
The world stops.
The storm-filled ocean in Ronan’s head becomes perfectly, placidly still. Ronan can’t tear his eyes from their joined hands, from the pure joy and triumph and relief on the women’s faces. They look so, so happy, and Ronan wants.
Ronan clicks another link and reads about another newlywed Virginia couple, and another, and another. The want builds in Ronan like a physical thing, humming through every cell in his body and clawing at his ribcage. Waves begin to crash in his mind, sounding all too similar to a dreamed Massachusetts beach not so many years ago. Ronan speeds through article after article with an unquenchable thirst for more, piecing together all that he’s missed. A thrill runs through him, electric as the start of a street race — he shouldn’t be doing this, but he should, he can, because it’s legal.
“Lynch?”
Not everywhere, of course. But Ronan finds more and more states where love has won in the years since he stopped looking, and he feels downright giddy. He could do anything. Gansey could ask Ronan to one of his mom’s horrible networking events and Ronan might say yes. Declan could call and Ronan would consider picking up.
“Lynch.”
Ronan is in the middle of the legal opinion that overturned the ban in Virginia when, with no warning, his mind conjures the image of Adam Parrish wearing a wedding ring. Ronan can vividly picture the ring sliding over bumpy knuckles, Adam inspecting the golden band with a smile, the cool metal of the ring against Ronan’s lips.
Ronan can also picture Adam’s disgusted expression if Ronan ever let slip any of these fantasies. He’s very familiar – Adam makes it anytime Ronan does something too loud or too rich or just too Ronan. He’s making it less and less these days, though. More often, Adam is just looking at Ronan with eyes the color of an ocean storm in a way Ronan can’t interpret, or rolling those same eyes with a smile at one of Ronan’s jokes, or – worst of all – laughing, surprised and carefree.
“For God’s sake, Lynch.”
A flick to his ear jolts Ronan out of the daydream, but as he turns around, he has to question if he really knows the difference between awake and asleep. Standing behind Ronan, not smiling nor laughing but looking disgusted and extremely pissed, is Adam.
Ronan blinks hard. Adam stays right where he is. “The fuck are you doing here, Parrish? You have a test.”
Adam’s frown deepens. “What am I– Lynch, what are you doing here? I thought maybe Cabeswater, or— I don’t know, I thought something was seriously wrong. But you’re fine. You’re at the library on a computer, which could mean the world is ending, but– what the fuck, Ronan?”
Ronan’s giddiness is rapidly evaporating. He can’t even enjoy hearing Adam swear. He crosses his arms, leaning back in the chair till it hits the desk. “I needed some air,” he says brusquely.
Adam’s eyebrows introduce themselves to his hairline. “Right. You needed the fresh, clean air of the public library.”
Ronan stares at Adam. Anything more would be a lie. Anything not a lie would be the truth, and Ronan can’t handle that. Not out loud. Not with Adam.
After a long moment, Adam closes his eyes and takes a slow breath. “Okay. Fine. Screw you, too, Lynch.” He checks his watch. “I need to get back and make up a good reason for missing the Latin test. Enjoy your fresh air.”
Ronan feels something fragile hovering between them, on the edge of fracture. He clocks for the first time Adam’s red cheeks and windblown hair.
“Parrish.”
Adam stops in the middle of turning away.
“How did you even get here, man?”
Ronan knows the answer as soon as he asks. He knows so certainly his chest hurts, but knowing does nothing to cushion the exhausted curve of Adam’s shoulders slumping as Adam says curtly, “Biked.”
It doesn’t make sense. Adam saw Ronan run like hell was chasing him, and he left class and leapt on his bike to follow the BMW. It doesn’t make sense, but it happened: Adam Parrish skipped a test because he was worried about Ronan.
Ronan chews on his lip and says, “I– um. Come back.”
Adam’s shoulders tense. “I’m not your fucking dog,” he snaps.
“No, look–” Ronan hates talking, so much. “Look. Parrish. Adam. I’m– something was wrong, okay? You were right.”
Adam stops walking away, at least.
Ronan grits his teeth. “I– it’s hard to explain, Parrish, can you just come back here and, fuck, let me show you?”
Adam gives Ronan a doubtful look, but sits down in the next chair, arms crossed. “Make it fast.”
Ronan breathes in and out, which does absolutely nothing for the roiling whirlpool in his stomach. His hand hovers over the mouse. The dense legal text currently on screen reveals little, but all he has to do is click another tab and show Adam the headline. Simple.
At Ronan’s extended silence, Adam rolls his eyes. “Lynch, whatever groundbreaking information you’re about to tell me, at least stop glaring at the computer like you’re going to set it on fire, Jesus. You’re making Julie nervous.” Adam tilts his head towards the librarian at the desk, who smiles at Adam and quickly averts her gaze from Ronan’s stare.
Ronan can’t help himself. His face curls into a sneer. “I’m scaring Julie? Wow, Parrish, didn’t know you had a thing for older women.”
Adam kicks Ronan’s ankles. “Sure, Lynch, me and the thirty-year-old librarian who has a girlfriend are a hot item. Your powers of observation never fail to astound. Get on with it.”
Ronan’s ears prick at ‘girlfriend,’ but he stays silent. The mouse hovers over the tab.
Adam shifts. “I did a lot of homework here,” he says with practiced casualness, not making eye contact. “When I– before Aglionby. Julie helped me do research for projects. It’s… quieter, here.” He looks back at Ronan. “Julie’s very nice, when you’re not glowering at her very expensive research computer.” He emphasizes ‘very expensive,’ like he thinks Ronan might actually do something to it.
Ronan huffs, shoving down the itch in his knuckles to punch Robert Parrish till something snaps. “Whatever, Parrish. No one wants to hear your sob story.” Before Adam can kick him where it hurts, Ronan clicks on the article with the photo and turns the screen towards him.
Ronan… doesn’t know what to expect. It doesn’t exactly come up often. A part of him is all too aware that Adam grew up in a rural Virginia town around small town people, as much as Adam would bristle at the thought, and has spent the rest of his time surrounded by asshole Aglionby boys. This librarian and her girlfriend are really the first Ronan’s heard from Adam on the subject.
Even if Adam’s not an asshole about it, which Ronan dares to hope for, he’s not going to understand why Ronan had to leave school. How much this means. He can’t. But it’s the only explanation Ronan has.
(Ronan thinks, briefly, of dusty gold hair and shining gold rings, and immediately shuts that train of thought down. That would not be an explanation. That would be a nuclear bomb centered on Ronan’s life.)
Whatever Ronan is expecting, it’s not this.
Adam’s lips are pressed into a displeased line, but as he takes in the screen, his face slackens and his lips part slightly. “Oh.”
Ronan squints. Oh? That means nothing. It could mean anything. Adam gives Ronan nothing else, just stares, eyes flickering across the screen.
It’s not disgust — far from it. As Adam keeps staring, taking in every pixel of the image with an expression approaching wonder, gears in Ronan’s brain slowly, slowly start to turn.
Adam leans back suddenly, breaking Ronan’s train of thought. Adam clears his throat. “Wow. Uh, good for them.” He looks at Ronan, finally, and Ronan braces for impact. Not disgust, he’s pretty sure of that now, but— something. There’s only so many reasons that this would send Ronan running, and Adam’s more than smart enough to put it together. Ronan braces for a fumbling comment, an attempt at a joke.
“I have to go.”
Ronan jerks back, too surprised to hide the knife just driven into his chest. He thought he was prepared—
“Jesus, Lynch.” Adam shakes his head. “Not like that. I’m—” He pauses, weighs his words, and says, “I’m not an asshole. I mean it, good for them.” Another pause, calculating eyes fixed on Ronan. “Good for you,” Adam adds eventually, and Ronan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But I need to get back for third period.”
Adam holds up his watch, a cheap ticking thing held together by determination and duct tape. Ronan stares at Adam’s wrist and pretends he is reading the watch hands.
As Adam walks away, Ronan stares at the computer screen. Going back to Aglionby’s suffocating halls is the last thing he wants to do, now more than ever. He glances out the window at Adam’s beat-up bike tied to a lamppost. It’s uncomfortably warm and humid for October – Adam's ride back to school is going to be fucking miserable.
Ronan swears colorfully – under his breath, thank you very much, Julie – and stalks after Adam. By the time Ronan reaches the parking lot, Adam is untying his bike. “Parrish,” Ronan calls.
Adam glances up.
Ronan holds up the BMW’s keys. This is the tricky part. “Want a ride?” He unlocks the doors.
Adam sets his jaw. “No, thanks.”
Ronan makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Come on, man, it’s Satan’s armpit out here. You’re gonna die on that thing, and then how will you show up all the losers in calculus?”
“Kind of you to care about my calc grade.” Adam tucks the bike cable into his bag and moves to swing his leg over the seat. Adam kindly does not ask why Ronan knows what his next class is.
“Parrish, you followed my sorry ass out here. Least I can do is not let you die of heatstroke.”
Adam rolls his eyes, but he also rolls the bike over to the BMW, so Ronan counts it as a win.
“Lynch,” Adam says disapprovingly.
“What?”
Adam has the back door open, and is looking between the backseat and the bike with a deep frown. “This isn’t gonna fit.”
Ronan stands next to him. He looks between the sleek, form-over-function BMW and Adam’s shitty held-together-by-rust bike. “Well, fuck.”
The Pig also couldn’t fit a bike in the backseat, especially not with people there. A few weeks after they met Adam, a top-of-the-line detachable bike rack had appeared in the Pig’s trunk, ready to be hauled out if they were picking Adam up from work. Ronan curses his lack of foresight in not doing the same. In fairness, until a few months ago, he wouldn’t have thought Adam could stand him for long enough to have a civil conversation, never mind accept a ride.
Adam sighs and squats next to his bike. Ronan stares in befuddlement as Adam flips the bike over and wordlessly and methodically sets to work at, apparently, removing the front wheel. Ronan is helpless to do anything but stare – Ronan knows fuckall about bikes, and Adam’s clearly done this before, but more importantly, Adam’s slender hands are moving surely and efficiently, wrapping around levers and fasteners and coming away shiny with grease.
Christ.
Ronan decides that bike racks are overrated.
Ronan finally drags his gaze away when Adam rests the detached front wheel against the BMW and stands. “There. Should fit. Help me shove it in?”
That’s what she said, the twelve-year-old part of Ronan’s brain supplies. Ronan just grunts, much more afraid of what the seventeen-and-in-love part of his brain might say if he opens his mouth. It’s worse, now, somehow. The reality of Adam remains as distant as ever, but fantasies once categorically forbidden now bloom to the surface, whirlwind visions of flowers draped across the Barns and chairs in rows and holding Adam’s hands under an arch as Ronan speaks the truest words he’s ever said.
In short, Ronan’s brain is being extremely unhelpful, and he wants to beat it with a stick.
The bike and front wheel are eventually secured in the back. Adam slides into the passenger seat and Ronan starts driving towards Aglionby. He’s determined to keep his eyes on the road, but his brain once again betrays him, sending his gaze glancing sideways for just a second, just long enough to ruin him.
Adam’s eyes are closed and head is tipped back against the seat, exposing his neck. His hands rest on his thighs. There’s a streak of bike grease on his left hand, glinting in the sun, and it’s all too easy to replace grease with gleaming gold.
Traitor, Ronan tells his brain.
Adam, his brain responds. Ronan can’t really argue with that.
Ronan dreams again that night. Adam stands across from him at an altar in a forest, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a blue rose in his lapel. “In bonis et adversis,” dream Adam whispers. “In valetudine et in morbo. Amabo te et honorabo te omnibus diebus vitae meae.”
Ronan wakes holding a grey-blue rose, the same intense color of Adam’s eyes. He stares, carefully holding it so the tiny thorns don’t prick him. He places the rose gently on his desk, next to a golden ring that sounds like the Massachusetts ocean.
Ronan Lynch might just get married, after all.