(@alteradam says jump, I say how high?)
Ronanâs been living in Boston while Adamâs in college
Adamâs staying with Ronan while his expensive college town shitbox apartment is fumigated or whatever
Thereâs an a/c unit in Ronanâs bedroom, but the window in the kitchen is sticky and doesnât open enough to accommodate one.
Declan called about visiting to check on Ronan, to spend some time with him, and Ronan had told him vaguely âYeah yeah, Parrish will let you in if Iâm at work.â
Something about Adam with a flush of heat creeping up his neck, Adam looking good the way he never did as a teenager. Like heâd grown into himself. The way he moves through space is different, like heâs no longer afraid of disturbing the air around him.
He clearly knows this kitchen, too, knows how Ronan has it organized.
Heâs not slamming cabinet doors, but heâs also not catching their edges with his fingernails to close them silently.
Declan is sitting on the lumpy couch that heâs already made a mental note to put out on the curb whence it presumably came and buy Ronan a new one before the end of his visit.
His laptop is burning a square into his legs and his shirt clings uncomfortably to the small of his back, damp with sweat, even with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone.
Heâs forgetting to pretend to work, watching Adam nudge a drawer closed with one hip, watching him take down a precarious stack of mixing bowls.
The tiny kitchen window is jammed open as far as it will go, but the scene simmers with heat from the oven.
Every time Adam steps into a hot bar of dazzling white sunlight the tiny kitchen briefly brightens.
He looks unfairly good in cutoff jeans and a cropped shirt of Ronanâs, sans sleeves, the cropped hem and sunlight showing off a fine dusting of nearly-invisible hair between waistband and navel every time Adam stretches up for something.
Thereâs been a glass of ice water sweating into a little puddle on the kitchen counter for the last five minutes, and finally Adam seems to remember about it.
Declanâs eyes follow the droplets of water sliding down the long line of Adamâs throat, dampening the collar of Ronanâs shirt
Adam sets the empty glass down and shoots Declan a breathless smile, wiping his mouth with one hand and sliding the other unselfconsciously under the hem of that his shirt to cradle his stomach
âTake it easy,â Declan says. He says it without thinking, like he might to one of his brothers, and fights hard not to drop his gaze under the onslaught of Adamâs raised eyebrow. âGonna make yourself sick,â he mumbles, lamely.
âNah,â Adam said, and there was something teasing in his voice that had Declan immediately grateful for the computer hiding his lap, âGonna have to piss like a racehorse later, though.â
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