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Despite Adam Parrish’s unbreakable stare at a watermark from the rain, it does not disappear from the shitty sloped ceiling of his apartment. He has a test the next day in Physics, but all he managed to do was crawl in bed after his shift at the garage.
When Ronan shows up at St. Agnes to crash on Adam’s floor, he’s expecting him to be up studying or rubbing the grime and oil from under his fingers, but Adam just opens the door for Ronan and proceeds to drop onto his worn out mattress.
Ronan—fighter of men, street racer, and a smile that makes others back away—feels fear creep up his spine. He takes off his shirt that was sticking to his back from the sticky Virginia heat and ungraciously drops it to the floor before approaching with caution because this is a new Adam. This is a mouse with a heartbeat that is fragile and fleeting, and Ronan has never been outstanding at damage control because he is usually the one that damages.
Adam’s kept the pillow Ronan usually sleeps with on the bed, and he’s afraid to say anything and break the silence. He’s about to lay on the ground and say, “Fuck it.” But Adam reaches out and grabs his wrist. Ronan can feel a slight shake to his action, but the resolve is clear.
“Ronan,” he breathes shakily before continuing, “You can…” He trails off.
Ronan understands, and why wouldn’t he? He has spent a year watching Adam Parrish all while practicing disinterest, thinking that Adam would never show any interest in someone like him. He lets out a trembling breath before he lays down next to Adam on the mattress, as far away as he can get. He shuts his eyes tightly because he can feel the heat coming from Adam and smell his mossy scent and the linger of gasoline and oil from his shift at the garage, the smell of everything distinctly Adam.
“Adam?” Ronan whispers breaking the silence as lightly as possible.
Adam was still clutching Ronan’s wrist like a lifeline. But then, he moves his grip on Ronan’s wrist down until their hands are tangled together, and he whispers, “My mom.” Ronan’s heart beats faster if at all possible, and Adam continues, “She came to the shop to get a repair on the Civic, and she was trying to cover a limp, and she looked like absolute shit.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Ronan’s heart breaks just a little with it.
Ronan’s muscles are tense, but he can feel Adam’s hand trembling in his. “Well, fuck, Parrish.”
Adam lets out one of those small hopeless laughs—the kind that breaks lose after crying or when everything has gone to shit—before he curls his body towards Ronan because this is the boy that fought for Adam and made him see that he could fight and stand up for himself.
The two boys lay in silence for a long time simply appreciating the other’s presence and realness, not asleep but not quite awake either. The dreamer and the boy who wanted to be awake. Greywaren among thieves and magician among ordinary.
“Ronan?” Adam asked. The boy in question let out a hum in response.
“Do you know any songs other than the murder squash song?” Adam could basically feel Ronan smiling. “I can’t—I can’t fall asleep because I keep thinking about…” There was lots on Adam’s mind keeping him wide awake on this particular night. His mom. His lack of studying for his Physics test. The fact that he is in a church holding a boy’s, Ronan’s, hand and thinking more, more, more.
“What type of lullaby do you want, Parrish?” Ronan said in a voice made rough by being awake at 1:00 a.m. and something else entirely. And Ronan, despite listening to music all the time, did not usually sing in front of or for others. Though he had a beautiful voice toned by countless competitions and events, it wasn’t the same when the person who cheered him on before anyone else was no longer there to hear it.
“Anything,” Adam replied.
Ronan was silent for a moment before singing a song that sounded like both a hymn and a lullaby, a song that sounded like nostalgia and coming home. And Adam believed it. When he finally fell asleep curled up next to Ronan and lulled by his voice, he was home.