Families work — [ God, he's laughing, shaking his head and holding in a final snort that would dissolve any chance this conversation might have of a jolly outcome. Ronan's trying. Adam owes him courtesy in kind, so he pulls back, nods gently, breathes in. Reworks the hysterical revulsion within him into engine fuel for patience. ] When families work, they work how they want to. It's not a science.
[ Adam's parents had the priest and the paper, the family picture and the first dance — and his mother still left one fine Thanksgiving, and his father still beat them bruised and sometimes bloodied. 'Marriage' only matters because Ronan's conservative outlook has decreed it so.
Chainsaw, pecking at the frayed edges of their table spread, seems to agree. Amused, Adam rips a piece of bread and nudges it towards her, where it goes neglected for the better part of a minute, before she decides to honor it with a few pecks. She's too good for carbs, but she can amuse herself with crumbs.
Ronan is the same in a way, entertaining himself with bits and pieces, because he thinks he can't hope for the full deal. Adam looks him over properly, eyes soft and mouth drawing out a tight grimace — and he exhales. Relaxes. Sets his hands over Adam's, fingers colliding. ]
I'll marry you tomorrow, if you want. I'll marry you in a month. But it won't mean — [ Anything, but that will kill Ronan with a hard-handed brutality unworthy of their tender exchange. ] The same thing to me that it does to you.
[ And he wants Ronan to ask this time. Because Adam did it last time, led every step of their dance down to the precipice of disaster. Relationships aren't a matter of pride, but he's bled out enough self-respect already at the altar of petty compromises to know, this once, he'd like Ronan to take the risk of guiding them. ]
no subject
[ Adam's parents had the priest and the paper, the family picture and the first dance — and his mother still left one fine Thanksgiving, and his father still beat them bruised and sometimes bloodied. 'Marriage' only matters because Ronan's conservative outlook has decreed it so.
Chainsaw, pecking at the frayed edges of their table spread, seems to agree. Amused, Adam rips a piece of bread and nudges it towards her, where it goes neglected for the better part of a minute, before she decides to honor it with a few pecks. She's too good for carbs, but she can amuse herself with crumbs.
Ronan is the same in a way, entertaining himself with bits and pieces, because he thinks he can't hope for the full deal. Adam looks him over properly, eyes soft and mouth drawing out a tight grimace — and he exhales. Relaxes. Sets his hands over Adam's, fingers colliding. ]
I'll marry you tomorrow, if you want. I'll marry you in a month. But it won't mean — [ Anything, but that will kill Ronan with a hard-handed brutality unworthy of their tender exchange. ] The same thing to me that it does to you.
[ And he wants Ronan to ask this time. Because Adam did it last time, led every step of their dance down to the precipice of disaster. Relationships aren't a matter of pride, but he's bled out enough self-respect already at the altar of petty compromises to know, this once, he'd like Ronan to take the risk of guiding them. ]