#<3k

She doesn’t have many. Not like Petunia. She’s bright; her teachers like her. And it’s not as if the kids are mean. But it’s hard to befriend the girl who is in and out seeing “specialists”. And she starts to fall behind: doesn’t know who the newest bands are or what the latest hand-clapping games might be. 

And then there’s the “weird stuff”. Her parents tell her not to do it, but it’s the only thing that keeps Esther and Margot around. 

Besides, she loves “the weird stuff” and that doesn’t take any effort at all. 

***

Two months into their friendship, Lily asks Sev if it’s an effort to like her, to be her friend. He scoffs and says something like “being around you is effortless”. To prove his point, he conjures a flower from a single blade of grass, handing it to her. 

She smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off her missing molars. She loves that about their friendship. They don’t have to hold back. They can practise their “weird stuff” — their magic, she learns — without a care in the world. 

But, if she’s honest with herself, there’s some things that do take effort with Sev. His foul temper. His disdain for anything Muggle related. His tendency to (as Petunia says) put her up on a pedestal. 

It’s not much, but it’s a lot of effort for a 10 year old. 

***

Sev says it won’t take much effort at all to make friends at Hogwarts, but Sev is wrong. 

The other girls in Lily’s dorm all seem to know each other. They all support the same quidditch team and fancy all the same pureblood popstars. It takes a lot of effort — a lot of studying hair braiding and potions for perfumes — to keep up with them at all. 

They let her sit with them as an acknowledgment of her efforts. Even offer to paint her nails or “sleekease” her hair from time to time. But they always choose each other first. Always sit with one of the other girls in class and forget to fetch her for dinner. 

Lily would put in a lot less effort if only she could see more of Sev. 

***

When Lily returns from her first year, she discovers it’s a lot of effort to exist back home too. 

Her parents are kind, emphatically so, but they understand so little of what she talks about that she finds herself having to dumb down more and more of what she says. And then there’s the war. She can hardly mention that, can she? Her parents would withdraw her immediately if they knew. And then she’d have to put in a huge amount of effort trying to fit in in a world where she doesn’t below.

Instead, she finds herself editing her words carefully, making sure they understand and stay on the right side of awe. 

It’s a lot of bloody effort, and Petunia still hates her.

***

By third year, Lily discerns that having enemies takes a lot less effort than having friends. 

She’s still editing herself for her dorm mates, trying to fit in as best she can — even when they can’t seem to give her the time of day. Yet she finds it so easy to speak her mind to those pesky boys.

James Potter and Sirius Black: they’re the worst of them. The ones whose pranks border on cruel and who she will happily call out on their loutish hypocrisy. 

It doesn’t take much effort, because in their odd sort of way, they seem to see her as an equal. They hold back when she warns them. Sometimes they even stop all together. It feels easy to interact with them even though they aren’t anything close to friends at all. 

And it feels good, putting in some effort for those who are unable to stand up for themselves. 

***

Eventually, her efforts pay off and Lily finds a group of Muggleborn friends across Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. 

They’re not close friends. They will never make the effort to track down her son or remember her much after the war. But they are her friends, nonetheless, and they share cigarettes with her and let her borrow vinyls over the holidays. 

One girl in particular is fond of her. A small mouse of a girl named Mary from the year below who is a crack hand at Arithmancy and says she fancies Remus Lupin. 

It doesn’t take much to be friends with Mary and the others at all, but then Mary is attacked and it’s just all too much effort again. 

Some of the group stay friends with Lily, but they’re wary at best. They say her friendship with Sev makes them question her values. She can’t say she blames them. 

And just like that she learns it’s even more effort to keep friends than make them. 

***

In the midst of everything, Lily learns that it’s definitely less effort attracting “male friends” in her fifth year of school. 

Of course, they’re not really friends. Or, rather, that’s not what they want to be. Not in the end.

They make the effort to get to know her, of course. Tell her fun jokes and make empty promises about the things they will do. As friends, just friends, they say. 

But then they always lean in for a kiss or give her ultimatums that she can’t morally abide by. 

Some of them refuse to take the hint too. Telling her they fancy other “broads” in one breath and then saying she’s “leading them on” in the next. 

It’s a lot of bloody effort not to hex their bollocks off. A lot.

But it all pales in comparison to the effort she puts in in the final months of her friendship with Sev. 

He’s fouler than ever. Grumpier. Terser. She wants with all her mite to blame the Gryffindor boys. Their teasing has gotten too much. He has every right to be suspicious of their fellow students. 

But that doesn’t excuse the rhetoric she catches when he thinks she’s not listening. It doesn’t excuse the people he’s started to hang around when he’s not with her. 

It wouldn’t take much effort not to be friends with them. The Slytherins are awful, no doubt about it. But not all of them are baby Death Eaters. Not all of them spew hate like it’s graffiti on a bathroom wall. 

But Sev wants the power of their friendship. And it’s taking too much effort to convince her friends otherwise. It’s taking too much effort to convince herself otherwise. Let alone him. He doesn’t listen. Not anymore.

It’s a relief then — in many ways — when it finally happens. When he stops making the effort to have a half facade of decency in front of her. 

It feels like a weight off her shoulders. It feels effortless really not being his friend. And she can’t even muster the effort to miss him much. 

***

Even with Sev gone, making friends doesn’t get any easier. Most of those she has at school leave after OWLs and the ones left behind are fair weather at best. 

Lily tries her best — in defiance of her ex-best friend’s beliefs — to immerse herself in the Muggle world, getting a job at the local pub in the summer before her sixth year. 

But it’s even more effort than being in the Wizarding world. 

Later, when she’s just words in an obituary, Lily will be described as “popular”, “outgoing” but that’s not how she feels at the Cokeworth Arms. She’s awkward and conscious of all her tiny mistakes, and the barmaids clock her as “different” straight away. She knows even less how to talk to Muggles now than she did as a child, and despite her efforts (her religious watches of Top of the Pops and careful inspections of Jackie magazine) the girls don’t even become casual friends. 

She still makes the effort anyway. Tries to crack jokes to make them laugh and talk to them about the goings on in their lives. It’s a lot, and they barely reply, but it’s a lot less effort than what she has to put up with at home. 

***

Being sisters with Petunia is like avoiding spikes while walking on eggshells. They’ve never really gotten on well, at least, not since Sev came into the picture, but Lily, for the sake of her parents (for the sake of the little bit of family she has left) has always tried to be cordial with Petunia, even when her sister is most cruel and belittling towards her. 

It takes effort for Lily to hold her tongue, to not show Petunia a piece of her mind for all the scathing remarks she makes. And sometimes she finds the effort slipping, and she laughs when Petunia does something stupid or makes a mistake. 

Most of the time though, it’s an exhausting tightrope maintaining civility, and it comes as a relief when Petunia announces her decision to move to London when she turns 18. 

It is almost effortless for Lily to see her off.

***

Becoming friends with them, to Lily’s surprise, is effortless. Despite everything she’s ever thought about them, they accept her entirely for who she is — so much so that even she starts to too. 

She can’t remember who she befriends first, or if in a strange sort of way, she befriends them all at the same time. Remus from extended Prefect duties. Peter from gobstones in the Great Hall. Sirius through a shared seat in Transfiguration. And James through their Potions partnership, their shared concern for Remus, the way they’re often the last ones left in the common room.

It is effortless to start hanging out with them, to laugh at their jokes and cry at their heartaches. And their friendship gives her gumption, the confidence to call out the bullshit she sees from the Slytherins and even the hypocrisy of some of her remaining Muggleborn friends.

Of course, they aren’t perfect. They’ve grown from the bullies they were, it’s true — but Sirius still has his vicious streak, James his ego, Remus is cowardice, Peter his fickleness. Yet Lily finds there’s so much effort looking for perfection. And she’s just happy that, after 17 years, she has friendships as easy as this. 

***

What surprises Lily most though, is how effortless it is to fall for him, and then, subsequently how effortless it is to be with him. 

He talks a lot, and she finds that she can too, finally discussing her passions without worrying about any efforts needed to please anyone. 

He teaches her how to ride a broom and she tells him all about the Muggle world, and neither mind the effort it takes for each to learn. 

And when they finally go public — after months of shared moments in secret — it feels effortless to fit by his side, just like it feels effortless to be the head girl to his head boy, two warriors in the war. 

In that final year of school, with James Potter by her side — despite the war on, despite the many people who would wish her dead (not all of them death eaters), despite taking the hardest exams of her school days — life has never been easier. It’s almost effortless.

***

Once she leaves Hogwarts for good, Lily soon learns that effortlessness is short lived. 

James and her have their first “proper” fight a couple of months in. He wants to take a mission that seems near suicidal, and it takes all the effort she can muster not to beg him to stay. He goes, and she cries all evening. He promises he’ll make the effort to understand next time. 

Then there’s all the little things he does when they start living together. The forgetting to shut the toilet lid. The socks all over the hallway. The way he leaves little romantic notes in the biscuit tin and how she is too scientific to write equally eloquent ones in return. It’s a lot of effort living with another person. 

Staying cordial with Petunia is another effort too. One that eventually isn’t even enough anymore. The last time she sees her sister is at the latter’s wedding, during which Petunia's husband takes every opportunity to criticise James and Tuney avoids Lily at every turn. Petunia doesn’t even make the effort to come to her wedding. 

It’s ok. If anything it’s a weight off her mind. Most of Lily’s efforts go on the war anyway. She puts her all into the Order. Facilitating medical care. Concocting potions for the injured. Taking some of the most perilous missions to save her friends and loved ones. And in those tiny moments of victory, the efforts seem worth it. 

And in the midst of war and effort, Lily has the happiest time of her life. The most fulfilling time of her life. Life with James may not be as easy as it was at school, but his cooling presence, the laughter he brings to the room, makes all their efforts to maintain the relationship (and then the marriage) worth it. Life with the Order may not be sunshine and daisies, but the friendships it brings, the bonds it forges and the world they just might bring about makes it worth it.

And then he comes along. And he’s tiny and wonderful and loud and he doesn’t sleep, and he coughs up his milk too often, and it takes so so so much effort to look after him, but he’s worth it all. He’s worth all the effort she can muster. 

So, when they find out about the prophecy, the life destined for him, Lily doesn’t even question the efforts needed to keep him safe. She knows she will do it. He is worth it. Their little family is worth it. 

James smiled.

“Yes, but I think you know that. Remus—”

“Not about Remus,” she gulped, fiddling with the flute in her free hand. James turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

“At that raid the other day,” she continued. “I recognised one of the Death Eaters.”

“Even so briefly? From so far away? In a mask? Maybe we should tell Dumbledore, Lil. I—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Lily drained the rest of her glass, settling it haphazardly on the side of the sofa. “It was him.”

“Him?” James queried.

“Yes. I would recognise him anywhere.”

James nodded, understanding. In the few years of their relationship, the person in question had rarely come up, but every time he did James felt the bile form gloopy against his gums, the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall.

“Oh.”

“You were cruel to him, James,” Lily said matter-of-factly, but refusing to meet his eye. “And I know you still continued in seventh year.”

James squirmed, the bits of him held tightly around Lily traitorously revealing his discomfort.

“But I stayed with you,” she continued.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should ask why.”

She finally looked at him.

“Because I love you, and you’re mostly good… I think.”

She nuzzled closer, and he brushed his free hand against his cheek.

“I love you too,” he murmured into her hair. “And I hope so.”

“Does that make me a bad person?” she asked, then laughed something hot and raw. “Or are you the wrong person to ask?”

“Maybe?”

James chuckled but the humour wasn’t quite there.

“He was abused you know. His father—” Lily shook her head. “But I tried. I tried and I tried and I tried, James. He still became one of them. And I don’t blame you, and I fell for you— But why did you have to be so cruel!”

He didn’t know what to say, and when an answer didn’t come, she nuzzled into him again, gently weeping into his shoulder, clutching onto his arm, James all the while stroking her face.

James would never be able to bring himself to feel entirely sorry for Severus Snape. He was a cruel, vindictive boy who wished harm on all who did not abide by his restrictive ways. Surely anyone could see that? But he had also been Lily’s friend. Her best friend even. A human being. And more than once James had felt the guilt of having inflicted harm on someone that his soon-to-be wife once loved. At the time he believed he deserved it — and a part of him still clung to that — but now…

“I’m sorry, Lily. I was. I’m sorry.”

She sniffed, holding her head up.

“You must think I’m stupid, crying over a Death Eater.”

“No, I think you’re full of love, lovely Lily.” He smiled, kissing her on her red flushed nose.

“Thanks,” she said, blinking some of the tears away. “Would you find it terribly selfish of me to say I don’t think it’s me you owe the apology too?”

“No, but—” He sighed. “Lily I would do anything for you. I love you. But you really want me to apologise to someone you know is a Death Eater? I’m sorry. I was a prat. I know it, ok? You stayed with me regardless, and I’m so… so so grateful. Because I love you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. And I’m sorry I… hurt… well, him. But—”

Somewhere along the line James had started crying too. Was this how he lost her? The day before his wedding over Severus Snape? He wanted to be angry at him — furious at him — that awful boy who had threatened Remus’ life, who had joined the ranks of people who wanted to kill his wife, but he could only feel furious at himself.

“No. God. Merlin. James!” She moved to wipe his tears. “That would be so dangerous. No! Never! Like he would even listen… I just things would be so much easier…”

“If I hadn’t have been a dick to Snape at school.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “But you’re not the only awful one. I chose to marry his bully. Choose to love him every day, in fact.”

James shifted in his seat — as much as he could in their grasp. ‘Bully’ — he’d never thought of it as such before… He suddenly thought of a young Severus Snape. Eleven years old. He was tiny, so scrawny. Maybe he had been…

“I get it,” he finally said. “We can call this off if you need.”

“No. No. No. No.” Lily shook her head violently, tears decorating her beautiful red face. “I’m not saying this very well, am I? I love you. I can’t expect you to fully regret what happened with Sev… with Snape in the past. And I’ve made my peace with it. He chose to be a Death Eater. You chose this.” She pointed to his chest. “Me, the boys, the Order. It all means infinitely more to me. But in the name of full disclosure… for tomorrow… I needed you to know this. I hate what you did, but I love you and I love what you’re becoming — what you’ve become — instead. Will you promise me to continue like this?"

James nodded.

“I mean… I’ll try. I’ll promise always to try.”

Lily smiled, weakly, her lip slightly trembling.

“Thanks… James. I’m a mess, an inhuman mess with a very strange past, and I’m confused. What is good? What is bad? What am I supposed to forgive and not?” She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and James felt her demeanour relax. “But I think that’s the best vow I could ask for.”

James kissed her nose once more, holding her as tight as he could without hurting her — any further than he already had, at least.

“I do just want to be a good guy, Lily. I promise—” He caught the glint in her eye and changed course. “But can you promise me you’ll stop beating yourself up for every little thing? For every mistake and bad path other people choose or have chosen to go down?”

“That’s a difficult one,” Lily smiled, “but I promise to try.”

They remained there for a few minutes in the silence, recovering from the depths of the previous revelations, but then a thought occurred to James.

“I’ll promise to keep your — to keep his — secret too, Lily. If that’s what you want. I’ll keep it.”

She nodded.

“I hope he sees the error of his ways,” Lily replied. “If not, something will get him soon. Maybe it will even be us.”

James brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t feel great about it. Severus Snape could potentially cause a lot of damage. What if he hurt someone? Or worse. But Lily knew him. Or thought she knew him. And James wanted only her happiness. And to be a better man… whatever he thought of his adversary.

“I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow,” Lily added, noting the seriousness in his eyes.

“I can’t wait either.”

“But it’s just a formality, I think. I already promised my heart to you a long time ago, James Potter.”

She giggled.

“Merlin, how cheesy? Promise me we won’t become one of those old couples.”

“Kavinsky!” Gansey bangs his fist against the door. “I know you’re in there! I know he’s with you! Open up!” When he gets no reply, he hits the door again, this time hard enough to bruise his wrist when it clips the frame. “Kavinsky!” He goes to strike the door again, but it pulls open fast enough that he nearly hits Kavinsky instead. He would not have regretted the accident one bit if he did end up hitting Kavinsky; still, he manages to catch himself in time to lower his fist with the knuckles unbruised.

“Calm your tits, triple dick.” Kavinsky flicks his eyes over Gansey, then rolls them once. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.” He’s half-dressed – mostly undressed, actually – with no shirt and his jeans unbuttoned and slung so low that Gansey can tell there’s nothing beneath them. He seems only too happy to inflict this near-nudity on Gansey as he makes a show of pulling a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans and bringing it up to light the cigarette pinched in the other hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Where’s Ronan?” Gansey snaps.

Kavinsky smirks and takes his time lighting the cig before he replies. “The princess is sleeping; I think I wore her out.”

What little patience Gansey has runs out and he shoves his way into the house without so much as giving Kavinsky the disgusted look he deserves. Once inside, he sweeps his eyes over the place. It’s completely trashed: littered from one end to the other with bottles and cups, wrappers and pills, even blankets and pillows left behind by the too-drunk students that had been kicked out earlier that night. It’s all the detritus of Kavinsky’s usual bacchanals, but Ronan is nowhere in sight.

“Down the stairs,” Kavinsky says, “The room on the right.”

Gansey should have paid more attention to the way he said it. There was a lilt to the words, like Kavinsky was starting to tell a joke with a punchline he liked so much that he was starting to give it away early. If Gansey had noticed, he might have put the rest together...he might have had time to prepare himself. There’s too much adrenaline in him, though; too much fear and anger pumping through his veins. He can’t spare enough blood to form a rational thought, and he throws open Kavinsky’s bedroom door with the same mindless determination that he’d stormed into the house with.

The door slams into the wall.

It’s loud.

It probably leaves a dent.

The whole thing only doesn’t even wake Ronan up. He just tucks his face against his elbow, and rolls to his side. His whole back to Gansey, his whole body. All pale skin and dark ink, completely exposed on top of Kavinsky’s sheets.

Gansey feels all his blood drain away at the naked sight of him. He finally puts together Kavinsky’s state of undress...the obscene little joke about wearing Ronan out...the way he’d been so helpfully directed to the bedroom. His face must do something terrible at the realization because Kavinsky starts to laugh right then.

Kavinsky slides past Gansey, his laugh dying down to a snicker as he picks a shoe up from the floor. “Hey, limp dick!” He chucks the boot at the bed and it hits Ronan’s shoulder. “Your boyfriend’s here to pick you up.”

“Jesus, Fuck, K,” Ronan hisses. He sits up angrily, grabbing the boot and raising it like he’s going to fling it right back at Kavinsky. His eyes land on Gansey, instead. The boot falls from his hand.

Kavinsky starts to laugh again. “Come on,” he scoops the other shoe from the floor and tosses it over. “Get up, get dressed. Dickie boy wants to take you home.”

Ronan lets the other shoe hit him, but by the time Kavinsky throws his shirt over, he’s snatching it out of the air. “You’re such an asshole,” he yells and there’s a moment where Gansey thinks he might vault the bed and try to start a fight. He looks back to Gansey, though, and the agitation at Kavinsky’s antics fades back to shame. He catches the last of his clothes as Kavinsky tosses them and starts to redress.

Ronan works from the bottom up, covering the most vulnerable parts of himself while Gansey tries not to look and Kavinsky stares on lasciviously from the corner. It isn’t until Ronan goes to pull on his shirt that Gansey finally looks over and catches sight of the collar around Ronan’s neck.

Kavinsky must notice the way Gansey’s mouth drops because his face cracks into a grin. He steps over to Ronan and flicks one finger against the leather of it. “Looks good on him, doesn’t it? I was surprised he asked for it.” he says mischievously. “Wanna hear what else he asked for?”

What Gansey actually wants is to bloody his knuckles against Kavinsky’s teeth.

Ronan spares him from having to follow through on the violent thought by doing it himself.

Kavinsky crumples, one hand coming up to cover his newly split lip as Ronan steps around him. Before anyone can leave, he yells, “See you around, sweetheart!”

Ronan turns to go back and hit him again.

Gansey grabs him by the arm. “Let’s go.”

Ronan jerks his head towards the door in agreement, and they head back out to the Camaro.

“Where’s your car?” Gansey asks once Ronan’s settled into the passenger seat.

Ronan reclines the chair a few inches and shuts his eyes. “St. Agnes.”

Gansey nods to himself as they pull out onto the street. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”

They drive back to Monmouth in such complete silence that Gansey thinks Ronan might have fallen back asleep. He’s proven wrong when he parks the car and Ronan gets out unprompted, heading into Monmouth without so much as a word or a glance at Gansey. After the first few steps inside, it’s obvious that he’s trying to head straight to his room, so Gansey grabs him again and, miraculously, he stops.

“What?” Ronan asks.

“Shower first,” Gansey tells him.

“I’ll shower in the morning.” he says.

“You stink, Ronan.” Gansey’s mouth tightens to a thin line, but Ronan doesn’t turn to see it. “You smell like a brewery, you smell like-” sex. He drops his hand from Ronan’s arm without saying it. “You’re going to foul up your room.”

“Fine,” Ronan growls and jerks his shirt over his head.

“I could do without the attitude,” Gansey says. “Really, if anyone should be upset right now, it’s me.”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” Ronan huffs, throwing his shirt into the open door of the kitchen/laundry/bathroom and then kicking his way out of his pants as he walks towards it.

“Oh, nothing’s stopping me?” Gansey repeats, his tone rising with his annoyance. “Good. Then I’ll be upset. Did you know I’ve been looking for you all night? When you didn’t come back… No calls! No texts! I thought the worst Ronan. I almost called Adam again. Thank God Noah saw you driving around with Kavinsky earlier.”

Ronan turns the shower on and lets it run. He closes the curtain without stepping in. He stays facing the curtain, standing stiffly in just his underwear and refusing to turn around. He does not respond to the things Gansey is saying to his back, and that only makes Gansey even more incensed.

“And Joseph Kavinsky, really?” Gansey asks, his frustration starting to overtake his propriety. “It’s bad enough that you’re racing him every other night, but now you’re in bed with him? We’ve seen the sort of things he gets up to, the sort of people he’s around. I mean, did you even think about that? About what he could be carrying? Did you even use condoms?”

Ronan finally spins around at that, his face red with both embarrassment and rage. “Yes, Gansey,” he hisses. “I made him put a condom on when he fucked me. I even had him wear one when I blew him. Now, is this going to be an all-night thing?”

Gansey blinks at him. Something about the crassness of it all makes his face heat up. “I-”

“Just go, Gansey,” Ronan spits. “I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t-” his hands come up to the collar at his throat, fingers scrabbling blindly at the clasp at the back. He doesn’t seem able to get the buckle undone and starts to swear as he works at it “Fuck, fuck.” He yanks on the collar and it pulls, rubbing his skin and leaving a red line against his throat. “FUCK.”

“Here,” Gansey steps forward, “Let me.”

Ronan smacks his hands away when he raises them to the collar. “Don’t.”

“You’re not going to be able to get it.” Gansey says and reaches for the collar again.

“Damn it, Gansey,” Ronan smacks his hands away again; he shouts, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Gansey startles at the noise and pulls his hands back to himself. They stand for a moment, one staring at the other as silence comes down between them. Neither seems to breath much in the moment that passes, but eventually Gansey finds himself taking a sharp breath in. “What is your problem?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous. “I’m trying to help you.”

Ronan grits his teeth. There’s a tick in his jaw like he’s trying to keep his mouth closed, but then, just as lowly, he asks, “Are you pissed at me because I slept with Kavinsky or because I slept with a guy?”

“With a-?” Gansey sputters. “Is that what you think, Ronan? That I’m upset because youhad sex with a man? Do you really think that little of me?” When Ronan ducks his head, Gansey continues indignantly.“I don’t care that you like men. I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I did; I really do not, and If you lifted your head every once in a while, you might notice that you’re not the only one that isn’t straight.”

Gansey’s so exasperated with the situation that he doesn’t even realize he’s said the last part out loud until Ronan’s head jerks up. He slowly lets his eyes meet Gansey’s and asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“I…” Gansey takes a small step back and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve said what I’ve said, and I think you can figure out what I meant.” He looks away knowing that it’s silly to hold this part of himself back from Ronan. He only tries to hide it because he’s afraid of what other conclusions might be drawn with the information. After all, he’s not so out-of-touch with himself to believe that – below all the fear and indignation that fueled his rant – there isn’t a spot of jealousy simmering low in his stomach.

“That’s it?” Ronan asks. “It’s just that it was Kavinsky, and that’s all?” There’s something behind his words, something that sounds just as miserable as it does hopeful.

Gansey looks back to him to see if his expression might tell him more, but his eyes catch on the collar at his throat again. He lifts one hand to it, and this time Ronan lets him rest his fingers against the leather. “Did you really ask for this?”

Ronan nods.

The frown on Gansey’s face only deepens at that. “Why?”

“He’s always calling me a dog. I figured…” Ronan finishes the sentence with shrug and nothing else.

“My dog,” Gansey corrects sadly, never lifting his eyes from the collar. “He’s always calling you my dog.”

“Your dog bites, Gansey,” Ronan brings both hand up to rest on Gansey’s shoulders. “And scratches. And lies down with strays.”

Gansey hooks his fingers beneath the top of the collar and pulls, gently but insistently, until Ronan’s head is lowered enough to put them on eye-level. “Regardless of what my dog does,” he says. “it’s still mine.” He holds Ronan’s stare, meets it head on and unflinching as he repeats himself. “Still. Mine.”

And it’s close – too close – to what Gansey wants to say, so he takes a step back.

Ronan stares at him for a moment, his mouth parted and his cheeks still flushed pink. Eventually, he turns his back to Gansey and points at the collar. “Help me get it off.”

Gansey pops the buckle open and slides it from Ronan’s neck. He sets it down on the edge of the sink and brings both hands up to rub at the places it had chaffed. “We can get you another,” he says. “If you really want one.”

Ronan’s head falls forward at his touch. He hums pleasantly and the tension in his shoulders starts to fall away. “Would you put it on me?” he asks.

Gansey knows that they’re toeing a line, one that they might not be able to come back from if they do cross it. He holds his answer beneath his tongue for a moment and focuses on touching Ronan instead. He presses his hands to the stiff panes of Ronan’s shoulders, working his thumbs into the muscle as the steam from the shower starts to fill the room. He works his hands down over the top of his back and presses in there, too, kneading at the knots left beneath the skin.

Ronan, ever impatient, asks again, “Would you?”

Gansey swallows. “If that’s what my dog needs.”

“And what do you think I need?” Ronan asks.

“A shorter leash,” Gansey says. “A firmer hand.”

Ronan snorts, “And where are you going to put this firm hand?”

“Take your shower.” Gansey orders with a roll of his eyes. “And brush your teeth.”

Ronan looks over his shoulder with a devious glint in his eye. “Yes, Gansey.”

“He’s going to be pissed,” Ronan says from where he’s sat on the floor.

Gansey winces. “I know.” He looks down at where Adam’s fallen asleep with his head pillowed against his thigh. The sleeping had been a long process, one that Adam had valiantly fought against the entire time. It started with his eyes drooping, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His eye lids would slide closed every few minutes, but Adam would blink them back open and make an excuse to get up and walk around the room. He had to walk the room. If he sat still for too long, he’d start slumping and his head would dip as he nodded off. That’s how he ended up pressed to Gansey’s side to start with, and he was too prideful to pull away and admit it was because he was falling asleep. Eventually his head hit Gansey’s shoulder and didn’t come back up. “He needs the rest.”

“He’s going to be pissed,” Ronan repeats more seriously.

Gansey cards his fingers through Adam’s hair, and Adam gently shifts, stretching out along the floor and turning his face against Gansey’s thigh. “He can be angry with me, if he wants.”

Once Adam had fallen asleep, his body had become an unwound coil, sprawling naturally until he’d laid out across the floor with his head in Gansey’s lap. He needed it- the unwinding. With midterms and three jobs and everything else between, Adam had drained every last bit of energy from his bones, like a wash cloth wrung dry and then twisted again and again until the fibers started to fray.

A frown tightens across Ronan’s face. “Gansey.”

Gansey runs his fingers through Adam’s hair again, this time gently sweeping the strands back so he can see his face. “He needs the rest, Ronan.” It’s not untrue. Adam’s eyes are outlined with dark circles and his tanned skin is washed out and ashen, either from lack or sleep or malnutrition or both. Sleep can only help him. Still, the fact that he sought out Gansey in his sleep-deprived state made Gansey’s heart flutter uncomfortably against his ribs. It’s something he usually pushes away, but with Adam asleep and so close, it’s just as difficult to ignore as the slight part of Adam’s lips as he breathes. If Gansey were a man of fewer morals, he might have traced the curve of his lip or the shallow of his cheek.

“Gansey.” Ronan’s voice dips low and quiet. “His dad is going to be pissed.”

Gansey stills his hand, then withdraws it completely.

“You need to wake him up.” Ronan stands up, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. “Or I can.”

“No, I’ve got it.” Gansey spares one last look at Adam’s languorous face and then grips his shoulder and shakes it.  

***

Adam wakes at an unfamiliar angle. It’s the sort of perspective that shows him Ronan’s feet retreating across the room and disappearing behind a closing door. It takes him longer than it should to realize he’s lying down, and even longer to realize that he’s lying with his head on Gansey’s leg.

Embarrassment flashes through him, but fatigue weighs him down too much for him to sit up or even lift his head. “What time is it?” he asks. He tries to enunciate the words, but he can’t wrangle his accent when he’s this tired, and the words come out slow and thick. He settles for turning his face forward and letting his hair hide the dopey sleep-drunk look that must be on his face.

Gansey doesn’t reply immediately, and Adam nearly falls asleep in the mean time except he can’t quiet shake the awareness of Gansey’s hand on his shoulder.

Gansey sighs heavily and lifts his hand. “It’s eleven o’ clock.”

“Shit.” Adam bolts upright. “Eleven?”

“You fell asleep,” Gansey says quietly.

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve woke me up.” He starts to pack away his textbook and his notes from what was supposed to have been the final study session for their midterms. He shoves them into his backpack too aggressively and a page crumples down. “Shit.” he pulls it back out and smooths it down against the floor.

Gansey touches his forearm, his fingers pressed feather-light to his skin. “You needed sleep more than you needed to study.”

Adam pulls his arm away.  “Well, I’m glad you think that.”

Gansey withdraws into himself as Adam finishes packing. He sits cross-legged with his thumb pressed to his bottom lip and his other hand gripping his knee. It’s uncharacteristically quiet, even if they are fighting.

Adam almost feels bad for snapping at him, but he can’t bring himself to apologize. “I’ll see you at school,” he says instead. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and stands.

Gansey scrambles to his feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m going to bike home.” Adam strides towards the door.

“Nonsense, Adam,” Gansey follows at his side. “You’re falling asleep standing up.”

“I feel fine.” The edge of annoyance comes back to his voice, and he can’t stop himself from making another dig at the situation. “Thanks to that nap, obviously.”

“You’re being unreasonable, Adam.” Gansey stands by the door frame.

Adam half-expects him to block the way, but he doesn’t. He never has. He always just stands there and lets Adam leave. It’ll be the same this time, too, once Adam steps into the parking lot. “I’m fine,” Adam hisses and yanks open the door.

“Please.” Gansey’s voice breaks on the word. “Let me take you home.”

Adam stops with his hand still on the knob and his feet still on the landing. When he looks back to Gansey, he notices the concern bleeding into his features, his perfect, paternalistic mask slipping to something more fragile.

“We can put your bike in the trunk,” Gansey says a little more urgently. “Or we can keep it here.”

Adam scoffs. “I can’t leave my bike.”

“You could stay here.” Gansey tells him, and for someone that Adam had snapped at twice in the last few minutes he is decidedly unperturbed. But this is familiar; this is how it always is. The fight’s not even over and Adam’s already forgiven.

Adam looks away again. “I can’t stay here.”

“Then let me drive you home.” Gansey’s voice is soft and pleading and so far from Gansey-like that Adam thinks maybe this isn’t a Gansey that gets let out often.

“Alright.” Adam picks up his bike and wheels it to the Camaro. They work quietly to get it loaded and then they keep quiet even as they drive away from Monmouth. It isn’t until they’re half-way there that Adam decides to speak again. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

Gansey shakes his head. “I didn’t mind.”

A fond look flickers across Gansey’s face, and a small smile chases after it.

Adam balls his hands into fists against his thighs and turns his face toward the window. He can’t let himself look.

“What are you going to say when…” Gansey stops; Adam knows him well-enough to know that he’s swallowing down the distaste for the situation he’s imagining. “When you get home.” he finishes weakly.

Adam wants to tell him it’s not as bad as he thinks, probably. It’s late, so it wouldn’t be a lie to tell him that his dad is probably already passed out drunk in front of a sportscaster show, and that his mama never cared one way or another if he showed up past curfew so long as he didn’t make any noise on his way in. Instead, he says, “I’ll tell him there was a problem at the factory and close ran late.”

“He thinks you were at the factory?” Gansey asks.

Adam shrugs. “He doesn’t think I’m anywhere right now.”

The trees break up ahead and Adam sees the little gravel road that leads to the trailer park between them. If he’s wrong, and his dad’s not asleep, there’s going to be a reckoning. The kind that makes the neighbor’s turn on their lights and shout keep it down from the open windows. The Camaro would only make it worse; if his dad saw it- if his dad saw Gansey- he’d lose it.

Adam sighs. “Park at the end of the road. I’ll walk the rest of the way up.”

Gansey slows the car at the beginning of the gravel inlet and cuts the engine.

When Adam hesitates to leave the parked car, Gansey reaches across the console and rests his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go up.”

“I’m not going to sit here all night,” Adam says, but he makes no effort to shrug off Gansey’s hand.

Gansey squeezes his shoulder. “You have options.”

This is an old argument; it’s one that never ends because Gansey always brings it up.  Adam shakes his head, too tired to go through the whole argument again. “Monmouth isn’t an option.”

Gansey pulls his hand back and folds it into his lap with the other one. “It doesn’t have to be Monmouth.”

Adam can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Where else, Gansey?”

“Anywhere.” Gansey doesn’t meet his eyes when he says it; he keeps his gaze trained on his hands, his expression pinched into uncertainty.

Adam tips his head back against the seat and looks up at the ceiling, feeling his heart start to sink. “You can’t say that, Gansey.”

“Why not?” Gansey snaps. “If it’s money- If it’s school-”

“It’s not school,” Adam says, then more quietly, “And not money, mostly.”

“Then why can’t I say it, Adam?” Gansey asks heatedly. “It doesn’t have to be Monmouth. It doesn’t even have to be Henrietta. We could go. We could leave.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ Gansey?” Adam asks, and he can’t put the bite into it that it needs because he’s just too tired and just too sad. “Is it us and Ronan? And Noah?”

“It can be them,” Gansey says quietly. “Or it can be just me and you.”

“Why would it be just me and you?” Adam asks, turning fully to face Gansey.

“Because Adam-” Gansey starts, then stops, chomping down on the words. Adam thinks that’s the end of it- just another game of almosts- and then Gansey starts again, more resolutely. “It can be just us. It doesn’t have to be anyone else. That’s because...because I-”

“Don’t.” Adam’s voice is low. “Don’t say it.”

Gansey startles, his brows drawing down. He stays quiet for a long, long time, then whispers, “Why not, Adam? If you know what I want to say-”

Adam sits up to face Gansey and cups his hand against the back of his neck. “If you say it out loud, everything changes.” He tips his face, pressing their forehead’s together.

Gansey meets his gaze with a stubborn look in his eyes. “I want that.”

“No,” Adam says firmly. “That can’t happen.” His fingers brush against Gansey’s hair line, curling softly into the short, soft hair. They’re so close together that Adam can smell the mint on his breath, and it takes everything he has not to look at Gansey’s lips, not to pull him any closer. “Do you understand?” Adam asks, ignoring the way his voice shakes at the end. “This can’t happen.”

Gansey slowly closes his eyes. “Okay.” His dark lashes shade his cheeks and his bottom lip wobbles for a second before he inhales deeply and opens them again. “Okay.” He nods once, dipping his head against Adam’s, dangerously close.

Adam imagines for a moment that he is someone else. He imagines that he’s someone who could have this without worry and without regret. He lets himself long for it, and it aches painfully in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and squeezes the back of Gansey’s neck. “I really am.”

He presses a kiss to Gansey’s forehead, and then he gets out of the car.

Carmen Farooq-Lane sits on the curb with her head tucked into her hands. She’d done it. She’d left the Moderators. Not in the squeaky-clean way she’d imagined: completely absolved from any guilt in her brother’s crimes and with the world saved from any chance of apocalypse. No, she’d left like a hurricane. She’d freed two zeds, broken a painting frame across the back of Ramsay’s head, and put Liliana on the back of a motorcycle with a man she barely knew who promptly dumped the bike halfway down the highway. Whatever thoughts she’d had about feathers on water- steadiness and peace- had promptly given way to the frantic idea of minimizing disaster. Even that seemed too big, though.

“Here,” Liliana stops in front of her and holds out a cup of coffee.

Farooq-Lane takes the cup and turns it over slowly, letting the warmth sink into her cold hands. She stops when she sees her name, Carmen, written in a looping scrawl above the order. Dark roast. One sugar. No Cream. It was exactly the way she liked it. “Who bought this?”

Liliana pulls a lock of her long, red hair over her shoulder and pets it nervously. “I ordered it,” she says with her round mouth pinched into a frown. “But Adam had to buy it because our money is with the Moderators, still.”

“Well, thank you.” Carmen smiles at the drink before tipping it back and gulping it down. The smile stays with her once the cup is empty. At first, Liliana’s familiarity with Carmen had been unnerving, almost overwhelming. Now, when she felt most alone, the idea of Liliana ordering her a perfect coffee and telling the cashier her name made Carmen start to fluster.

Liliana sits down on the curb next to Carmen, pressing herself close to the other woman’s side. “It’s good to see you smile so soon,” she says softly. “I was worried it would take a long time.”

“Liliana,” Carmen’s smile smoothes back into a frown. “I just want you to know…you don’t have to stay here with me.”

Liliana startles. “I know that,” she says quickly.

Carmen looks away from her and pulls her knees up to her chest. “This is serious,” she says very firmly, even though she’s afraid to point it out. “If you stay here, the Moderators might think you had a hand in my mistakes. You should think about going back.”

Liliana puts a hand on Carmen’s shoulder and squeezes it. “I don’t think you made a mistake.” She waits until Carmen looks back to her to add, “And I think – very soon – that things will be okay.”

Carmen’s brows come down, settling anxiously above her eyes. She wants to ask how everything works out. She wants to know what happens next. But she knows from the time that she’s spent with Liliana that her future memories are only vague echoes to her until she has another vision. For all the questions she has, Carmen can’t bear the thought of Liliana having a vision right then.

“It will be okay,” Liliana repeats and lays her head onto Carmen’s shoulder, letting her hair cascade over Carmen, covering the boring, beige color of her rumpled suit.

Carmen takes a deeps breath in, then slowly exhales. She picks up a strand of Liliana’s hair and starts to gently twist it into a braid. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she admits softly.

Liliana stays quiet, which Carmen has come to understand means that she knows something upsetting.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” Carmen tries again, more forcefully.

“It won’t happen that way,” Liliana tries to reassure her, but all it does is start a lump in Carmen’s throat.

Lilian sits back up and cups Liliana’s face in one hand, guiding her to meet her eyes. “I would follow you anywhere, Carmen,” the words are heavy with meaning.

Carmen blinks at her, feeling the full strangeness of Liliana’s familiarity again for the irst time in a long time. She swallows thickly. “In the future…are we-“ She stops herself as her cheeks heat up. She has so many questions about everything Liliana sees in the future. Too many of those questions were about where she and Liliana stood with each other. Every day was filled with a thousand small moments that made her think…well, she always pushed the thought away as frivolous or hopeless. But she was weak now, torn down from the disaster of the day, and even weaker still when Liliana meets her unfinished question with a soft, distant look.

Liliana tucks a wild lock of Carmen’s hair behind her ear and leaves her fingers just below the shell of it, ghosting across Carmen’s neck. “I like you, Carmen,” she says very softly. “I-“ she flusters, her face turning pink as she stops herself.

Carmen’s heart stops beating at the words. She feels like there’s a confession coming, but Liliana bites her lip and looks away. If she waits, Liliana might say  more, but all at once Carmen’s heart restarts and she’s too weak to wait it out. She leans in, pressing her lips to Liliana’s. When she pulls back, Liliana is staring at her with her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ shape.

“Oh,” Carmen says, bringing up one hand to cover her face. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I misread- I thought-“ she chokes on her own words. She had already made so many mistakes that day, it didn’t seem like one more would matter, but it did. Her heart was sinking. This was the worst. She closes her eyes so that she doesn’t have to look at Liliana’s shocked expression.

Liliana quietly pulls Carmen’s hand from her face and holds it gently between her own. When Carmen opens her eyes again, Liliana is smiling with her bright eyes cast down to their hands between them. She brings their clasped hands up to her mouth and presses a kiss to the back of Carmen’s knuckles. “This is the part I remembered,” she whispers. “I had forgotten the rest.” She looks back up to Carmen and gives her a quick kiss, just an impish peck of the lips, really. “Thank you for reminding me of it.”

Carmen blinks owlishly at her, then wraps her in her arms and pulls her close. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She presses her face against Liliana’s neck to hide how undone she is by the moment.

Adam’s body reacts before his mind catches up to what is happening. His heart ratchets and slams itself against his ribcage. His chest tightens. Every muscle, one by one, starts to tense.

“Careful!” Ronan shouts, and this too sets off alarms in Adam. “There’s-“

Glass.

Adam blinks at the shattered cup where it lies in the middle of the kitchen floor. It’s the kind of delicate glass that leaves no corpse behind when dropped. Or thrown. Because this one had definitely been thrown. Ronan had flung it down onto the laminate flooring just as Adam had reached the end of the hallway.

The sound of the crash still reverberates in Adam’s ear. Echoing. Familiar- in a way he wishes he didn’t remember.

“Back up,” Ronan says. “You don’t have shoes on.”

Adam steps back.

Ronan sweeps with his head down. He mutters a string of curses about all the tiny slivers of glass. About how they’ll be finding them for weeks. About how at least Opal has hooves, so she won’t get hurt when she comes back from the forest. He dumps the shards into the trash can and props the broom against the counter. “I wasn’t thinking about…” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Adam opens his mouth to say that he was already awake. The words get stuck in his throat, and he sucks in a ragged breath.

Ronan’s eyebrows go up. “Adam?”

Adam tries to speak again, only to snap his mouth shut and shake his head.

Ronan crosses the room in three large steps. “What’s wrong?” He presses his hand to Adam’s shoulder.

Adam flinches hard and squeezes his eyes shut.

Ronan pulls his hand back.

There’s a long beat of silence. Adam stands very still, his whole body bracing itself for impact. His mind is screaming at him that this is so stupid. He’s at the Barns. He’s with Ronan, who would never hurt him. But- the noise- it-

“Fuck,” Ronan says softly. “It was the glass, wasn’t it?”

Adam nods and balls his hands at his sides. This isn’t the first time he’s had an odd reaction to something. Things from before lingered in places that Adam didn’t expect. Every now and then they’d stumble across an issue. Flavors, smells, feelings; anything could be tainted by a bad memory. But it was always a stumble. A few minutes tripped up by sharp fear or heated anger. Just long enough to recognize what was happening before Adam filed away the stimuli into a neat, little box labeled to be avoided and moved on.

“You’re shaking,” Ronan says.

Adam forces his eyes open.

Ronan is standing in front of him, his hands suspended between them, palms open and fingers spread. “What can I do?” he asks. “What do you need, Adam?”

Adam steps back from him and shakes his head again. There’s nothing you can do, he thinks. This hasn’t just tripped him up; it’s bowled him over. He tries to breathe again, but the air is strangled in his throat. He tries to breathe through his mouth instead, but the breath cracks into a sob.  

Ronan’s face crumples, and he drops his hands.

Adam’s knees buckle beneath him and he slides down onto the floor. Here it is. Here is the moment that ruins them. He’s certain of it. “I’m sorry,” Adam forces himself to speak. Even though it hurts. Even though his throat is tight and the words feel like knives clawing their way up into his mouth. Even though it takes every bit of energy he has, Ronan deserves to know: “It’s not you.” He presses his fists into his knees, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that it hurts. He feels tears slip down his cheeks. “It’s not you.”

Ronan sits down next to him, leaving more than a foot of space between them. “I know.” He presses his hands to the floor. “Fuck,” Ronan repeats and it’s a sad, hopeless sound. “I want to hold you so bad right now.”

Adam wishes that he could let him, but his skin is crawling and he can’t get enough air. It’s so stupid because he never reacted like this when he was at the trailer park. He was quiet, obscure. He took the beatings with lips pressed firmly together because he’d learnt young that if he cried or he begged that Robert Parrish would only hit harder and yell louder. But now… now Ronan wanted to hold him and his whole being was screaming that if anyone touched him then he just might die immediately.

“Breathe, Adam,” Ronan says.

Adam tries. He can’t. Panic is taking up too much space in his chest for his lungs to expand.

“Breathe,” Ronan tries again. “With me.” He takes in a long, noisy breath, then exhales it slowly.

Adam tries to match him, but it’s too difficult.

Ronan keeps breathing the same way until Adam finally breathes with him.

Neither of them tries to speak for a very long time.

Finally, the tightness in Adam’s chest starts to unwind. His shoulders drop as the tension leaves him.

“Better?” Ronan asks.

Adam wipes the back of his hand against his eyes. “Still bad.”

“Can I touch you yet?” Ronan’s fingers twitch against the floor.

Adam takes a deep breath in and catalogues the way he’s feeling. “No,” he says, and the word is coated with shame.

“Ok.” Ronan rests both his hands on his knees. “What do you need?”

Adam keeps breathing. He turns the question over in his mind. What does he need? He used to have answers for that question, but now he had checked off that list. He’s enrolled at Harvard. He lives as much in the dorms as he does at the Barns. He’s with Ronan during every break and most weekends. He makes his own choices, his own mistakes. And yet, here is everything that he left behind, sneaking up on him. “I don’t know what I need,” Adam says, trying not to sound pitiful.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Ronan says.  

Adam bites the inside of his cheek.  “I’m sorry.”

“Cut that shit out,” Ronan says.

“I mean it.” Adam returns. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“You shouldn’t, either,” Ronan answers. “But life’s not fair and I love you.” He lifts his hand, then drops it back down. “And I swear to God when you say it’s okay, I’m going to hold your hand for so long you forget what it’s like to have a hand of your own.”

Adam’s lips quirk up at that. Ronan’s love is a messy, demonstrative thing. On good days, they waltz through the house, arms wrapped around each other. They kiss and cuddle and spend evenings making dinner like Siamese twins with their arms around each other’s waists (even if that means that pasta sauce goes everywhere.)

Adam frowns again. “You shouldn’t have to wait.”

“Adam,” Ronan says. “Waiting won’t kill me.”

Adam tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “I’m still s-“

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Ronan cuts him off.

Adam breathes slowly and reaches out to take Ronan’s hand.

Ronan squeezes his hand. “We’re going back to bed.”

Adam considers this. “It’s almost noon.”

“And?” Ronan shoots back.

“I just woke up,” Adam adds.

“I don’t think you heard me the first time,” Ronan snorts. “And?”

Adam chuckles at that. “Fine,” he gives himself a moment, then tests his legs. Thankfully, they’ve regained function and he can stand. Ronan stands, too, but he doesn’t let go of Adam’s hand. He keeps their fingers laced all the way down the hall, all the way into their room. Adam lies back down into the nest of blankets on their bed. Ronan sits on the edge beside him and keeps their hands together.

Adam smiles softly and squeezes Ronan’s hand. “You’re being a little ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Ronan starts, sounding mildly annoyed. “I swore to God,” He looks pointedly at their hands. “You’re going to have to become a leftie now.”

“I’m already ambidextrous,” Adam tells him.

“Of course you are,” Ronan shakes his head. “What can’t you do, Adam?”

Adam looks away. “I can’t smell burnt toast without getting scared-“

“Hey-“

“And I can’t hear a door slam without flinching-“

“Adam-

“And I can’t hear glass breaking or I-“

“Stop.” Ronan dares to lean over him to meet his eyes. “Stop spiraling.”

Adam laughs. It’s a bitter noise. “I’m not spiraling.”

Ronan leans back and gives him a thin-lipped frown. “Then talk through it; don’t just spout things off like that.”

Adam glares at him for a moment, then tucks his face against the pillows and says: “Lie down with me?”

Ronan lies down beside him and inches close enough that the gap between their shoulders is only large enough to fit their hands. “What are you thinking?”

Adam pulls his hand away and rolls onto his side to look at Ronan. His voice is low and quiet when he answers: “I’m thinking that it may never get better.”

Ronan rolls onto his side to face Adam. “And what else?”

“That I will always be like this,” Adam adds, sinking closer to Ronan and wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you-“ He breaks off and hides his face against Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan runs his hand through Adam’s hair, dragging his fingers gently down his scalp until Adam sighs against his shoulder. “And I?” he coaxes gently.

Adam hesitates. “You decide it’s too much.”

Ronan pulls Adam closer and hugs him protectively. “You will never be too much.”

Adam makes a noncommittal noise against Ronan’s shoulder.

“Adam,” Ronan says sternly.

“What if I am always one thing away from that?” he asks, surrounding the word that with so much distaste that Ronan doesn’t have to question whether he means the break down in the living room or not. “What if- no matter how much you love me, no matter how well I do in my life- I’m never fixable? What if I’m always just…Robert Parrish’s son?”

Ronan doesn’t immediately reply.

Adam presses himself closer, knowing this might be that this might be the last time he gets to be held by Ronan. Surely, it’s sinking in now. Ronan’s realizing that he wants more. That he wants a boyfriend who can laugh at the charred remains of toast scattered across the counter while Ronan curses at what seems to be a sentient toaster with a vendetta against him. That he wants a boyfriend who can hear the screen door slam and say welcome home instead of tiptoeing around the corner to check his mood. That he wants someone who can be held, always, and never flinch away from him.

Ronan takes a deep breath and Adam steels himself for what comes next.

“You’re already so much more than his son.” Ronan starts furiously. “You’re my boyfriend, and Gansey’s friend, and Opal’s guardian. But since when have you ever needed to define yourself like that?”

Adam keeps waiting.

Ronan keeps talking. “I don’t want to hear that you’re not fixable because you have never been broken. You are the smartest, most strong-willed person I have ever met and I won’t let you talk shit about yourself.”

“Ronan-“

“I’m not done,” Ronan says firmly. He sets his chin on top of Adam’s head and rests a hand under his pajama top, flat against the small of his back. “You will have a good life. You will be so successful and happy for so long that you’ll forget it was ever any other way. And if you don’t-“ Ronan takes a breath here and runs his hand up Adam’s back. “If you always remember the hard parts, and we keep finding things that hurt you- we will work through it together. I will never burn toast again. I’ll put padding at the top of every door. I will never, ever throw another glass.”

Adam pulls back from Ronan to look up at him with soft, sad eyes. “That’s too much work, Ronan.”

Ronan brings his hand up to cup Adam’s face. “You are worth the work. You have always been worth the work.” He holds Adam’s gaze, then presses a soft kiss against his lips. Adam melts into the kiss and they stay tangled, breathing each other in until they can’t breathe any more.

Adam pulls back first, and the second that they split he presses his face to Ronan’s chest and moves as close to him as possible. His shoulders shudder and he tries to keep the noise that wrenches itself from his throat quiet.

Ronan still hears it. He presses a kiss to the top of Adam’s head. “I love you, Adam,” he whispers into his hair. “And I will tell you that every day if I have to.”