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. ]
[Adam's first mistake was asking this question, but his second mistake was laughing, because it makes Ronan's jaws seize up, it makes him pull his hands back and cross his arms over his chest, it makes his shoulders hunch in. Thanks, Parrish. The hurtful words stay in because-
-well, he doesn't know anymore. Because Adam is blundering, thoughtlessly, over the things that Ronan cares about.]
That isn't fucking fair, and you know it. You can't just ask me to explain this shit. I might as well explain why I go to fucking church and believe in God or why I want to live at the Barns. Because I fucking had a family, and it made me happy, and then I didn't and I was fucking miserable. Because I'm trying to rebuild a fucking life that looks like something I thought I would always have. Because that's what people in love do. Because if we're married and I die and Opal stays awake, no one is going to try and take her. Because, fuck, it'll prove to you I'm actually fucking serious about this.
[Ronan feels like someone is scraping the inside of his throat with a jagged knife to get the words out, but here they are. He thinks Adam will find all of this stupid and self indulgent and he hates himself for thinking that, he thinks that Adam judges him when he tells him the truth because Adam always sees the worst in people.
He thinks he feels this way because that's how people respond to emotional honesty. Not just Adam.
Don't be an asshole. You made it perfectly fucking clear that's not what you wanted when I came here two fucking weeks ago. Those words, they get lodged in Ronan's throat.
Ronan looks at Chainsaw, who is chirping out some song she heard on the radio in between shredding the tablecloth.]
I don't know what you want me to fucking say. I never know what you want.
I don't want anything. [ This time. This round. This particular, finite instant in time. ] This is enough for me. But it's not for you.
[ Adam isn't enough, with his hang-ups and imperfections and the apparently unimaginable divide between what he needs and what society mandates for people in love. Really, he'd thought they were in love and doing just fine (until December). His family was closely-knitted and functional (until December). They had a future (until Dece — no; they still do).
If Ronan's confused, then Adam's lost at sea again, grasping Ronan's hands for want of some foundation that won't sink him. His mouth feels dry, tongue heavy. ]
I'm trying to meet you halfway. You want a marriage. Let's get married.
[ With papers and a ring and a convoluted ceremony — a full-scale production that Adam will be privately embarrassed to star in, but Ronan will lap up. Something Gansey can throw his money at and Henry organize and Blue wisely step away from. Opal would hold the... whatever there is for holding. Calla, possibly, from clawing Ronan's eyes for whatever offhand comment wages another minor war. Chainsaw could fly over too, he supposes, with a tired glance to the side, where she's finally nibbling at the bread. ]
Just don't... expect me to care about it as much as you do. Don't get pissed off at me if I can't. Maybe I will, on the day.
[He goes quiet, then. Trying to figure out if there's a labyrinthine set of rules that Adam hasn't revealed, if he's saying this as some kind of examination of Ronan's quality of character. It takes him a moment to decipher it, and he hates himself for thinking it, for not being willing to accept that Adam was giving it to him, again, without a fight, without a series of objections or conditions.
He also thinks that he left Adam's ring it the hiding spot even Adam doesn't know about, inside a tree in Cabeswater that the forest obligingly made for Ronan and Ronan alone. So the actual proposal will have to wait. If it happens like anything that looks like a proposal, which honestly it might not.
But here, here Ronan softens by slow degrees. Careful. And then:]
What does it mean to you?
[There is a voice in his head that tells him this is a dangerous question to ask but maybe a louder one that asserts at a dangerous question not to ask, too. He needs to know, first. There has to be some of him reaching, too, if this is going to work.
He looks like he's thinking, not like he's revving for a fight, at least. His shoulders are low against his frame, and he let his hands back against Adam's.]
[ Nothing is on the very tip of his tongue again, dangerously close to slipping, but guarding itself from the fall. He keeps it there for a moment, head lightly bowed until Chainsaw, parading by, barely has the space to traverse. All at once, he feels stupid, as if the slew of people who've gathered here can tell that he's a shell of a person, denied the minimal empathy to relate to basic social constructs.
Kindergartners know marriage is to be coveted, young girls start planning out their wedding day in middle school — and Adam Parrish, propelled to a bright future, can't take the same hint. He tries. He truly does try, and he does so again, fingers crawling up Chainsaw's spine, before she shrugs him off to attend to more important things (knocking into the glasses set on the table). ]
Nothing. [ He can't explain this, can't understand it himself. ] Your tattoo meant more to me.
[ But Ronan wrote the idea of participating in his tails out, and Adam's pride stings too much to attempt again. He thinks Ronan will offer now, and it will be too late. ]
Nothing will change for me after. We're not swapping names. We're not living together sooner. I guess the financials for my scholarship will be different. [ Won't that be a treat to explain away: Dear Georgetown, please ignore my husband's millions of dollars and extravagant estate. ] But I don't mind doing it. If it's the same for me either way, but it's important to you, it makes more sense to do it.
Jesus, he wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. This is knowledge that he's not entirely sure what to do with. Adam looks embarrassed in his Adam way, where it's not quite embarrassment that expresses the most clearly on his face. Ronan looks over at Chainsaw.]
First off, it doesn't have to fuck with your scholarship if it doesn't happen until after you graduate.
[That was always on the table. Ronan know that is important to Adam for reasons he can't explain: Adam wants to do this on the merit of his own fucking work and Ronan, to some weird degree, understands that. He gets it. Adam might not think so, but he knows that Adam almost killing himself to graduate high school was a particular point of pride, and Adam getting through college with his intelligence is another one. So Ronan won't fuck with that.
But then there's another question.]
You said we wouldn't. You said that to me two fucking weeks ago.
[Despite the cussing, Ronan doesn't sound pissed. He sounds confused. The question: what changed your mind is implicit in the statement. There had to be something. Ronan knows. Adam knows his own mind best of all.]
[ Hold on, there. Hold on and wait a minute, because that's technically true, but — ]
I never said I wouldn't marry you. I said —
[ It is the awkwardest time for staff to come take their order, so of course their waiter takes his cue. He steps in with the awkwardness of a man who knows his interruption's unwanted, but whose supervisor has been hinting and nudging for the past five minutes for someone to go make bank off the scowling mobster and his college boy toy.
Despairing, Adam leafs through the menu, then makes a decision he'll regret within five minutes of his order. ]
Coffee, please. And the... hot chicken sandwich?
[ And the waiter's running off as soon as Ronan's grumbled his order, probably about to receive pats on the back for daring the danger. Adam pushes himself back in his chair, taking in the combative look of Ronan, demanding his explanations, then Chainsaw, rummaging on the table. An audible sigh breaks free of his lungs, and he eases back forward slowly, elbows lifting to the table's edge. ]
Ronan. You might think you're not for sale, but, trust me, this is your price tag. Maybe not this afternoon. Maybe not tomorrow. But it was this morning, and it will be again in the future. This is your final price. I'm taking it.
[Adam orders something he probably won't eat, and Ronan, being the boyfriend he is, watches this, then promptly orders a cheeseburger, with fries, because that is something that Adam will enjoy, and he figures they'll trade once the food gets there.
He focuses on Adam again now, his focus laser sharp, because this, this is strange and it's feeling distinctly like the wool is being pulled from over his eyes. He doesn't know how they can be so compatible on so many levels, and so utterly and totally unable to communicate about other things. He thinks this was easier when he thought that he was just going to live a life of wanking off to the image of one of his best friends. At least then things like price tags weren't involved.]
Jesus fuck, Parrish.
[That's almost amused. Almost. Chainsaw seems to think so because she crows that cheerful cackle of hers, the one that makes her sound like she's laughing. That's what it's supposed to mimic. Sometimes she does it at night in parks and it creeps out couples that are making out.]
I spent two fucking weeks thinking you would never marry me.
[Maybe that's supposed to sound hurt, but it just sounds exasperated, and honestly, mostly with himself. He presses his lips together.]
[ I spent three fucking months thinking you would never want me back. But it's not about matching scars and playing fair. It's not about hitting Ronan now that he's finally no longer down. It's about the mature steps of talking things out and letting themselves enjoy each other and what little they have and more they've regained.
Chainsaw's little guffaw lures every eye to them, and Adam instinctively sinks into his seat, letting himself disappear out of attention's way. It works for the better part of a minute, before the raven decides to honor him with the full weight of her audience and hops into his lap, half under the table. In theory, this should keep her safe, silent and sound while she nestles for a rest. In practice, it means every kid sat beside them can no longer pretend to be following anything else in the diner, and makes a point of gawking Adam's legs for the rest of their outing.
Well, doesn't he feel special. ( He does. He's smiling back. Damn it. ) ]
I know a lot of things. I know I told you I'm not letting you walk away again. [ In different, earthier, uglier words that he knows he'll have to apologize for one day, maybe. For now, he tips his chin up, pointing to where Ronan's plate will sit soon on the table. ] I know you're giving me half your fries.
[ He's not even touching the inevitable sandwich swap yet. ]
And I know you're not going to wait another two years to put a ring on your finger.
[ Because the idea's out there again, and Ronan only ever overestimates his own patience. He won't push to have his way, not when he doubts Adam's commitment, but he'll... sulk. And pine. And make all the appropriate noises to accelerate the delivery of what he's been promised, like a child displeased until he spots Santa. ]
But you can figure yourself out on your own time. I want food.
[He uses Adam's first name like a blessing, as if he's calling down a saint. He says it with a measure of sacrament. It's always been this way: Parrish is everyday use. Parrish doesn't betray anything about Ronan, Parrish doesn't say I love you with a caress of the name that Adam's parents gave him before they threw him away. He thinks they're fucking cunts for it.
He leans forward and looks at him.]
When I marry you, it's because we're going to fucking live together, do you hear me? I'm not doing this long distance shit with my husband.
[He takes a minute. Lets it be selfish. The joy of being Ronan Lynch is that its easier to be known for the selfish action than the selfless one, the inaction for the kind thought.
Chainsaw is in Adam's lap and Ronan is absurdly jealous of his fucking bird. She's making the kind of little pleased noises that signal she's perfectly happy, that she knows she's safe. The same noises Opal makes when she's curled up in Adam's lap, too.
Suddenly the food is there, brought by a waiter who is eyeing them with a terror. He sets Adam's plate down first, then Ronan's, and Ronan starts with the fries.]
You know you're not for fucking sale. You never have been.
[ Here's what he didn't expect: 'marriage' leaves him indifferent, another formality to add to the long boxes in want of an adult life's tick. 'Husband' rouses a reaction, invested and intimate in ways nothing short of Adam's name off Ronan's lips when they're rolling in bed has any right to be.
Adam's sharp eyes discreetly find a new target on the nearby wall, pointedly trained on paint and old timey pictures, while a light flush bruises his cheeks, then waters down. Okay. Ronan will be unbearable if he discovers this latest development, so Adam skips that moment of revelation right down to distracting him. ]
Don't assume I need you to reassure me.
[ But do it anyway, because confirming Adam Parrish's independence is the one tried and true method of guaranteeing a lay. He likes that, the power of his autonomy, the fact that he's pushed Ronan and Gansey and a collective of college admission boards to remember it. No one can control him. No one should even try.
Beyond this moral conflict, their food is brought up, and the telling, irritable scent of spice rises to play with Adam's nostrils. He looks down and away, and he shrugs, resigned to losing his tongue on this battlefield — before his gaze slips further to where Ronan's just accepted his cheeseburger, and Adam understands his options. Oh. Oh, okay.
Slowly, he nudges his sandwich towards Ronan, violently red chicken strips sliding to the side. And he grins, boyish and innocent, because, Please swap. ]
I'm not reassuring you. You fucking know that. I'm telling you that I know it too.
[You stupid goddamned stubborn selfish asshole, Ronan thinks, kindly. He takes a fry and passes it to Chainsaw, who takes it with ladylike grace and starts to murder it with her beak. He watches both of them fondly, two of the creatures he loves most in this world.
The third is at home with Blue, who is probably ready to murder her, but that's okay. Every night they talk, and there's this odd Ronan-and-Opal thing they do, where they sit and silently breathe over the phone for a while, until Opal chirps that she's fine, and they hang up. Only they get it. Ronan is pretty sure that Adam thinks they're crazy.
Ronan looks at the chicken sandwich and feels a measure of triumph that he predicted this shit.]
Are you fucking kidding me?
[Because something doesn't come for nothing, but here is Ronan, rolling his eyes, as if he didn't anticipate this. He just looks at the burger. He knows, too, that Adam will like it more if he feels like maybe he had to work for it.
[ Hapless and sweet, like snow ahead of Christmas and Opal's well-worked smile right before she announces the latest bit of porcelain or furniture she's gnawed on, to their horror. The tangle of the two lines will need ferrying to the Barns, and Ronan's the man for this thankless job, though it's unlikely to be easy service. Adam's never known forest magic to stay put and behave.
Adam's plate earns another a push, and he's just short of shyly batting his lashes when he looks up from it, hand seeking out Ronan's and coaxingly thumbing his knuckles. Hey, baby blues. Hello. Hi. Gentle, silly touches. Playfulness radiates off Adam, and he leg under the table, til their ankles cross each other. At least thank God Chainsaw's back to wading between cutlery on the table, and her raven modesty is spared this indecent spectacle.]
Or I'll give you a reading. Take a quick look at your wheels. Get you off in under five minutes in the bathroom here. You pick.
[ When you're desperately looking to trade spicy chicken, you start offering options. ]
[He takes a bite of a french fry. Is smug. Superior. Condescending. Considering.
And then he pushes the plate Adam's way, pulls Adam's plate towards him. Jesus, Adam is such a sucker. In any case, Ronan, never one to let an opportunity go to waste (that's not true, he shuns opportunities all the fucking time) pokes at the chicken sandwich, just enough to emphasize that this is a favor he's doing Adam, no more, no less, and then nods with a noise in the back of his nose.]
Take a look at the car, oil change and all.
[A small, merciful price. A flush $60 in Ronan's pocket instead of at Boyd's, with the new mechanic and Boyd's taciturn consideration for Ronan Lynch, who was seen with his boy Adam, who he considers as much as son as his own (even though his own is, by all estimations, a piece of shit).
As far as extortion goes, Ronan is being bought on the cheap here.
His hand catches Adam's hand, though, before it wanders off to do something else.]
I probably should have taken the bathroom handjob.
[ He announces happily around a generous bite of Ronan's — Adam's cheeseburger, meat juices and blissful cheese dampening the fingers he's quick to transfer from Ronan's tempting grasp to the much stabler proximity of the well-toasted bun. It's a nice burger, done just on the right side of tender, so Adam's sensibilities — bred on burned food and microwaved TV dinners — can't balk at the hint of medium-rare red slipping from the meat.
The truth is, Adam talks a good game about public sex, but he's rarely prone to enjoy it. Consumed by what might happen if they are caught, what Ronan's reaction might be, how they'd stitch a convenient excuse together... he can't let go. And reading Ronan's fortune is an even trickier gamble, entirely reliant on Ronan's rare cooperation and the stars aligning to give Adam inspiration and Cabeswater deigning to leave him well, alone and uninterrupted for five whole minutes.
By contrast, examining the BMW is both easy and a necessary evil. The few times Ronan's taken his car to another mechanic for emergencies when Adam was out of town, Adam returned to carefully inspect the vehicle right after. It's his privilege to work on the BMW, same as it's Ronan's joy. They're well matched. ]
Care to tell me why you've got bruises I didn't put on you?
[Ronan inspects his sandwich and wonders what horrors Adam inflicted on him. When he takes a bite he finds it not really that bad, but considering Adam's soft trailer park palette, full of too many foreign spices, like garlic salt and red pepper. He eats it without complaint over what Adam and his ill considered moment of confusion cost Ronan.
He looks up at Adam, and then down at the bruises that he wasn't trying to conceal. The new rule between the Lynch brothers is not the face, because Adam doesn't like Ronan with a split lip and Declan's bit on the side (now someone named Clarissa, sweet mercy) is not into black eyes, but mostly because it keeps people from wondering what the fuck is happening in the Lynch family now. At some point, Adam was going to see them, because they sleep in the same bed and Ronan, furnace to the entire fucking dorm, it seems, refuses to sleep with a shirt on.
He makes a noise like a hum.]
I went boxing. There's a gym down the street.
[He presses one bruise experimentally, considers the joyful ache of it, and doesn't seem bothered.]
Declan came. He has ones that match. Here [a generous nudge to his side, under his ribs] and here [this one right against his own left pec.]
[ Declan came. Meaning Clarissa — who's somehow survived a full semester in Declan's rotation — will be in touch with Adam by evening to urge him to contain his animal, because sweet, innocent Declan never looks like the sort who might start his own brawl, and this must surely be Ronan's fault all along. Fabulous.
Luck be damned, Ronan, who's never encountered a fight he can't preen about, looks downright smug about his beauty marks, while Adam's gaze softens over him, imagining the signs of bruised wear on his boyfriend's person. It shouldn't be hot, but it is — never the idea of Ronan suffering, so much as the thought of him enduring it, being just strong, resilient, overwhelming enough to pull through a battering, teeth standing. And then having that power, but not turning it on Adam. He hates the reminder of being looked after, but doesn't begrudge the thought itself. ]
I'm glad you're both kindergartners. I'd hate to think it were just you.
[ Another fry's passed by Chainsaw, who lifts her fluffy little head just enough to pass her beak over it and show token interest, but doesn't bring herself to take the piece in. The lady's resting now, back on Adam's lap, where she's dragged along the crumbs of her previous fries and settled down. He laughs, predictably charmed. ]
I should do something while there are two ley lines still here. See if it makes things — [ More powerful, feeding off two lines. ] Different.
[ This isn't Adam asking permission, exactly, so much as opening the floor for any strong objections. ]
[He frowns a little, because that isn't the right statement, when he realizes-]
It was a match Adam. We weren't fighting.
[And he takes a bite of his spicy sandwich and chews it with care. Ronan doesn't even consider that people might not know, understand, or truly care about the difference between those things. That two men throwing fists at each other doesn't have context for some people is strange, although everyone thinks with Declan and Ronan that it must always be like a clash of titans, where words are hurled just as swiftly and as painfully as fists.
This was a fight with rules, with premeditation, where after they sat and compared bruises and Declan told Ronan to chill the fuck out, and Ronan grunted his agreement, and they parted ways still (admittedly, somewhat secret) friends.
He swallows his food.]
Like what?
[This isn't an objection. Not yet. It'll become one if Adam says something stupid or dangerous, but for the moment it's just a conversation. He keeps the acid part of his tongue in check; Adam can explain what he wants to do before they fight if it's just a shitty idea, or if Ronan bends and takes another bite of his sandwich in quiet agreement.
Besides, if Ronan is here, he can help if Adam gets in over his head. Like tries to drown himself again.]
[ This, thoughtfully, between mirrored chews of his burger. He knows he should try, but not how to best obviously direct Cabeswater's efforts, so they can gauge the results. ]
I could ask them to heal your bruises, but Cabeswater could do that on its own anyway.
[ They need something better, more ambitious — a feat only combined power could hope to achieve. For once, their fault is one of imagination, faced with enough reserves of magic to do... anything. Anything at all. It's humbling in a way Adam, who has so little magic of his own but feels the pulse of every stream, finds almost overwhelming. ]
Maybe... we can ask them to teach you how to fly, when you're asleep.
[ Ronan's always wanted this, only to be frustratingly denied by limits even a Greywaren's abilities couldn't surpass. ]
[They make him feel better in a strange way. Clean proof of his rage, ripe bruises to press when he gets angry and takes the edge off. It reminds him that he deserves it, which is probably unhealthy, so he doesn't say that part to Adam, but instead keeps that fact to himself. He shifts his shoulders as if to adjust his bruises, but then looks at Adam.
He's always wanted to fly.
He's resisted letting Adam help him with it; it was always something that he wanted to do on his own. But maybe it's time to put that aside and let Adam help with the only magic that he really wanted to learn. He goes quiet for a minute.]
I'd be asleep the whole time.
[Thats how his magic works. Adam can scry into Ronan's dreams and walk there, unimpeded in the country of Ronan's ruling, but the rules still follow the rules of Ronan's dreams. No one flies there.
He looks like he's considering this, and finally he nods.]
[ 'If you think you can do it'. That's the tricky part, and he knows, even as he keeps chewing, that they're measuring each other up for a change, sizing their respective ability to complete the end of their bargain.
Ronan accepts the help, but wants reassurance. Adam makes his offer, but expects full compliance down every step of the eye. They're still keeping their hands guarded, and Adam, used to so much more subterfuge, can't bring himself to mind. ]
I think I can ask. I can't guarantee anything.
[ And this is where they should take their hint, draw a line, assemble their precautions. On its own, Cabeswater's volatile and whimsical, unable and unwilling to always play ball. Add a foreign ley line they've never engaged with, one with its own unexplored will and needs, which aren't even as restrained by Ronan's power or Adam's covenant —
And maybe they shouldn't be diving straight into dream work with this. That's personal. Private. Hurtful.
Change of plans. Adam sets aside his burger. ]
Let's try something else. There are flower spreads in some of the back gardens. We could ask them to make those bloom.
[ Months out of season, likely to the joy and consternation of the college foliage caretakers. It's just innocent but obvious enough to make the experiment work. ]
[Ronan accedes this topic easily. It's less that it's no skin off his back as much as the notion of a foreign magic still makes his hackles rise, even if it looks friendly. He took almost three years to willingly let Cheng in the house, and his only claim to magical heritage was what his mother stole from his family (because every piece of Lynch magic is and should always be Lynch magic). A foreign leyline, then? Probably better that it not go into his head.
He takes a couple of fries.]
Want to make the botany kids jealous? Asshole move.
[Said easily. He stuffs the fries, purloined from Adam's plate, in his own mouth.]
I probably have some weird seeds in the car if you want to try with those.
[Weird seeds means Cabeswater; why Ronan is toying around bags of his magical forests children everywhere they go is not exactly clear, but the point is that they're there and ready to be used for weird magical experimentation in the real world. He thinks that it might be good for Adam to have a spot of friendly green magic nearby.]
[ Bunches of Cabeswater casually sitting in your car. Why are there mounds of it, and of a foreign ley line's vines, huddled in bags in Adam's dorm room? There's no explaining away the sheer, surreal quality of their lives sometimes, now when they're constantly touched by magical complications.
A familiar warmth weighs down Adam's lap, a full-grown, extraordinarily tamed raven ripped from Ronan's dreams. His hands carry the scent of lotion his boyfriend continues to make-believe for him, month on month. He's now drinking down half of a coffee cup in two gulps, because most of Adam's night was spent painfully ignoring a forest's scream lacerating his head. Their 'normal' is many people's nightmare. ]
Yeah. Okay. Let's try with the weird seeds in your car.
[ Why wouldn't farmer Joe be lugging around magical seeds in his father's BMW? It makes all the sense in the world, and then some. ]
How bad will another leyline home piss off Opal? She gets... territorial. About Cabeswater.
[The truth of the matter is this: he doesn't know. Opal is an odd child, who sometimes hisses about how she's not a child only minutes before she whines for Kerah to tell her a story or give her a cuddle. She treats everyone a little differently, based on how they perceive her, and Ronan gets treated most like she's a child.
But at the same time she's a fussy, particular thing, greedy about magic like Adam and greedy about attention like Ronan. Cabeswater was her home once, the land that, when Ronan's dreams were pleasant things and not filled with nightmarish horrors about dead fathers and white monsters, was her sanctuary. And now it's her sanctuary again.]
She's gonna freak, probably.
[At least he's honest about it, understanding the way that they won't be able to reassure her that no, the new leyline won't replace your forest. She'll fuss and snarl and hiss, and cry that Kerah doesn't understand. If Adam thinks that Ronan is conservative about magic, he's not nearly as cautious as Opal and her deer soul. She's a skittish thing by nature, always certain that new things might harm her.
Or she might just be like that with Ronan, who loves having something to protect.]
[ He laughs at that, the sound bitter and biting, leaving scratch marks. He knows what Ronan isn't saying, what he must have bottled up for weeks and months, only to reveal now at great expense to his own secrecy. Only to time it as a casual thing, as Opal's problem, a truth to confront for the sake of their dear faun girl. ]
She can't have it both ways, because she wants me around, and I come with this bullshit? Or what?
[ Of course that's one of the many implications. She's shown Adam her teeth before, when he first roused the old Cabeswater at the heart of the newer one Ronan dreamed fresh from the ground. When Adam spilled blood in the forest, minimal fuel for Cabeswater's feeding, with reverence rather than violence. When he dared to cut Ronan after, and wasn't that a fight — for once, Ronan gave his grudging approval, but their girl, she wouldn't have it at all. You know what he doesn't.
And Adam does. He's uniquely aware of prices and exchanges, of premises and consequence. Most of what he does is born of the mind, where Ronan doles out his various extravagances from the heart. Adam knows this is the sort of move Opal will hate — introducing an intruder, a new variable to the already uncertain balance of the Barns' magic — but she's whiled three painful months without him, and so she won't refuse him, for fear of losing him completely.
This isn't fair to her. This isn't fair to anyone. But they need the Barns defended, and so Adam decides he'shad worse injustice to his name. ]
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[ 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. ]
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-well, he doesn't know anymore. Because Adam is blundering, thoughtlessly, over the things that Ronan cares about.]
That isn't fucking fair, and you know it. You can't just ask me to explain this shit. I might as well explain why I go to fucking church and believe in God or why I want to live at the Barns. Because I fucking had a family, and it made me happy, and then I didn't and I was fucking miserable. Because I'm trying to rebuild a fucking life that looks like something I thought I would always have. Because that's what people in love do. Because if we're married and I die and Opal stays awake, no one is going to try and take her. Because, fuck, it'll prove to you I'm actually fucking serious about this.
[Ronan feels like someone is scraping the inside of his throat with a jagged knife to get the words out, but here they are. He thinks Adam will find all of this stupid and self indulgent and he hates himself for thinking that, he thinks that Adam judges him when he tells him the truth because Adam always sees the worst in people.
He thinks he feels this way because that's how people respond to emotional honesty. Not just Adam.
Don't be an asshole. You made it perfectly fucking clear that's not what you wanted when I came here two fucking weeks ago. Those words, they get lodged in Ronan's throat.
Ronan looks at Chainsaw, who is chirping out some song she heard on the radio in between shredding the tablecloth.]
I don't know what you want me to fucking say. I never know what you want.
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[ Adam isn't enough, with his hang-ups and imperfections and the apparently unimaginable divide between what he needs and what society mandates for people in love. Really, he'd thought they were in love and doing just fine (until December). His family was closely-knitted and functional (until December). They had a future (until Dece — no; they still do).
If Ronan's confused, then Adam's lost at sea again, grasping Ronan's hands for want of some foundation that won't sink him. His mouth feels dry, tongue heavy. ]
I'm trying to meet you halfway. You want a marriage. Let's get married.
[ With papers and a ring and a convoluted ceremony — a full-scale production that Adam will be privately embarrassed to star in, but Ronan will lap up. Something Gansey can throw his money at and Henry organize and Blue wisely step away from. Opal would hold the... whatever there is for holding. Calla, possibly, from clawing Ronan's eyes for whatever offhand comment wages another minor war. Chainsaw could fly over too, he supposes, with a tired glance to the side, where she's finally nibbling at the bread. ]
Just don't... expect me to care about it as much as you do. Don't get pissed off at me if I can't. Maybe I will, on the day.
[ But he can't promise that. ]
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He also thinks that he left Adam's ring it the hiding spot even Adam doesn't know about, inside a tree in Cabeswater that the forest obligingly made for Ronan and Ronan alone. So the actual proposal will have to wait. If it happens like anything that looks like a proposal, which honestly it might not.
But here, here Ronan softens by slow degrees. Careful. And then:]
What does it mean to you?
[There is a voice in his head that tells him this is a dangerous question to ask but maybe a louder one that asserts at a dangerous question not to ask, too. He needs to know, first. There has to be some of him reaching, too, if this is going to work.
He looks like he's thinking, not like he's revving for a fight, at least. His shoulders are low against his frame, and he let his hands back against Adam's.]
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Kindergartners know marriage is to be coveted, young girls start planning out their wedding day in middle school — and Adam Parrish, propelled to a bright future, can't take the same hint. He tries. He truly does try, and he does so again, fingers crawling up Chainsaw's spine, before she shrugs him off to attend to more important things (knocking into the glasses set on the table). ]
Nothing. [ He can't explain this, can't understand it himself. ] Your tattoo meant more to me.
[ But Ronan wrote the idea of participating in his tails out, and Adam's pride stings too much to attempt again. He thinks Ronan will offer now, and it will be too late. ]
Nothing will change for me after. We're not swapping names. We're not living together sooner. I guess the financials for my scholarship will be different. [ Won't that be a treat to explain away: Dear Georgetown, please ignore my husband's millions of dollars and extravagant estate. ] But I don't mind doing it. If it's the same for me either way, but it's important to you, it makes more sense to do it.
[ Here it is: a sensible conjugal decision. ]
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Jesus, he wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. This is knowledge that he's not entirely sure what to do with. Adam looks embarrassed in his Adam way, where it's not quite embarrassment that expresses the most clearly on his face. Ronan looks over at Chainsaw.]
First off, it doesn't have to fuck with your scholarship if it doesn't happen until after you graduate.
[That was always on the table. Ronan know that is important to Adam for reasons he can't explain: Adam wants to do this on the merit of his own fucking work and Ronan, to some weird degree, understands that. He gets it. Adam might not think so, but he knows that Adam almost killing himself to graduate high school was a particular point of pride, and Adam getting through college with his intelligence is another one. So Ronan won't fuck with that.
But then there's another question.]
You said we wouldn't. You said that to me two fucking weeks ago.
[Despite the cussing, Ronan doesn't sound pissed. He sounds confused. The question: what changed your mind is implicit in the statement. There had to be something. Ronan knows. Adam knows his own mind best of all.]
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I never said I wouldn't marry you. I said —
[ It is the awkwardest time for staff to come take their order, so of course their waiter takes his cue. He steps in with the awkwardness of a man who knows his interruption's unwanted, but whose supervisor has been hinting and nudging for the past five minutes for someone to go make bank off the scowling mobster and his college boy toy.
Despairing, Adam leafs through the menu, then makes a decision he'll regret within five minutes of his order. ]
Coffee, please. And the... hot chicken sandwich?
[ And the waiter's running off as soon as Ronan's grumbled his order, probably about to receive pats on the back for daring the danger. Adam pushes himself back in his chair, taking in the combative look of Ronan, demanding his explanations, then Chainsaw, rummaging on the table. An audible sigh breaks free of his lungs, and he eases back forward slowly, elbows lifting to the table's edge. ]
Ronan. You might think you're not for sale, but, trust me, this is your price tag. Maybe not this afternoon. Maybe not tomorrow. But it was this morning, and it will be again in the future. This is your final price. I'm taking it.
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He focuses on Adam again now, his focus laser sharp, because this, this is strange and it's feeling distinctly like the wool is being pulled from over his eyes. He doesn't know how they can be so compatible on so many levels, and so utterly and totally unable to communicate about other things. He thinks this was easier when he thought that he was just going to live a life of wanking off to the image of one of his best friends. At least then things like price tags weren't involved.]
Jesus fuck, Parrish.
[That's almost amused. Almost. Chainsaw seems to think so because she crows that cheerful cackle of hers, the one that makes her sound like she's laughing. That's what it's supposed to mimic. Sometimes she does it at night in parks and it creeps out couples that are making out.]
I spent two fucking weeks thinking you would never marry me.
[Maybe that's supposed to sound hurt, but it just sounds exasperated, and honestly, mostly with himself. He presses his lips together.]
You know that you're not, right?
[For sale, he means.]
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Chainsaw's little guffaw lures every eye to them, and Adam instinctively sinks into his seat, letting himself disappear out of attention's way. It works for the better part of a minute, before the raven decides to honor him with the full weight of her audience and hops into his lap, half under the table. In theory, this should keep her safe, silent and sound while she nestles for a rest. In practice, it means every kid sat beside them can no longer pretend to be following anything else in the diner, and makes a point of gawking Adam's legs for the rest of their outing.
Well, doesn't he feel special. ( He does. He's smiling back. Damn it. ) ]
I know a lot of things. I know I told you I'm not letting you walk away again. [ In different, earthier, uglier words that he knows he'll have to apologize for one day, maybe. For now, he tips his chin up, pointing to where Ronan's plate will sit soon on the table. ] I know you're giving me half your fries.
[ He's not even touching the inevitable sandwich swap yet. ]
And I know you're not going to wait another two years to put a ring on your finger.
[ Because the idea's out there again, and Ronan only ever overestimates his own patience. He won't push to have his way, not when he doubts Adam's commitment, but he'll... sulk. And pine. And make all the appropriate noises to accelerate the delivery of what he's been promised, like a child displeased until he spots Santa. ]
But you can figure yourself out on your own time. I want food.
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[He uses Adam's first name like a blessing, as if he's calling down a saint. He says it with a measure of sacrament. It's always been this way: Parrish is everyday use. Parrish doesn't betray anything about Ronan, Parrish doesn't say I love you with a caress of the name that Adam's parents gave him before they threw him away. He thinks they're fucking cunts for it.
He leans forward and looks at him.]
When I marry you, it's because we're going to fucking live together, do you hear me? I'm not doing this long distance shit with my husband.
[He takes a minute. Lets it be selfish. The joy of being Ronan Lynch is that its easier to be known for the selfish action than the selfless one, the inaction for the kind thought.
Chainsaw is in Adam's lap and Ronan is absurdly jealous of his fucking bird. She's making the kind of little pleased noises that signal she's perfectly happy, that she knows she's safe. The same noises Opal makes when she's curled up in Adam's lap, too.
Suddenly the food is there, brought by a waiter who is eyeing them with a terror. He sets Adam's plate down first, then Ronan's, and Ronan starts with the fries.]
You know you're not for fucking sale. You never have been.
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Adam's sharp eyes discreetly find a new target on the nearby wall, pointedly trained on paint and old timey pictures, while a light flush bruises his cheeks, then waters down. Okay. Ronan will be unbearable if he discovers this latest development, so Adam skips that moment of revelation right down to distracting him. ]
Don't assume I need you to reassure me.
[ But do it anyway, because confirming Adam Parrish's independence is the one tried and true method of guaranteeing a lay. He likes that, the power of his autonomy, the fact that he's pushed Ronan and Gansey and a collective of college admission boards to remember it. No one can control him. No one should even try.
Beyond this moral conflict, their food is brought up, and the telling, irritable scent of spice rises to play with Adam's nostrils. He looks down and away, and he shrugs, resigned to losing his tongue on this battlefield — before his gaze slips further to where Ronan's just accepted his cheeseburger, and Adam understands his options. Oh. Oh, okay.
Slowly, he nudges his sandwich towards Ronan, violently red chicken strips sliding to the side. And he grins, boyish and innocent, because, Please swap. ]
Lynch.
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[You stupid goddamned stubborn selfish asshole, Ronan thinks, kindly. He takes a fry and passes it to Chainsaw, who takes it with ladylike grace and starts to murder it with her beak. He watches both of them fondly, two of the creatures he loves most in this world.
The third is at home with Blue, who is probably ready to murder her, but that's okay. Every night they talk, and there's this odd Ronan-and-Opal thing they do, where they sit and silently breathe over the phone for a while, until Opal chirps that she's fine, and they hang up. Only they get it. Ronan is pretty sure that Adam thinks they're crazy.
Ronan looks at the chicken sandwich and feels a measure of triumph that he predicted this shit.]
Are you fucking kidding me?
[Because something doesn't come for nothing, but here is Ronan, rolling his eyes, as if he didn't anticipate this. He just looks at the burger. He knows, too, that Adam will like it more if he feels like maybe he had to work for it.
He just looks at Adam and raises his eyebrows.]
What'll you give me?
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[ Hapless and sweet, like snow ahead of Christmas and Opal's well-worked smile right before she announces the latest bit of porcelain or furniture she's gnawed on, to their horror. The tangle of the two lines will need ferrying to the Barns, and Ronan's the man for this thankless job, though it's unlikely to be easy service. Adam's never known forest magic to stay put and behave.
Adam's plate earns another a push, and he's just short of shyly batting his lashes when he looks up from it, hand seeking out Ronan's and coaxingly thumbing his knuckles. Hey, baby blues. Hello. Hi. Gentle, silly touches. Playfulness radiates off Adam, and he leg under the table, til their ankles cross each other. At least thank God Chainsaw's back to wading between cutlery on the table, and her raven modesty is spared this indecent spectacle.]
Or I'll give you a reading. Take a quick look at your wheels. Get you off in under five minutes in the bathroom here. You pick.
[ When you're desperately looking to trade spicy chicken, you start offering options. ]
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And then he pushes the plate Adam's way, pulls Adam's plate towards him. Jesus, Adam is such a sucker. In any case, Ronan, never one to let an opportunity go to waste (that's not true, he shuns opportunities all the fucking time) pokes at the chicken sandwich, just enough to emphasize that this is a favor he's doing Adam, no more, no less, and then nods with a noise in the back of his nose.]
Take a look at the car, oil change and all.
[A small, merciful price. A flush $60 in Ronan's pocket instead of at Boyd's, with the new mechanic and Boyd's taciturn consideration for Ronan Lynch, who was seen with his boy Adam, who he considers as much as son as his own (even though his own is, by all estimations, a piece of shit).
As far as extortion goes, Ronan is being bought on the cheap here.
His hand catches Adam's hand, though, before it wanders off to do something else.]
I probably should have taken the bathroom handjob.
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[ He announces happily around a generous bite of Ronan's — Adam's cheeseburger, meat juices and blissful cheese dampening the fingers he's quick to transfer from Ronan's tempting grasp to the much stabler proximity of the well-toasted bun. It's a nice burger, done just on the right side of tender, so Adam's sensibilities — bred on burned food and microwaved TV dinners — can't balk at the hint of medium-rare red slipping from the meat.
The truth is, Adam talks a good game about public sex, but he's rarely prone to enjoy it. Consumed by what might happen if they are caught, what Ronan's reaction might be, how they'd stitch a convenient excuse together... he can't let go. And reading Ronan's fortune is an even trickier gamble, entirely reliant on Ronan's rare cooperation and the stars aligning to give Adam inspiration and Cabeswater deigning to leave him well, alone and uninterrupted for five whole minutes.
By contrast, examining the BMW is both easy and a necessary evil. The few times Ronan's taken his car to another mechanic for emergencies when Adam was out of town, Adam returned to carefully inspect the vehicle right after. It's his privilege to work on the BMW, same as it's Ronan's joy. They're well matched. ]
Care to tell me why you've got bruises I didn't put on you?
[ Of course he noticed. ]
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He looks up at Adam, and then down at the bruises that he wasn't trying to conceal. The new rule between the Lynch brothers is not the face, because Adam doesn't like Ronan with a split lip and Declan's bit on the side (now someone named Clarissa, sweet mercy) is not into black eyes, but mostly because it keeps people from wondering what the fuck is happening in the Lynch family now. At some point, Adam was going to see them, because they sleep in the same bed and Ronan, furnace to the entire fucking dorm, it seems, refuses to sleep with a shirt on.
He makes a noise like a hum.]
I went boxing. There's a gym down the street.
[He presses one bruise experimentally, considers the joyful ache of it, and doesn't seem bothered.]
Declan came. He has ones that match. Here [a generous nudge to his side, under his ribs] and here [this one right against his own left pec.]
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Luck be damned, Ronan, who's never encountered a fight he can't preen about, looks downright smug about his beauty marks, while Adam's gaze softens over him, imagining the signs of bruised wear on his boyfriend's person. It shouldn't be hot, but it is — never the idea of Ronan suffering, so much as the thought of him enduring it, being just strong, resilient, overwhelming enough to pull through a battering, teeth standing. And then having that power, but not turning it on Adam. He hates the reminder of being looked after, but doesn't begrudge the thought itself. ]
I'm glad you're both kindergartners. I'd hate to think it were just you.
[ Another fry's passed by Chainsaw, who lifts her fluffy little head just enough to pass her beak over it and show token interest, but doesn't bring herself to take the piece in. The lady's resting now, back on Adam's lap, where she's dragged along the crumbs of her previous fries and settled down. He laughs, predictably charmed. ]
I should do something while there are two ley lines still here. See if it makes things — [ More powerful, feeding off two lines. ] Different.
[ This isn't Adam asking permission, exactly, so much as opening the floor for any strong objections. ]
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It was a match Adam. We weren't fighting.
[And he takes a bite of his spicy sandwich and chews it with care. Ronan doesn't even consider that people might not know, understand, or truly care about the difference between those things. That two men throwing fists at each other doesn't have context for some people is strange, although everyone thinks with Declan and Ronan that it must always be like a clash of titans, where words are hurled just as swiftly and as painfully as fists.
This was a fight with rules, with premeditation, where after they sat and compared bruises and Declan told Ronan to chill the fuck out, and Ronan grunted his agreement, and they parted ways still (admittedly, somewhat secret) friends.
He swallows his food.]
Like what?
[This isn't an objection. Not yet. It'll become one if Adam says something stupid or dangerous, but for the moment it's just a conversation. He keeps the acid part of his tongue in check; Adam can explain what he wants to do before they fight if it's just a shitty idea, or if Ronan bends and takes another bite of his sandwich in quiet agreement.
Besides, if Ronan is here, he can help if Adam gets in over his head. Like tries to drown himself again.]
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[ This, thoughtfully, between mirrored chews of his burger. He knows he should try, but not how to best obviously direct Cabeswater's efforts, so they can gauge the results. ]
I could ask them to heal your bruises, but Cabeswater could do that on its own anyway.
[ They need something better, more ambitious — a feat only combined power could hope to achieve. For once, their fault is one of imagination, faced with enough reserves of magic to do... anything. Anything at all. It's humbling in a way Adam, who has so little magic of his own but feels the pulse of every stream, finds almost overwhelming. ]
Maybe... we can ask them to teach you how to fly, when you're asleep.
[ Ronan's always wanted this, only to be frustratingly denied by limits even a Greywaren's abilities couldn't surpass. ]
Is there anything you want?
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[They make him feel better in a strange way. Clean proof of his rage, ripe bruises to press when he gets angry and takes the edge off. It reminds him that he deserves it, which is probably unhealthy, so he doesn't say that part to Adam, but instead keeps that fact to himself. He shifts his shoulders as if to adjust his bruises, but then looks at Adam.
He's always wanted to fly.
He's resisted letting Adam help him with it; it was always something that he wanted to do on his own. But maybe it's time to put that aside and let Adam help with the only magic that he really wanted to learn. He goes quiet for a minute.]
I'd be asleep the whole time.
[Thats how his magic works. Adam can scry into Ronan's dreams and walk there, unimpeded in the country of Ronan's ruling, but the rules still follow the rules of Ronan's dreams. No one flies there.
He looks like he's considering this, and finally he nods.]
If you think you can do it.
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Ronan accepts the help, but wants reassurance. Adam makes his offer, but expects full compliance down every step of the eye. They're still keeping their hands guarded, and Adam, used to so much more subterfuge, can't bring himself to mind. ]
I think I can ask. I can't guarantee anything.
[ And this is where they should take their hint, draw a line, assemble their precautions. On its own, Cabeswater's volatile and whimsical, unable and unwilling to always play ball. Add a foreign ley line they've never engaged with, one with its own unexplored will and needs, which aren't even as restrained by Ronan's power or Adam's covenant —
And maybe they shouldn't be diving straight into dream work with this. That's personal. Private. Hurtful.
Change of plans. Adam sets aside his burger. ]
Let's try something else. There are flower spreads in some of the back gardens. We could ask them to make those bloom.
[ Months out of season, likely to the joy and consternation of the college foliage caretakers. It's just innocent but obvious enough to make the experiment work. ]
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He takes a couple of fries.]
Want to make the botany kids jealous? Asshole move.
[Said easily. He stuffs the fries, purloined from Adam's plate, in his own mouth.]
I probably have some weird seeds in the car if you want to try with those.
[Weird seeds means Cabeswater; why Ronan is toying around bags of his magical forests children everywhere they go is not exactly clear, but the point is that they're there and ready to be used for weird magical experimentation in the real world. He thinks that it might be good for Adam to have a spot of friendly green magic nearby.]
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[ Bunches of Cabeswater casually sitting in your car. Why are there mounds of it, and of a foreign ley line's vines, huddled in bags in Adam's dorm room? There's no explaining away the sheer, surreal quality of their lives sometimes, now when they're constantly touched by magical complications.
A familiar warmth weighs down Adam's lap, a full-grown, extraordinarily tamed raven ripped from Ronan's dreams. His hands carry the scent of lotion his boyfriend continues to make-believe for him, month on month. He's now drinking down half of a coffee cup in two gulps, because most of Adam's night was spent painfully ignoring a forest's scream lacerating his head. Their 'normal' is many people's nightmare. ]
Yeah. Okay. Let's try with the weird seeds in your car.
[ Why wouldn't farmer Joe be lugging around magical seeds in his father's BMW? It makes all the sense in the world, and then some. ]
How bad will another leyline home piss off Opal? She gets... territorial. About Cabeswater.
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But at the same time she's a fussy, particular thing, greedy about magic like Adam and greedy about attention like Ronan. Cabeswater was her home once, the land that, when Ronan's dreams were pleasant things and not filled with nightmarish horrors about dead fathers and white monsters, was her sanctuary. And now it's her sanctuary again.]
She's gonna freak, probably.
[At least he's honest about it, understanding the way that they won't be able to reassure her that no, the new leyline won't replace your forest. She'll fuss and snarl and hiss, and cry that Kerah doesn't understand. If Adam thinks that Ronan is conservative about magic, he's not nearly as cautious as Opal and her deer soul. She's a skittish thing by nature, always certain that new things might harm her.
Or she might just be like that with Ronan, who loves having something to protect.]
But she can't have it both ways.
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[ He laughs at that, the sound bitter and biting, leaving scratch marks. He knows what Ronan isn't saying, what he must have bottled up for weeks and months, only to reveal now at great expense to his own secrecy. Only to time it as a casual thing, as Opal's problem, a truth to confront for the sake of their dear faun girl. ]
She can't have it both ways, because she wants me around, and I come with this bullshit? Or what?
[ Of course that's one of the many implications. She's shown Adam her teeth before, when he first roused the old Cabeswater at the heart of the newer one Ronan dreamed fresh from the ground. When Adam spilled blood in the forest, minimal fuel for Cabeswater's feeding, with reverence rather than violence. When he dared to cut Ronan after, and wasn't that a fight — for once, Ronan gave his grudging approval, but their girl, she wouldn't have it at all. You know what he doesn't.
And Adam does. He's uniquely aware of prices and exchanges, of premises and consequence. Most of what he does is born of the mind, where Ronan doles out his various extravagances from the heart. Adam knows this is the sort of move Opal will hate — introducing an intruder, a new variable to the already uncertain balance of the Barns' magic — but she's whiled three painful months without him, and so she won't refuse him, for fear of losing him completely.
This isn't fair to her. This isn't fair to anyone. But they need the Barns defended, and so Adam decides he'shad worse injustice to his name. ]
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