#goes yeah sure! and suddenly i’m In what i think in my dream is gansey's house (it's not monmouth or a republican house literally some desi

[spiltscribbles]

Taste Like Coming Home

 @Notes: Huge thank yo to @ravens-world who made this so much better than what it was!!! <3<3

A REBLOG IS WORTH A THOUSAND STARS<3

.-

Adam’s always appreciated the light thrumming of life that buzzed in Washington, even in the middle of the night. It’s nowhere near as loud as Boston had been, but still, it distracts Adam from floundering in his own thoughts that even now threaten to swallow him whole in an ocean of insecurities and doubts (that had first bore to life in the precarious stillness subsequent Robert’s fists and his mother’s impassive gaze) . ((Adam had lost count of how many nights he'd spent like this, wondering if he’ll ever be good enough to earn his parent’s affections, Gansey’s friendship, Blue’s warmth, Ronan's-Ronan's everything. )) Adam is always questioning if he’ll ever be good enough to deserve the near reverent way Ronan regards him, has always regarded him. To deserve the soft touches and encapsulating kisses and the way Ronan looks at Adam as if he’s the answer to his every question, as if Ronan could find what he’s looking for whispered between the space of Adam’s lips.

Adam tries not to linger too much on the latter anymore, because he knows he'll never find a sensible answer. Knows that he’s never deserved Ronan and all Ronan’s brought to his world. He'd transformed the muted grayscale of his carefully methodical outlook into vivid tones of impossibilities come true. No matter how much he loves Ronan, how he never wants to be without him. Ronan has become a fixture in his very soul that he could never fathom existing without, and yet Adam is still so very inept. Still can’t tell him his feelings in so many words— more often than not opting for gentle caresses and tender kisses that can bring his feelings to life— and he knows he still comes off distant and cold during their more real arguments, despite how sparing they might be. Adam can’t ever contort his mouth in the right ways to speak out loud words of comfort and vulnerability he was so deprived of once upon a time. But still, he tries. Adam tries because this is Ronan, and he wouldn’t be true to himself if he didn’t give Ronan— give them— all he had.

“It’s not your fault,” Adam says, flicks off residue from one of the bright blue creepy-crawlies that had followed Ronan into the real world, from his legs.

Ronan’s only response is an incredulous huff.

Looking at him now, Adam can’t help but marvel at how beautiful and sincere and unshielded he truly is. The dark shadows paint across his face and the light spills over him so that his profile is nothing but flat planes, made all the more sharp, and pale eyes shifting to a haunting, stormy grey rather than the icy oceans Adam has always known and has always ben able to see through. Eyes he’s been enthralled with for forever, even when  he only viewed Ronan as the savagely handsome best friend of Gansey’s who infuriated him in ways Adam never was able to completely comprehend.

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Adam tells him, moving so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t push me out because you’re mad.”

“I’m not,” Ronan says, hurried and stubborn, his face morphing into something desperate. 

“Ronan,” Adam says, but actually means bullshit, and the translation seems to have gone through if the decidedly ceded expression that passes over Ronan’s rough but handsome features is anything to go by.

“I hate that I can’t control it, no matter what I do.”

“Hey,” Adam laces their fingers together and squeezes. “Nothing happened.” He kisses Ronan’s shoulder right then, is relieved when he feels the slight loosening of tension there. He’s suddenly, acutely thankful to all the stars above that Ronan can understand the spaces of words that go unspoken between them.

“Yeah, this time,” Ronan sours, eyes flickering to their closed door and Adam understands him completely. Understands that Ronan doesn’t care if those poisonous arachnids had bitten him, Ronan never cared. The only thing Ronan cares about when concerning bringing back his uncontrolled dream things is the possibility that they could hurt any number of the three people he loves more than breathing. One, Adam, who sleeps right besides him every night. And the other two— their set of twins— are just right across the hall.

“It could so easily go wrong.”

“It won’t,” Adam says with more steel than even he expected.

“How do you know?” Ronan asks chargingly. Hesitantly. Imploringly. Like someone would ask a prophet.

“Ro,” Adam says, quiet and tentative while he runs the pads of his fingers down Ronan’s cheek, tracing the outline of his nose and lips and jaw. His fingertips land on the hollow where Adam could feel his heartbeat,  and he swoops forward to press an open mouthed kiss to it. He revels in the sensation of Ronan carding a hand through his hair, nails lightly scratching Adam’s scalp. “I’m here for you, always. I won’t ever let anything happen to you or the kids, and I know you won't either. Stop worrying, okay? ” Another kiss on Ronan’s mouth, arms wrapped around his waste to pull him even closer. “Else you’ll start getting wrinkle lines and I’ll have to find myself some new arm candy.”

“Pff,” Ronan snorts, rubs a ginger hand down Adam’s naked back. He can feel the cool scrape of the golden wedding band Adam’s got a matching pair to. “If anyone’s the trophy husband here it’s totally you.”

“Fuck off.” 

“Lynch farms just got another expansion, fuck face,” Ronan preens, and Adam loves him like this. Boasting and teasing and always, always so soft whenever he peers down at Adam. “Me and my herd are gonna blow fucking Wisconsin right off the map with our Dairy prowls.”

“Actually, I think California’s now the state to beat for title of Dairy capitol,” Adam corrects with a nonchalant shrug.

“What the fuck ever,” Ronan snipes, words full of humor.

“Come back to bed.”

“I shouldn’t,” Ronan frowns, and Adam doesn’t miss the fear, fear that’s only ever directed at himself, that ghosts across his face. Adam parts his lips to argue and chide at him that he needs to trust himself, but Ronan must’ve seen that coming from a mile ahead because he stops it with another resounding kiss that Adam can feel to his core.

“Had to be up anyways,” Ronan explains amidst heavy breaths that mirror Adam’s own. “Me and Opal were gonna check out that Farmer’s Market back in Henrietta and Declan wanted to join.”

“Fine,” Adam gripes, follows him out the bedroom to help collect the things he’ll be needing, partially because he’s too riled  up to go back to bed now, but mostly because he knows that if he leaves now, Ronan won’t be back until late afternoon. He always misses him so achingly during these long trips away from their home.

God does Adam love that, the idea that he’s got this. He’s got a home that he gets to share with the man he loves more than any other and his two kids that he would willingly lay down his life for. Sometimes he has to stop and just take it all in, climb out of the memories of crying on the steps of the trailer wondering if anything was worth existing for in this world and thinking that the kid he was finally found that worth.

Adam passes Ronan a thermos  of coffee for him and an herbal tea for Opal, sends him off with one final peck of farewell. 

“You should welcome me home with a martini,” Ronan goads, grin gone sharp and slightly feral. “Put on a slutty genie outfit?”

Adam pinches his forearm, hard.

“I will never play out some kinda  I Dream of Jeannie tableau for you dickwad, get over it.”

“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Ronan shrugs, goes off to kiss the tops of the kids’ sleeping heads. He gives Adam one more kiss before he has to finally head out to the BMW.

Sometimes Adam forgets that these long days apart are just as hard for him.

.-

“Is it Daddy’s birthday?” Livvy asks, eyebrows hiked, and lips pitched. 

“No,” says Adam while pulling out spare mixing bowls from the cupboard— it's a miracle that he even knows where they are, if he’s being at all honest. In their household, the kitchen is largely Ronan’s realm of expertise and all Adam’s good for is washing dishes and the  occasional  toasting of bread.

“Are you graduating again?” Gage— a near spitting image of his sister, with all their trappings of dark hair and intense eyes and thin lips, asks  owlishly.

“Not that either.”

“Then why on God’s green earth are we baking cupcakes?”

Jesus fucking Christ, do these kids have some mouths on them. Adam would like to blame it totally on Ronan’s frame of mind that unfiltered speech is the only way he’d speak around his kids, but Adam knows that ever since they had first brought them home, ten months old and just barely crawling, that they’ve gotten just as much of his cynical outlook than what Adam would’ve liked.

“Because, squirt,” Adam pulls out his phone to search for a decently simple recipe he both had the ingredients to, , and one that wouldn’t turn out an utter mess. “Daddy woke up a bit sad this morning and I thought that if we made him this, it would show him we're thinking bout him and he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.”

The twins look suitably cowed at that, both pairs of eyes going pleading and chorusing a thousand questions on whether Ronan’s okay and when he’ll be coming home and how they could help.

“He’s fine, kiddos, just was gonna miss you guys when he went out with Opal and Uncle Declan today. But he’ll be home any minute, so I wanna make sure this is done by then, kay?”

Gage nods with grave certainty, wielding a whisk like a weapon of war, but Livvy still looks a bit unsure.

“Aunt Blue says that your cooking should be considered a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Like a nuke!” Gage tacks on helpfully.

“Or mustard gas.”

“Ooo! Or like—“

“Neither of you are ever allowed to say the names of weapons out loud again! Not ever!" Adam scolds with no actual heat.

“Hey, but what about,” Gage points to Chainsaw, who’s perching atop the refrigerator watching them. 

“Not my problem.”

They both roll their eyes but don’t press him on it.

“Papa, are you sure you can do this?”

“It’s baking, Liv, not cooking a full course meal," he says, only slightly indignant.

“Ms Gomez says that baking is just like science and that’s why it’s way harder than just normal cooking.”

Adam’s expression goes flat.

“You get to crack the eggs,” he tells her in lieu of a response.  

“Oh, yay!” Livvy crows. Gage howls with the unfairness of it all.

.-

An hour and a half later finds the white marble top island of their spacious kitchen splattered with batter and oil and substances Adam is almost positive he doesn’t recognize. There’s a tray of a dozen cupcakes in the oven but Adam isn’t quite sure that they’re meant to be staying flat, refusing to rise even once the halfway mark passes— that along with the fact that the toothpicks literally are stuck once used to puncture doesn’t bode well. The sink had overflown about a dozen times because one of them keeps forgetting to turn off the water once they’ve rinsed a dish.

All and all, it probably could’ve been worse.

“Aunt Blue’s always right,” Livvy says sagely.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Adam can’t help but agree while frowning at the mess, his heart contracting the moment he hears the front door swing open and the recognizable thudding of Ronan’s farm boots.

“Oh joy,” he mutters as the kids dash off to the front parlor, leaping into Ronan’s arms, batter splattered hands and all.

“Mother of God, Parrish,” he bellows, obviously in a better mood than this morning. “What are these changelings doing here and where are our actual kids?”

Adam can’t help the way his mouth dips down into a small, delighted grin, his heart doing palpitations at the sight of the three people he loves more than anything all together in one spot.

“No, Daddy!” Livvy squawks. “It’s us!”

“We were making you cupcakes because we thought you were sad and we hate it when you’re sad and we love you and Papa is really bad at anything in the kitchen, but he tried.”

“Thanks, Gage,” Adam ruffles a hand in his hair, tugs softly on Livvy’s pigtail, before kissing Ronan hello.

“You taste like shit that’ll rot my teeth.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Ronan’s answering laugh is something splendid. 

“You guys didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

“We love you, Daddy,” Livvy argues, kissing the back of his hand and making Ronan’s expression go gentle in the way it only ever does for them.

“Thanks, princess. I love you more, though.”

Livvy sticks out her tongue, contentious, and Ronan follows suit by pulling a face at her that makes it so she’s cackling.

“Look, I’m sure your Pops has made the kitchen a living nightmare,” Ronan says, and Adam glares at him, affronted. “So what about we go out to grab something sweet? Sit out on the peer while eating it?”

Livvy and Gage  chorus excited words of affirmation and Adam refuses to let Ronan in the kitchen till it’s cleaned up.

“Fuck, it looks like World War III or some shit in there, doesn’t it?”

“One more crack at my cooking resembling a war zone and I swear I’m filing for a divorce,” Adam threatens.

Ronan just laughs and something deep in Adam’s chest blooms, pleased that at the very least the cupcakes had their intended effect.

#PYNCH #ADAM PARRISH #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK

[glowstickhaloboy]

hi! since you're taking prompts, could you do pynch and "i'm in love with you"?

This work takes place at the end of the currently-published series, that is, after Opal. There are some spoilers.

TW: mild gore

Ronan’s tattoo starts to bleed overnight. It isn’t the pain that wakes him, because there is no pain. There’s only rolling over into a puddle of wet and thinking: shit, did I leave the bottle open again?

It’s dark, and he’s asleep, and kind of a dumbass, so it takes him a few squints and blinks before he sees that whatever he dipped his fingers in is red—yes, red—and shit, that’s probably not good. That’s definitely bad.

The next few moments are a strobe-light image slideshow: the hallway, sideways, as Ronan stumbles into the bathroom—the stabbing lights—the inside of his eyelids as he blocked them out—and then the blood, everywhere, all over. Like he did a mudslide through a slaughterhouse.

There’s only one person to call.

Declan arrives to find Ronan sat near, not in, the bathtub, with a pile of towels pressed between his back and the side of the tub. Ronan grimaces at the sight of loose tie and button-up. No idea what time it is, but Declan had still been working.

He helps Ronan sit up—“Jesus is this all yours” “It’s coming out of me, isn’t it?”—and some of the towels have begun to stick so they come away with a wet peeling sound, like Declan is skinning an orange. 

“It’s stopped bleeding,” he says. He inspects the stainage of the pile at large. It quiets and disquiets him. “I was 45 minutes away.”

This was not an admonishment for calling on him. It was an admonishment for calling on him.

“There was no one else,” Ronan says. “Adam’s at college, Opal’s in New Cabeswater, Gansey, Cheng, and Sargent have all fucked off together on the other side of the country, and Chainsaw is a fucking bird.”

“Matthew?” Declan suggests halfheartedly.

“Matthew would get scared.”

There was no one else.

“You should call Adam.”

Ronan snorts. “And tell him what?”

“He’d want to know about this.”

Maybe, but that kid was stressed enough about midterms and Ronan wasn’t going to be the one to crash his two-hour nap for the night.

“He’s busy.”

“When’s the last time you two talked?” asks Declan, as if he can read Ronan’s mind.

It’s a hint of the old new-Ronan. Surly and full of acid and ready to get in a fight that is guaranteed to leave no survivors.

Ronan rolls over on his side so his spine can get its shit together. It puts him mostly on the floor. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

His phone gets shoved into his hand. Declan says, “I’m going to find you something sugary.”

He leaves.

Ronan groans, stares mutinously at the scratched-up dark screen, and chucks the thing into the hallway. Clatter-clatter-clat.

A few minutes later, flat footsteps ascend the stairs, and Ronan hears a business-like, “Hold on.”

Declan’s shoes appear, and then Declan’s phone is shoved in Ronan’s face, and Declan says, “Adam.”

Ronan accepts it. There’s also a glass of orange juice, which he completely downs before saying, “How many hours?”

“Three,” Adam answers, not missing a beat. “What happened, Ronan?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. A little Cabeswater fuckery. Go back to sleep and pass your classes.”

“You’re bleeding again!” says Declan, with a lot more energy than the moment holds as he snatches a towel with a dry patch and presses it to Ronan’s back. Ronan switches the phone to his other ear.

“You need my help,” Adam says. The suspicious pause he takes makes Ronan think he waited for a yawn to pass before saying it.

“That’s might fuckin’ bold of you to assume,” Ronan replies sharply. He can feel it now, sliding down his back. It’s warm. Like fingers or lips running down his skin. “You’re four hours away and you’ve gotten three hours of sleep. You probably have eight tests tomorrow and a shift at work before you kill yourself studying. Don’t have to be at school to do that math. I’m fine, you hear me? I’ve got Declan. This is my shit, you worry about yours.”

“You’re doing the thing again, Lynch,” Adam told him patiently.

“The thing?”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “The asshole thing. That thing where you’re an asshole. You’re doing it again.”

“You’re-”

“You’re my shit. I’ll see you in four hours.” Adam hangs up.

Ronan drops the phone. It pops out of its case, and his back is still bleeding, and his boyfriend is going to die on the road, and all he wants to do is go back to bed.

“That wasn’t so bad,” says Declan, and Ronan grimaces.

“Eavesdropper.”

“The volume was on loud.” He swaps one towel for another, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all covered. “You haven’t economized well.”

“He doesn’t want to come down here,” says Ronan. “He’ll act like there’s no problem because he thinks he has no right to, but missing a day of classes will take a year off his life. He’ll be pissed. He doesn’t want to come down here.”

“Why don’t you want to see him?” Declan asks suddenly, tartly, ripping off the band-aid.

And Ronan contemplates the opportunity of bleeding out for so long that he never answers.

-

The bleeding doesn’t stop, but Ronan’s face is still full of color so Declan chalks up his remaining belly-down on the bathroom floor as decision and exhaustion. He goes with Ronan’s blessing for a nap/collapse across the hall, but he leaves the door open and says he trusts Ronan will shout if something goes wrong. (“Your face went wrong.”)

After forty-five minutes of lying there Ronan picks himself up, kicks the stained towels into a pile smushed between the wall and toilet, and inspects his tattoo in the mirror. It’s oozing a little. Not too bad. He grabs his mostly-clean bedsheet and the first aid kit, and he goes out onto the deck. It’s fucking cold out in his boxers but he doesn’t plan to stay out for more than a few minutes, he just… 

He needs some air.

For the first time in memory, Ronan is not eager to admit that Declan has it wrong. Ronan doesn’t not want to see Adam. But he knows that Adam’s priority will always be Adam, and that means he’s going to be gone again by this time tomorrow. It’s not the reunion. It’s the overhanging shadow of another goodbye. He doesn’t want to live through that because then it’s back to just thoughts of Adam, and Ronan doesn’t think about Adam Parrish with his brain, he thinks about Adam with his blood and his bones and his heart. Some days, it feels like Adam Parrish is all Ronan thinks about.

And he is not entirely sure he didn’t make a Dream-Adam tonight.

Though there has been Cabeswater in Adam for a long time now, there has never been any Adam in Cabeswater that Adam does not allow to be there. And tonight, because Ronan isn’t enough—isn’t strong enough, isn’t himself enough—isn’t enough, he broke that rule for his own gain. Because he misses Adam. And he let his emotions get the better of him, in a way the Greywaren could not let himself do.

He’s still sitting there, trying to bandage up his back on his own, when he becomes suddenly aware of grass swishing. There’s a shine on the morning dew as the sky turns silver-gray.

It’s him.

“I saw you in my dreams,” Ronan blurts, and Adam blinks at him in surprise. He finishes crossing the lawn, gliding, and Ronan is so fucking relieved. “We were in Cabeswater together. That’s the only reason I freaked. You didn’t have to come down here.”

The specter of Adam sits behind Ronan and wordlessly takes over the job of bandaging. “You freaked?” he repeats lowly. The Henrietta in him makes it come out freekt. Ronan closes his eyes.

He doesn’t want to say anything, but it’s either put it all out between them or risk doing damage. Love is frustrating like that; it has to be free in order to grow, but you can’t leave it alone and expect it to be strong. It’s going to drive Ronan fucking crazy.

“I wasn’t ready to see you,” says Ronan.

“So you wish I hadn’t come.”

“You wish you hadn’t come, either. I told you not to.”

“I don’t think you’re concerned enough about this,” says Adam, and Ronan’s heart skips a beat until Adam adds, “It’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s not mine,” says Ronan, sweeping a hand under his nose and sniffing. “I’d be dead by now if it was. It’s from Cabeswater.”

“Because of the dream you had,” Adam surmises. “Because, what, you didn’t want to see me? I’ve only been gone for a few months and you refuse to talk to me now? I told you this would happen.”

Adam drops the bandage on the deck and scoots away, toward the rail, his face and posture turning to stone as Ronan says, “Parrish.”

“I said it wouldn’t work—”

“We were scared it wouldn’t work—”

“—and now I’ve made a total ass of myself driving down here to help you, so if you want to f-finish it…” Adam clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. Tcsk. Just like that. And it’s a very sharp sound, and it’s a very sharp moment. He’s trying not to cry.

Adam doesn’t cry.

The only thing that betrays him is the tiny bump in the word finish. And maybe the way he says It, like he’s already looking at a dead version of It in his mind, but he’s resolved not to show Ronan, for whatever reason, how much that thought hurts.

How much that thought hurts.

How much that thought hurts.

How much that thought hurts.

He’s always so stoic, so determined to be independent whatever the cost, that Ronan never…

Ronan thought he’d been spending Adam’s freshman year stupidly falling in love on his own. It’s such a moronic, simple realization that it makes Ronan angry. They’re in this together.

“Parrish. Look at me. Adam.” Adam whips his head around, angry, hurt, and Ronan has always thought Adam was attractive, but this is… heart-stopping. “I’m in love with you.”

It takes Adam aback. He inhales through his mouth and Ronan watches it go right to his chest, and his throat bobs, and his eyes flutter closed. He opens them. He’s dazed, probably, and exhausted, because he never eats or sleeps and he just drove four hours in a car that has few enough parts to be classified as a bicycle, and because he has never heard those words before.

Adam isn’t going to say it back. He’s just had it sprung on him and he’s the type of person who needs to be sure the ground is solid before his footing gets adventurous. So Ronan is going to say it first because Adam needs to hear it first, of the two of them. Ronan knew it before he said it, and he isn’t going to freak out when it happens— doesn’t happen. Whatever.

And the silence stretches on. There’s a war going on inside of Adam’s head. Ronan needs to distract him before it gets bad.

He says, “I hate seeing you because it reminds me that life sucks when you’re gone. But I know you’re doing what you need to do, and I want you to do that, so just let me deal with this. Because it doesn’t matter how far you go or how long you’re gone. I’ll wait for you.”

He knows this with more than his head. He—and Cabeswater—knows it with his heart, and his bones, and his blood. His blood. So when Cabeswater felt how badly he missed Adam…

“It was me,” Adam says unexpectedly. “It was really me last night.”

And it’s Ronan’s turn to stare. 

“In Cabeswater?” he asks.

Adam nods. His throat bobs again.

“I think I was thinking about you before I fell asleep, and then I knew exactly where I was, and you turned up, only I didn’t know for sure if it was you, and if it was then you seemed angry I was there-”

“At me, not at you,” Ronan interrupts, then has to look away. “I thought… I thought I made a dream you.”

Adam touches Ronan’s cheek, guides him back around, and kisses him. Maybe, Ronan thinks, this is him saying it back.

“I think we found our solution,” says Adam, and he lingers in the space where they breathe the same air. The sun is coming up. His eyes are glittering. “We can refine it. Find out how I ended up in Cabeswater tonight and do it more often. We’ll see each other all the time.”

“And I’ll know when you’re not getting any fucking sleep,” says Ronan, smiling his razor’s smile. He kisses Adam again. “It’s freezing. Get inside, I’ll clean up this shit and be right there.”

“But your back—”

“It’s fine now.”

“It’s… what?”

“It’s fine,” says Ronan. “I’m sure. Get inside, Parrish.”

Adam does not argue; he leaves Ronan to snatch up all the rusty bandages from the deck, the bedsheet, the first aid kit. Ronan knows he’ll pass out the moment he finds the empty guest bedroom, so he takes the time to shower (and dry off with an old shirt) before joining him.

[mychemicalrachel]

I started thinking about Adam at college and I accidentally wrote a thing.

Read on ao3. 

Adam had anticipated college to be stressful. The good kind of stress, if such a thing existed. He’d expected the overload of homework and reading, welcomed it readily. But with a full ride scholarship to one of the best schools in the country, for once in his life, Adam didn’t have to worry about where money for his next meal would come from. And that was the kind of stress he would gladly live without.

For the first few months, Adam still saved every penny like it might be his last. He kept a cereal box under his bed stuffed with extra cash, eventually giving in to opening a checking account at Gansey’s insistence. After getting a job at the local mechanic’s shop, Adam slowly came to realize that he didn’t have to scavenge for money anymore. For the first time, Adam had money he could spend on whatever he wanted.

It started to show in small ways at first; Adam splurged the extra two-dollars on the good toilet paper instead of the sand-paper off brand. He ordered coffee instead of water when he spent late hours studying at the campus coffee shop. He was even able to fill up the BMWs gas tank instead of buying gas in ten-dollar increments when it started getting low.

So yes, Adam had anticipated college to be stressful, and it was, but withdrawal from Henrietta was even more so. The first few weeks were the worst. Nightmares were still fresh in his mind, memories of Gansey’s death and Ronan’s almost unmaking. More often than not, he still dreamt of his own hands on Ronan’s throat, squeezing until he could feel the breath stop. Some nights, he simply dreamed of Cabeswater, what it was now that it was nothing.

He called Ronan on those particularly bad nights. On the occasions that Ronan didn’t answer, Opal did. She would talk to him, sometimes in English or Latin or that other language he didn’t understand. Somehow, she knew it didn’t matter what she said. Just to know that she was okay, that her and Ronan were safe, it was enough.

The days were even worse. Something small could set Adam off into a spiral; a girl who, in passing, looked like Blue; a boy whose laugh sounded like Gansey’s; a breeze would close a door and Noah’s name would slip off his tongue before he remembered that Noah was gone. Adam did his best to cope with their absence alone-- he couldn’t very well call his friends every time he missed them. They had lives, and Adam needed to let them be without worrying about him all the time.

The first pack of cigarettes Adam bought was for a friend who didn’t have the cash on him. His friend gratefully handed him a single cigarette from the pack, saying thanks. He left Adam alone, staring at the thin white stick curiously; he’d never smoked before. It had never occurred to him, never been an option or a lure, but staring at it now, it seemed to call to Adam. A pull that he hadn’t felt since the death of Cabeswater. Adam went back into the convenience store and bought a lighter.

He choked on the first drag. It burned his throat more than anything, left his lungs feeling full and deflated at the same time. He took another drag, slower, and exhaled. Staring into the smoke, like searching for shapes in the clouds, Adam felt himself relax.

When he crushed the butt of the cigarette against the pavement, he told himself it was a one time thing. One cigarette didn’t make you an addict.

Adam went back the next day and bought himself another pack.

By the time Adam’s first year of college had officially ended, he realized he might actually miss this place when he goes back to Virginia for the summer. For the past nine months, this dorm room had been his home. Leaving it feels surreal. But the draw of Ronan and Blue and Gansey is even stronger. He packs up the BMW and leaves college behind.

It’s an almost seven hour drive to Virginia, and Adam spends the whole time anxiously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Blue texts him a few times, reminding him to pull over and rest if he gets too tired, but the pull of home fills him with adrenaline. He can’t wait to be back. Not to the town, or even to the Barns, but to see his friends again.

Everyone is waiting at the Barns when Adam parks the BMW and climbs out. He can see the Pig and his Hondayota parked to one side of the drive. The sun is kissing the horizon, the beginning of dusk leaving everything glowing orange and pink. Magical, as if the Barns could ever be anything but.

He’s not even up the porch steps when the front door crashes open and Blue is charging him. She flings herself at him, and Adam barely manages to grab her and steady them before they both fall down the stairs. He staggers back, laughing, as the familiarity swarms him. Gansey is right behind her, not even waiting for them to part before inserting himself into the hug. Over Gansey’s shoulder, he spots Ronan standing back, watching them. There’s a hint of a smirk tugging the corners of his lips.

Adam disentangles himself as best as he can. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, Ronan at the top, with four steps between them. Adam leans against the railing. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ronan mimics.

“Your hair is longer,” Adam notes. “It looks good.”

Ronan lifts a hand to brush through his hair, like he’s just noticed. Then he shrugs casually. “I figured you might want something to pull.”

Adam grins at him. “That’s presumptuous, Lynch.”

Ronan jumps down to the ground, not bothered to use to the steps. He casts a look toward Blue and Gansey. Blue, seeming to take the unsubtle hint, grabs Gansey’s arm. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” She tugs him back toward the house, leaving Adam and Ronan alone. Without an audience, Ronan seems to soften a bit. He nudges his shoe against Adam’s. “I was serious, what I said about my hair.”

Adam reaches up to pull a few fingers through the hair. He gives it a experimental tug and Ronan’s eyes narrow, either an invitation or a challenge. Adam assumes it’s a mixture of both and he finally leans in to capture Ronan’s lips. The heat that immediately surrounds him, the warmth that seems to come from the inside out, it’s all familiar. It’s addictive and safe and tantalizing, all at once.

And then Ronan pulls back, frowning. “You taste weird.”

“I didn’t brush my teeth,” Adam admits. “And I had onion rings for lunch.”

“No,” Ronan shakes his head. “That’s not it.” He watches Adam for a moment, rubs his thumb along his lower lip in a gesture that seems distinctly Gansey of him. Ronan frowns a little more. “Have you been smoking?”

“Oh,” Adam realizes. “Yeah. A little.”

“How do you smoke a little?” Ronan demands. “Either you’ve been smoking or you haven’t.”

“Okay,” Adam corrects himself. “Yes, I’ve been smoking. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so mad all of a sudden?”

“It’s fucking gross,” Ronan snaps. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since school is stressful, I guess.” Adam shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”

“They’re bad for you--”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about bad habits,” Adam laughs. “You’re the one who used to drink himself into oblivion to avoid dealing with feelings.”

Ronan chooses not to acknowledge that. “What if Gansey and Blue found out?”

“So what?” Adam asks. “I’m a big boy. Gansey is not my father. I can do whatever I want.”

“And you want to kill yourself?” Ronan says. “There are easier ways, man.”

Adam is taken aback. “What the fuck, Ronan?”

Ronan’s nostrils flare. He looks down, shuffling his feet. At his sides, his hands tighten into fists. Ronan turns to walk away, but Adam catches his wrist.

“No, Ronan. Do not just shut me out. What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m self-destructive,” Ronan snaps. “I know that. Sure, you’re right; I drink myself stupid sometimes. But I’ve never fucking smoked because those things kill, Parrish. They fucking kill you. Slowly. And I cannot lose you.”

Ronan drops his gaze, sighs, and Adam can see the way his shoulders deflate. The fight leaves him. For some reason, this Ronan seems harder to deal with than an angry Ronan. Adam says, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Ronan barks out a bitter laugh. “Thank God for that, huh? You’d never listen to me anyway.”

“I didn’t know you would hate it so much.” Adam nudges Ronan’s arm. “I figured it would make me look hot.”

Ronan rolls his eyes.

Adam clears his throat. “If you hate it so much, I can try to stop.”

“I’m not your fucking father,” Ronan says. “I’m not going to make you do anything. I’m not giving you some fucking ultimatum, like if you don’t stop I’ll break up with you.”

“I know,” Adam says. “But you don’t like it. Relationships are about compromise, right? And you grew your hair out just for me.” Adam laces his fingers through the hair and tugs at it again. It makes Ronan smile. “So I’ll try to stop. I’m not making an promises, though.”

“If it’s about stress, I can dream you something,” Ronan says. “There are millions of ways to relieve stress.” He pulls Adam into his arms, mouthing at Adam’s neck, his throat, his jaw. “I can dream you up a sex doll that looks just like me. Sex is shown to be a great stress reliever.”

Adam laughs, shoving at Ronan’s shoulders. “I would love to explain that to my roommate.”

Ronan bites down on his lip and watches Adam carefully, suddenly serious. “Promise me you’ll call if you get too stressed out. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, I will drive your shitty Hondayota all the way to New Jersey if you need me.”

And Adam knew that Ronan would be there for him, was always there for him, but hearing Ronan offer like that… it made something in Adam’s chest swell. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Good.” Ronan laces his fingers with Adam’s. “Now, we should go see the others. Opal missed you…”

Ronan leads him inside, launching into a story about Opal and Chainsaw. Adam smiles as he listens, feeling more settled than he ever had before. For the first time in months, his fingers don’t itch for a cigarette. He doesn’t feel the tension and the stress like a physical weight on his back. He feels calm, relaxed. He feels like he’s home.

#Pynch #the raven cycle #my fics #adam parrish #this is seriously all about adam #but it has Ronan/Adam at the end #and Gansey and Blue make an appearance #Set post canon #trk spoilers #ronan talks about his feelings instead of punching things