Archive of Our Own ^beta

“ Hey, friends! I realize I forgot to end the vlog last night. This morning I’ve just had — you guessed it — more class, but now we’re headed to get some snacks for our big SGA meeting. They have rainbow cookies in honor of National Coming Out Day, so of course I had to buy some for all of my council members! Senior class President sure is hard work, but at least it’s glamorous work! 

“Alright, we’re here. For those of you who are not privileged enough to live in the Boston area, this is The Aurora. Best bakery in the country, I swear, though if you’re an OG Cha-Cheng you know how I feel about the culinary scene back home in Vancouver. But The Aurora is definitely worth it to get out of Cambridge. If you’ve been here tell me in the comments your favorite thing to order! I’m gonna end the vlog here since I can’t film in the student government meetings, but I should be able to get this vlog up right away since I’ve already edited yesterday’s footage. As always, my next video will be out on Friday! Til next time, you beautiful people!” 

Adam sighed and ripped the earbud out of his hearing ear. He’d been watching a documentary about Charles Darwin that his evolutionary genetics professor had assigned as homework, but apparently the YouTube algorithm had it out for him because he couldn’t get rid of Henry’s face from the recommended videos on the sidebar. Now he was using the library’s free wifi to hate-watch his roommate’s latest vlog, because of course he was. He loved Henry, he really did, but he could only handle so much. 

Henry only knew about The Aurora because of Adam, anyway — not that Adam desired to be name-dropped or featured in one of his videos. Adam stared enviously at the end card on the video, a Boomerang of Henry biting into a cookie the size of his face. Henry had overlaid reminders to subscribe and to follow him on his Instagram, Twitter, Patreon, TikTok, and Twitch accounts, and Adam felt a rare gratefulness that he didn’t have the time or interest for social media. It looked exhausting.

The bells rang from across campus, and Adam glanced at the clock on his computer. One-thirty: time to leave for work. He stuffed his notebook and laptop into his bag and slipped his CharlieCard out from his wallet. Hopefully, if it wasn’t too busy tonight, he’d get the chance to finish that Darwin documentary — after Persephone left for the evening, of course, because her psychic energy always seemed to do something to the internet connection. 

Cabeswater Used Books was only three stops on the red line from campus, a small victory that Adam rejoiced. Harvard and MIT students often sequestered themselves in Cambridge, but Adam loved having the freedom to explore Boston at large. It was, for all intents and purposes, the same city, but he had learned the hard way not to argue this point with the native locals. Regardless, as suffocating as he sometimes felt in the crowded subway cars, his summer internship had taken seven stops and a line transfer, so he couldn’t complain about the commute to work too much. 

As he walked into the entrance of the bookshop, shedding his coat, he breathed in the subtle aroma of incense smoke and cedar shelves. After three years of working here, it never failed to settle his heartbeat and soothe the jagged edges of his overworked, stressed mind. He thought it strange, too, how the sight of these worn volumes brought a smile to his lips; he’d spent years of his life toiling endlessly to escape the plight of secondhand possessions. Eventually, he had decided they were a bit like him: fraying at the edges, just a bit, but worth remembering. Worth fighting for. 

A few customers milled about, but the store was fairly empty. Persephone — one third of the consortium that owned Cabeswater and the one most likely to come into the store to work — stood behind the front counter tapping away on the desktop keyboard. Thankfully, her nieces had helped to digitize her system two summers ago; Adam much preferred the ease of direct deposit and Excel formulas that calculated the day’s profit margins. 

“Maura is doing payroll today, Adam. Ah, yes, also — make sure to email her your November availability by tomorrow evening,” Persephone called to Adam as he stowed his dinner — a cauliflower curry from the dining hall — in the backroom fridge. “I clocked you in. Can you shelve these?” She gestured to a stack of books that looked ready to topple over any minute.

Adam nodded and got to work. After all these years, she was the closest thing he’d had to a healthy parental figure his whole life. He’d said as much to her once, tipsy off of cheap champagne at the New Years party her family had thrown, much to his embarrassment as he relived the moment the next morning. But she had concurred; her sprawling townhouse outside the city was filled to the brim with her found family of women, and though Adam’s romantic relationship with Blue, one of Persephone’s nieces and one of Adam’s closest friends, was long dead and gone, she considered him an extension of that family. 

And then, there was the other thing. 

He’d walked into Cabeswater three years ago on a gut feeling — of all the bookshops in Boston, of all the storefronts hiring part-time work. How he had even discovered the store, nestled on the other side of the Charles River as it was, he couldn’t remember at this point. Cabeswater wasn’t an occult shop, nor did Persephone gate-keep the subject matter of the books it consigned from customers. It did, however, attract a certain crowd with its displays of tarot decks and colorful crystals lining the windowsills and display tables. Now, as he placed the stack of books into a bin for easy transportation around the store, he registered titles like Salem Hauntings and Many Lives, Many Masters. The latter he’d actually read before; a firsthand account from a psychiatrist, it detailed his work in using hypnotherapy to access memories from his patient’s past lives that were causing her inexplicable trauma. Adam had experienced enough trauma in this lifetime, so the book had unsettled him. If he’d read it in high school, he wouldn’t have believed it, nor would he have believed any of the things in the books Cabeswater sold. But that was before he met Persephone, before she had helped him to uncover a part of himself he didn’t know existed. 

Hours later, after Persephone had retired for the evening and the sun had set behind the Charles River, Adam was preparing the shop for closing time. The clock read eight-forty, and he’d finished the Darwin documentary, and he was bored. Adam pulled the Swiffer out from behind the counter and swept between the aisles as he always did this time of night. He had to swerve around a customer in the children’s aisle — a customer he hadn’t been aware was in the store. It was odd. His partial deafness tended to make him hyper-vigilant, even subconsciously, of keeping track of movement within the store. 

“Need any help?” Adam called out to the guy from the end of the aisle, leaning on the Swiffer handle. From the back, Adam could only see a leather jacket and a buzz cut, but he now turned towards Adam. He was probably around Adam’s age, and he seemed rough-cut, like Adam frequently felt. Adam would have to ask Persephone more about reading auras. Even from the distance his icy blue eyes drilled into Adam, accusatory and curious. A beat passed and he shook his head, a sharp movement. 

Adam acquiesced. “Okay. We close at nine.” And he returned to his Swiffering. 

At five to nine Adam counted the cash. Mr. Leather Jacket was either still in the depths of the bookshelves or he had left when Adam’s back was turned. Adam scribbled the closing cash amount in the register book and then looked back up to see Mr. Leather Jacket hovering near the counter. 

Adam sighed. “Ready to check out?” 

The man nodded and set three books on the counter, all hardcover but varying in size and thickness. None of the books came from the children’s section; in fact, they were all… cookbooks? Adam snorted. 

The man looked up at him with that same accusatory look. “Sorry,” Adam said quickly. “It’s just that people don’t usually come here to buy cookbooks.” 

The man didn’t miss a beat. “Those were the only three you had. Kinda hard to find amongst all the potion books.” 

Now that he was up close, Adam discovered he smelled of freshly baked bread. He glanced down to scan in Modern Vegan Desserts, $4.99. 

“Well I don’t know anything about potion-making, but I can’t imagine it’s all that different from cooking.” The beginnings of Adam’s Virginia accent were poking through, a sure sign that he was nervous, which was ridiculous. He could make small talk with an attractive customer for two minutes; he did it all the time. 

“You tell me where to buy eye of newt and unicorn blood, then.” 

“Just because you read it in Harry Potter doesn’t mean those are actually potions ingredients.” Adam paused. “Probably.” 

“Ehh, Harry Potter . Fuck JK Rowling.” Ronan said “ Harry Potter ” like Adam might say “student loans.” 

Adam pressed his palms together like he was praying and intoned, “Amen.” He couldn't have explained where that had come from. He wasn’t religious and never had been. But when he looked back up and continued to wrap up the books, he saw that it worked. 

Ronan shook his head, biting back a smile. “What do I owe you?” 

“$17.99.” 

He nodded and pulled a $20 bill from his wallet. Adam groaned internally; he’d have to recount the cash. 

“Sign here.” Adam brandished a receipt and a blue gel pen along with his change. Customers didn’t need to sign for cash transactions, but Adam wasn’t going to examine his decisions too closely. They exchanged polite goodbyes and as the man exited the store, bag in hand, Adam finally allowed himself to look at the name on the receipt: Ronan Lynch. 

— 

It was nearing ten when Adam returned to his on-campus apartment. His eyes hurt from eighteen hours awake and his bones hurt from seven hours standing. A tender callous had formed recently on his right middle finger — that was his punishment, apparently, for taking notes strictly by hand. Psychology said that it was the superior learning method, and for all that his therapist had helped him, he was inclined to trust psychology. But damn it if it didn’t throb.

He rubbed at the callous absentmindedly as he waited for the kitchen tap to run hot so he could wash his Tupperware. A line of blue ink was smeared into the ridges of his fingerprint, so he rubbed a little bit of dish soap onto it to wipe it off. 

Henry charged into the kitchen with about as much energy as could be found in a Redbull commercial. “Parrish! How was work?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” Adam wrinkled his nose at smell of the remnants of curry stuck to the sides of the container. Much too strong for this time of night. 

“Say hi to Blue for me next time you see her, yes?” 

Adam nodded, but Henry had his head stuck in the fridge. “Hmmm, I’ve already had one beer… should I switch to Whiteclaw?” 

Adam couldn’t fathom drinking on a weeknight, but the last time he’d said as much, he’d had to endure a surprisingly long lecture about the wonders of Thirsty Thursday. Adam considered bringing up the topic again, for old time’s sake — it was a Monday, for crying out loud — but he bit his tongue before he could start Henry on another tangent that would keep him up for another half-hour.

“It’s your stomach.” Adam shrugged. 

“You’re right. The frats always bring cheap beer. Gin and ginger ale it is. This is why I need you, Parrish.” 

Adam snorted and wondered how large that “one beer” that Henry had drank was. 

“No, I’m serious.” Henry turned back to face Adam. “Without you I think my head might fall off. Or at the very least I would forget to pay my parking tickets on time.” 

On this note, Adam rolled his eyes. “Rich men become rich men through business sense, Adam. And an institutional relationship between race and class, but that’s irrelevant here. Why pay $400 per year to park on campus when I could pay $100, on average, per year for the citations if I get caught?” That’s what Henry had told him once, after Adam had asked him why he didn’t just shell out the cash that he very much had for a parking pass. 

Adam had decided not to bring up the fact that this was exactly the line of reasoning that led to white-collar crime. His friendship with Henry frequently worked in that way. 

“Oh, hey,” Henry added, pouring Beefeaters halfway up his glass. “Gans couldn’t make it to the SGA meeting today, something about a guest lecture at Peabody, yada yada yada. Anyway, there’s two croissants and a lemon tart leftover from The Aurora. Yours if you want it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at another dessert again.” Adam was dubious, however, because as Henry said this, he poured soda into his drink. 

The Aurora reminded Adam of work, since it was right next door. And work reminded Adam of the handsome stranger he had sold three cookbooks to. Ronan Lynch. Inexplicably, he felt like he’d heard the name before, in that vague way where you heard a name that just sounded right, like your brain had known it all along. It sounded Irish, too, which wasn’t at all uncommon for Boston. 

“You’re blushing, Adam-man! What was it I said… I just mentioned Gansey. Do you have a crush on Gansey???” 

Adam cursed his stupid unfaithful body and grabbed the lemon tart from the pastry box. He took a large bite out of it, chewed, and swallowed before dignifying Henry’s inquiry with a response. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cheng,” he said, regaining his composure. 

He had, of course, been enchanted by Gansey when they had first met as wide-eyed freshman — Gansey had made him feel special, like of course Harvard was the one place on earth Adam was meant to be. That image, however, had quickly shattered as the semester wore on and Gansey’s obnoxious wealth irritated the hell out of Adam. Somehow, the middle ground between the two was a pure and genuine friendship. This had ended up being fortuitous for Blue: when Adam had folded her into his wider friend group, she had taken to Gansey instantly. Or, at least, instantly after he had warmed to her and shed his politician’s-son demeanor. 

“Well, something’s got you worked up.” 

It was too late to back-track. Hopefully Henry would be getting drunk enough tonight that he’d forget about this entire conversation. “It’s nothing. Just this attractive guy from the store earlier. He bought cookbooks.” 

“He came to an occult store to buy cookbooks?” 

“I didn’t ask why! And it’s not an occult store!” 

“Did you get his name? Oh, did you write your number on his receipt? That’s always a classic.” 

“No, no, he paid with cash so I never got his name,” Adam lied. If he revealed Lynch’s name to Henry, this would end in only one way: social media stalking. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Henry frowned, but after a moment, he lit up. “Hey, what time did he come in? Maybe I crossed paths with him when I was headed to The Aurora.” 

“Do you remember passing an attractive person in in the street and just so happened to neglect to mention it to me til now?” 

“Well, define attractive —“

“Besides,” Adam cut him off, “you went to the bakery in the morning. My shift started at 2:30.” 

That was the wrong thing to say, and Adam instantly knew it. “So you do watch my vlogs,” Henry preened. 

“If you had made the documentary on YouTube that I was supposed to be watching, maybe it would’ve been entertaining enough to get through. Even Gansey wouldn’t have been able to sit through it.” 

“That’s harsh, my friend. Putting that in your response paper?” 

“Ha, I wish. I don’t think that would win me any points with Dr. Goody. Anyways, I’ve got to go to bed before my neurons revolt against me. Night, Cheng.”

“Goodnight, Adam!”

— 

Adam didn’t think he’d ever see Ronan Lynch again.  It wasn’t as if Cabeswater had a frequently-rotating stock of cookbooks to peruse that would warrant a repeat visit. Adam had been dumb enough to get his name but not dumb enough to get his number.

He was promptly proven wrong that Thursday, a day made excruciatingly slow by an icy rainstorm that kept people indoors and off the streets. While Cabeswater certainly had its regulars, a majority of its sales depended on the foot traffic of urban life. Taking advantage of the empty store, Adam lugged his school bag up to the counter and began his most pressing homework assignment. 

Ronan strode into the shop like this was a routine part of his day. Adam had his head bent down towards his textbook as he attempted to unravel a particularly complicated chemistry problem into a series of discernible steps.

“This is bullshit,” Ronan announced, plopping Modern Vegan Desserts onto the counter with a thud. Adam jumped back, and after a moment of processing why exactly Ronan Lynch was back in his shop, said the first thing that came to his mind: “No refunds. Or exchanges.” He pointed to the sign next to the register that said just that. This was a relief — the first thing to pop in his mind upon seeing Ronan again could have gone in many different directions, and most of them weren’t desirable. 

“I can read, you know.” 

“Oh, you aren’t in here trying to teach yourself how?” Okay, maybe a bit of an asshole move, considering Adam was the one with an organic chemistry textbook open on the counter, but Lynch didn’t seem fazed at the jab. 

“It’s bullshit,” he repeated, and Adam waited for him to elaborate. 

“This book. It’s trying to kill all that is right and holy about the world.” 

“That’s a big claim.” Adam allowed himself to eye Ronan, who was wearing the same leather jacket as last Thursday but with a black beanie atop his head. 

“Normal replacements I can understand. I can bake with non-dairy milk or an egg substitution. But this,” he seethed, gritting the word out like it was his mortal enemy, “this is fucked up.” 

Adam took the offered book from Ronan and flipped through it. As he had neither the time nor the need to cook with unlimited swipes at the dining hall and a well-stocked shelf of Soylent shakes in his pantry, Adam never paid any attention to the limited supply of cookbooks that graced the shelves at Cabeswater. He was sure he had never seen this one before had Ronan purchased it. Now, he glanced at page headings that promised such delights as zucchini brownies, no-bake quinoa cookies, and paleo chia pudding. 

“I feel like I need to access a dictionary,” Adam said. 

“The only time I ever put vegetables in dessert is when my baby brother decided that creamed corn was the only edible vegetable dish,” Ronan said, not missing a single beat. “But then he grew up and learned how to eat like a fucking adult.” 

Adam figured he was pretty sensible about his food choices himself: he tended to gravitate towards the practical. Henry had a major sweet tooth, though, which had rubbed onto Adam from time to time. To Ronan, he replied, “I dunno, man, you’re talking to a college student here. My roommate once made me try kimchi ice cream.” 

“Can’t be any worse than the bland turkey sandwiches my brother insists on making me for lunch. At least there’s flavor.” 

“Your baby brother?” 

“Older, by a year. I have two. And Matty’s already seventeen, not so much of a baby anymore. Don’t tell him that, though.” 

Adam wondered what it was like to have siblings. Maybe Henry and Blue and Gansey were as close as he’d get to that, and somehow this thought brightened him. 

Ronan seemed to sense this change in Adam’s affectation because he, too, brightened. Adam could see it in his eyes, those icy eyes that seemed just a shade warmer, now. 

“Ronan, by the way.” Ronan said. Adam, of course, did not mention that he already knew this. 

“Adam.”

Ronan already knew this too; it was pasted across his chest in all caps on the handmade nametag Blue had made for all of Cabeswater’s employees. This was, however, besides the point. 

It was the sort of moment that made Adam feel like they should shake hands, but they didn’t, and it didn’t seem like Ronan’s style anyways. Least of all since it was the second time they’d met. 

“So why did you come here?” Adam couldn’t help but ask it. “Can I help you with anything, or did you just want to complain about the book you decided to buy?” 

Ronan brushed the question off, flipping to another page. His hands were calloused with regular use, the way Adam’s had been when he had worked as a mechanic in high school. 

“These don’t even look like Samoa’s! Way to disrespect the motherfucking Girl Scouts.” 

Adam, who had never eaten a Girl Scout cookie before he had moved in with Henry, tended to agree. By the time Ronan was on his way out the door, Adam had to admit there were much worse ways to spend an hour of a dead shift than making fun of stupid recipes with Ronan Lynch. 

— 

The third time Ronan came into Cabeswater, Adam had to tell himself not to be surprised or excited. He could be neutral. Ronan was a customer. Presumably. 

“Ronan,” he greeted, though the private-boys-school part of him wanted to call him Lynch. That wasn’t very professional.

“Adam,” Ronan said back, in a tone that very much insinuated he wished to call Adam by his surname. Adam hadn’t provided it, but the fantasy of Ronan calling him Parrish was a little more X-rated than it objectively should have been. 

The sun was setting behind the Charles River, illuminating the store in a pink sheen that made Ronan’s eyes look almost grey. Adam looked away, and he lost track of Ronan as he rang up some books for a pair of teenage girls who both wore Gucci belts. 

“Can you gift wrap them?” the taller of the two girls asked, and Adam assented enthusiastically. When he had first started at Cabeswater, he’d been dubious that there was any demand at all to gift wrap used books, but his first holiday season had proven otherwise. 

At any rate, the careful movements necessary for fine-tuning a car engine had left him with hands deft enough to fold sharp creases in gaudy wrapping paper and tie bows out of the tiniest lengths of twine. His lab instructors always commented that he had the hands of a surgeon, but Adam knew his passion lied in research. He had considered med school, but he didn’t think he could take it, the losing patients part of being a surgeon. 

“Here you go.” He slid the package across the counter. “Have a great evening!” 

Ronan re-emerged from the shelves holding a finger between two pages in a slim volume. “Have a great evening!” He mocked. 

Adam rolled his eyes as he neatly stacked the store copy of the girls’ receipt atop the others. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had to put on a shit customer service facade. What do you do, anyway? Are you in school?” 

Ronan wrinkled his nose. “Fuck no. School and me never got along.” 

“Says the guy reading—” Adam craned his neck. “ Antigone ?” 

“Shut up, it’s my favorite.” 

Adam met his eyes — a challenging, feral glint to them. 

Adam didn’t know Ronan, really, but he felt like he understood something about him. 

“Where were you three years ago when I had to take my English gen-ed?” 

Ronan nodded pensively in a faux-serious manner. “Knees-deep in my Beatnik phase. It was a dark time.” 

Adam pursed his lips. “Now I’m trying to picture you in a black turtleneck at a poetry slam.” 

“Fuck, man, now that’s just hate speech.” But Ronan laughed anyway. “Now stop distracting me. I’m getting to the good part.” 

“Wait, you never told me what you do!” Adam tried to come off as indignant, but really he was just curious. 

“I’m a pastry chef. Family business.” 

Hmm, curious. Adam wondered if he was referring to The Aurora. It was one explanation for why Ronan had continued to return to Cabeswater. He didn’t ask, though; he simply said, “ Pâttisier . Impressive.”  

If anyone was impressed, it was Ronan, who looked at Adam strangely as the French came out of his mouth. Adam expected more of the same, that easy banter, but instead Ronan simply held up Antigone and gestured to the back of the store.

Adam watched as Ronan snaked his way around the shelves back to the reading nook. Nestled between the world religions and fiction sections, the reading nook was comprised of old brown leather couches and a wooden coffee table that had to be a hundred years old. It looked more like the kind of set-up that Gansey would put together for one of his research-binges, except not nearly as fancy. Gansey rented a loft in the old Monmouth factory, which had been converted into apartments less than ten years prior. Adam couldn’t fathom why rich people were obsessed with old things so long as they were expensive and “aesthetic.” But that was part of Gansey, and the Cabeswater reading nook always reminded Adam of the Gansey he loved most, the Gansey left over once you stripped away all of the politeness and politicians’-son exterior. 

A domed security mirror pointed to the reading nook, visible from the front counter. It was a precautionary measure against both shoplifters and couples who deigned to make out on the couches. Adam could watch Ronan, if he wanted to. 

Instead, he stepped into the back room to heat his dinner, a turkey burger with pickles and ketchup from the dining hall. They’d been serving up shrimp scampi at lunch, and Adam had wanted to take some to go for dinner as well, but he thought Calla might actually kill him if he left the microwave smelling of seafood. 

When he re-emerged, Adam found himself glancing automatically at the security mirror. Ronan sat — and this was a generous use of the word — just as Adam had left him before. He lounged on one of the couches, one foot dangling near the floor and the other thrown across the couch’s arm. Next to him, on the table, sat a short stack of books, though Adam could hardly make out their titles in the mirror. While Adam did think Antigone was a fairly interesting story, it was clear that Ronan was nothing short of engrossed. 

Adam cut his eyes away. It was a picture far too intimate. 

A couple hours later, Adam pre-closed the shop. Today, he knew better than to preemptively count the cash drawer, so he started Swiffering, just as he had the first night Ronan had come in. When he made his way to the back of the store, he called, softly, “closing up soon.” 

Ronan blinked up at him. He now sat with his back against the sofa’s arm and his legs outstretched on the cushions. Antigone sat on the table next to him, and another book sat open on his lap. 

“You gonna buy those?” Adam asked, impatient, his Henrietta accent slipping out.

Ronan shook his head then offered to reshelve the books. 

“I got it,” Adam said, because no matter how well-meaning customers were, they always got it wrong. Still, Ronan followed him as Adam searched the aisles for the appropriate sections. 

“Why’re you still here, anyway?” Adam didn’t mean for it to come off so rude, and he was still attempting the professional route, though most of his and Ronan’s conversations had broken that rule. “I mean, if you need a good place to read the public libraries have way more variety of books available.” 

“Libraries are stuffy,” Ronan said. 

Adam narrowed his eyes. He took offense to that on principle, but mostly he didn’t understand how one could not be mystified by the libraries in Boston. “Have you been to the one in Copley Square? It’s beautiful there.” 

Ronan shrugged. “Here’s closer to work. Besides, maybe I want to support my local small businesses.”

The other book, the one Ronan had been reading just moments before, turned out to be Maurice by E.M. Forster. A new-agey shop like Cabeswaer certainly attracted lots of queer folks, so Adam wasn’t surprised, per se, that Ronan was reading such a major work in the gay canon, but he was intrigued. Adam was being given all of these tiny clues into the person that Ronan was, and this clashed so dramatically with his bad-boy exterior that it would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so appealing. 

As Adam — and subsequently, Ronan — crossed the store to shelve the book, Adam recalled growing up as a queer teenager in rural Virginia. Of course, there was no LGBT section in Henrietta’s one public library, but Adam had memorized the titles of any books he came across dealing with LGBT themes, fiction or not. It was slim pickings. Adam had been too scared to Google anything remotely related to being gay on the computer at school, and using his father’s ancient desktop to glean insight on his bisexuality had been unthinkable. 

So Adam understood the importance of a bookstore with a dedicated LGBT section. It was one of the things he loved most about Cabeswater. But he didn’t think it would be so much of an issue in Boston, if that was another reason Ronan chose this small little storefront instead of the grand opulence of the Boston Public Library. Despite himself, Adam wanted to let himself buy into the fantasy that Ronan kept returning because of him.

Adam had read this particular novel before. Summer after sophomore year — the summers were the only times he was able to read for pleasure like he did as a child. 

“This one’s good. Have you read it before?” 

Ronan shook his head.

“Okay, no spoilers. But I did really enjoy it.” This was Adam causally talking books with a customer, but it was also Adam attempting to drop hints that he was queer. He was so bad at this. “It’s a classic in LGBT lit.” 

“Wait.” Adam looked over at Ronan. “I’ll get it.” 

He hadn’t even meant to be persuasive; it was probably force of habit after all these years of working here. His heart drummed out a guilty, irregular beat, which was ridiculous, because it was his job to sell books. But the idea of manipulating Ronan twisted his stomach. He stared at Ronan for a moment, a silent question in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it, man. It’s a five dollar book. Plus I think I’d burst a vein if some hipster came in and snatched it up before I could finish it.” 

Adam wondered if this meant Ronan planned to return to Cabeswater. He didn’t ask. 

—

“Adam, be a dear and grab me a bite to eat at The Aurora, will you? I’m feeling a bit peckish.” 

Adam glanced over at Persephone from across the room. “Sure thing.” 

She handed him a couple of bills and patted his hand. “Grab something for yourself, too. Have you had their gingerbread loaf? You must try it.”

Well, no arguing with that. 

Adam slipped the ten into his pocket and grabbed his coat. It was early enough that it was still light out, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.

The inside of The Aurora was just as cozy and inviting as Cabeswater was, though the decor was completely different. It was made from money, for one thing. Hexagon-tiled floors and light walls, small square tables and matching wooden chairs. Along one of the walls, mounted shelves were lined with verdant plants and vintage farmer’s market posters in sleek frames. The adjacent wall had the same shelves, but these held a display of colorful pottery for sale. The front counter and pastry cases were done in the same walnut wood as the shelves and tables, and wicker baskets full of bread loaves were piled on the back counter. 

Admittedly, it had been quite a few months since Adam had stepped inside the bakery. He had forgotten how warm and inviting this place was. A few people and socialized in the seating area, but there was no line; it was far too late for the lunch crowd but still a little early for the after-work rush. Adam walked up to the cashier, a teenage boy with blond curls and a nametag that read Matthew. 

“Hi, how are you today?” Matthew greeted him, and Adam couldn’t help but smile at his bright demeanor.

“Doing great, thanks. And yourself?” 

“Oh, it’s been a wonderful day. Almost the weekend, sorta! Anyway, what can I get you?” 

Adam chuckled good-naturedly. “Can I have a blackberry hand pie and a slice of the gingerbread loaf? To go?”

“Sure thing! The gingerbread loaf is one of my favorites. My brother just brought out a fresh one, like, five minutes ago. Do you want those heated up?”

“That would be wonderful.” 

Matthew seemed to glance past Adam to the door. Out of habit, Adam followed his gaze and saw a woman with long blonde hair and a thick blue scarf that looked hand-knitted. There was a resemblance there, between their buttery locks and gracious smiles. Matthew waved to her before turning back to Adam. “Your total is $6.25.” 

Adam handed over the cash, and Matthew was quick to return his change. “I’ll go warm these up for you. They should be ready in just a minute!”

Adam nodded and stepped over to the side. He watched Matthew as he stuck the pastries into a sleek black toaster oven and then rushed over to the blonde woman by the door. As they hugged tightly, Adam occupied himself with studying the menu, but since his hearing side was facing them, he could hear their interaction. 

“Hi mom! I’ll be ready to go soon, I’m just covering Mary on her break. I already finished all my homework.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Matty. Help me get some of my pottery from the car?”

Something about that nickname piqued Adam’s interest. Unbidden, the memory of Ronan referring to his younger brother by the same name surfaced in Adam’s mind. Adam didn’t need to weigh the evidence to know that this Matthew was Ronan’s brother — and that, subsequently, The Aurora was the family business that employed Ronan as a pastry chef. It wasn’t some earth-shattering revelation, but it did feel strange to stand inside Ronan’s place of employment when Adam was already so used to Ronan hanging out at his place of employment. 

Matthew nodded enthusiastically and bounded out the door, over to a dark red sedan parked on the curb. He and the woman — his mother — each carried a plastic crate to the store. Adam saw that their hands were full, so he grabbed the door and held it open. 

The woman thanked him with a warm and genuine smile, and Adam brushed the praise off with a quick “it was no problem, ma’am.” 

“Sir, your order.” Adam hadn’t noticed Matthew return behind the counter. He held a small cardboard box out to Adam, and when Adam took it he could feel the pastries warm his hands from the box’s bottom. Adam thanked him and turned to leave. Surely, Persephone would be wondering what he had gotten up to if he didn’t return to Cabeswater soon. 

— 

Life went on as usual over the next few weeks. 

Adam went to class and he went to work and he collapsed onto his cheap Ikea mattress at the end of the day. He wrote a paper on stem cell research and he turned in his lab reports and he kept his study group on track when they started to lose focus. He got an 89 on his chemistry test, but he was able to bring it up to an A- by turning in an extra credit assignment. He grabbed lunch with his chemistry TA, Kayla, a tall girl with tight curls and an ever-present smile who seemed to think Adam would be a great fit for next year’s TA slot when (if) he was admitted to Harvard’s grad school. He went thrifting with Blue for Halloween and found a t-shirt with the Superman logo for his costume, which he knew was cliche but wasn’t bothered enough to think of something better. He paid his rent for November, and he paid his phone bill, and he paid for his monthly train pass. Things were tight, but they always were. He made it work. He always made it work. 

He loved his life, finally, and he loved his job, and he loved that Ronan Lynch continued to station himself on the reading nook couch in Cabeswater as fall wore on. 

On November sixth, it snowed. The first snow of the season, though by midday it was barely sticking to the ground. It sludged under his boots now, as he walked from the train station to Cabeswater, but by the time his shift ended it would refreeze into ice.

It was 7:21 when Ronan walked through the door. Daylight savings had just passed, so it had already been dark for a couple of hours, and it felt much later than it was. Ronan’s leather jacket was zipped all the way up, but Adam saw a dark green sweatshirt poking out from the top. The beanie was missing, and his ears were pink, the most colorful thing about him (sans his vocabulary). 

“No hat?” Adam asked from the behind the register, where he was feeding a new roll of receipt paper into the machine. “Aren’t you worried the snow will mess your hair up?”

Ronan scowled at him, but Adam thought he looked pleased. The pink on his ears wasn’t fading, despite the warmth of the store. He retreated back to the reading nook, and Adam found himself anticipating the discovery of whatever Ronan would read today.

Adam recalled their previous disagreement about libraries. He wondered, not for the first time, if Ronan didn’t have a quiet place at home to read. He would never ask, of course. Adam, of all people, knew the kinds of horrors that lied behind the pretty, presentable facades of one’s home life. 

As routine dictated, Adam made his way back to see Ronan when he Swiffered the store clean fifteen minutes before closing. Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse sat, crooked, on the table, and Ronan flipped through another book. Adam sat down next to him, leaning the Swiffer against the arm of the couch. 

Upon seeing Adam, Ronan showed him the cover: it read, surprisingly, Astrology for the Ages . “Do you believe in this shit?”

“Not really,” Adam said, and then, “I don’t know. I don’t know too much about it, but my roommate could talk forever about this stuff.”  He thought for a moment. “I’m a Cancer, I think. Why? Do you believe in it?” 

“Not really. I don’t know. There are Catholics who say I’m going to Hell for being gay, so sometimes I don’t know what the fuck to believe.” 

If there was anything that living with a secret — a big, scary, dangerous secret — had taught Adam, it was that being honest and being truthful were not the same thing. Right now, Ronan was both. 

“Do you know your sign?”

“Scorpio.”

Adam was sure Henry had mentioned this recently. “Isn’t it Scorpio season right now? Is your birthday comin’ up soon?”

“It was last week.” 

Adam’s eyebrows shot up as he met Ronan’s eyes. “Really? Happy birthday, man.” Ronan thanked him. He wanted to say more, but Ronan was already standing up to reshelve the books. Adam didn’t know where they stood, where that invisible line had been placed. He was curious, but Ronan wasn’t his to ask after. 

Adam rolled his eyes at his own thoughts as he pushed the Swiffer back up to the front of the store and threw the duster pad, caked thick with a grey slew of lint and dirt, into the garbage. You’re not seventeen anymore, Adam, he reminded himself. People aren’t possessions. They’re people. 

Ronan was almost to the door when Adam called out to him. “Wait.” Ronan turned, his expression enigmatic. 

“Let me buy you a drink. For your birthday.” 

One, two, three beats passed and then Ronan nodded, a slight smirk playing across his lips. 

“Just let me finish closing up. Twenty minutes, maybe?”

Ronan nodded again and hoisted himself up onto the counter behind the register. He watched Adam as he worked, and Adam tried not to let it unnerve him. He counted the cash and printed the sales report and calculated the monthly profit margins against last year’s numbers. He had to check the credit card machine’s settlement three times to confirm that it matched the Quickbooks total. Ronan’s eyes burned into him. 

At 9:21 Adam clocked out, and Ronan jumped off of the counter with a thud as Adam ran to the back room to grab his coat. Neither of them said anything until Adam turned the key in the lock and stowed it back in his pocket. 

“There’s a bar down the street,” Adam said, voice low as he shivered against the wind. And then: “You a big fan of Virginia Woolf?”

“It’s the first thing I’ve read from her, but I liked it. She’s no Taylor Swift, but she’s good.” 

Adam rolled his eyes. “I do not buy for one moment that you listen to Taylor Swift.” 

Ronan raised an eyebrow. It was mocking him, the eyebrow, and part of Adam wanted to reach over and shove it back into place. That, however, would be weird, even by the standards of his company. It was short-lived, though: Adam completely forgot about the eyebrow with an attitude when Ronan began to sway around and sing some old Taylor Swift in a piss-poor attempt at a country twang. 

Adam just stared, dumbfounded. 

Ronan laughed in delight, and Adam had to admit to himself that Ronan had won that round. Won what, he didn’t know, and round of what, he didn’t know, but the metaphor tracked in some strange abstract way. 

“Of course I don’t listen to motherfuckin’ Taylor Swift,” Ronan said, but Adam wasn’t so sure. His brain had to catch up with the scene in real time because he was still processing the bolt of dopamine that had passed into him upon hearing Ronan’s peel of laughter. 

Ronan continued, oblivious to Adam’s internal freak-out: “My brother, Matthew — he loves her; he rotates her songs for his morning alarm. He lives with our mom about half an hour outside of the city, but whenever he stays with me, I’m just trying to enjoy my Cap’n Crunch, and I hear some shit about shaking it off or whatever the fuck louder than a damn cop car coming from his room.” 

Adam laughed at Ronan’s theatrics. “You do not seriously eat Cap’n Crunch for breakfast.” 

“No, you’re right. This week it was Lucky Charms. And orange juice, balanced breakfast and all that.” 

Adam thought it sounded like a lot of sugar for the morning, and if it was him, he’d surely crash in the middle of one of his lectures. He lost the chance to comment, though, because they had arrived at the bar. 

It was a dingy dive with magenta lighting, and that magenta lighting tasted like nostalgia and cheap tequila shots. Adam was picky about bars, he had to be, especially on a Friday night on a snowy day when absolutely no one would be seated outside — it was always far too much on his hearing ear. This bar passed the test: with their low music and well-spaced tables, he could actually hear his company without too much strain. 

They found a table by the large window that consumed much of the side wall. Adam could watch the snow plows scraping along the roads, if he wanted to. Right now, he didn’t much care to. 

He ordered his go-to first date beer, a local brew that Gansey had turned him onto. The kinds of people he went out with were usually impressed by this selection, even though he felt ridiculous and pretentious ordering anything other than a Corona or a PBR. As Ronan ordered a Guinness, Adam thought to himself that he wasn’t certain that this qualified as a date, but he looked at the facts. He was buying a drink for his regular customer who was definitely gay and definitely hot and had a personality that got under Adam’s skin. Okay, this was definitely a date. 

After their waitress left, Adam asked, “So what kind of music do you listen to?” 

“The kinda shit that would probably give you vertigo.” Ronan smirked, and now Adam raised an eyebrow. A challenge. 

Ronan grinned, swiping his phone from his pocket and typing something into it. Gesturing for Adam to lean in, he held the phone in the middle of the table as the opening riffs of the song played. Halfway through the waitress returned with their beers, and she frowned at them and shook her head. 

It was atrocious, to put it lightly. Adam told Ronan as such. “I can’t even parse out any specific instruments, it’s all so jumbled together.” 

Ronan scoffed, not unkindly. “You don’t need instruments to make music.” 

“I really can’t tell if you mean that in a philosophical sense of like — the objects that can be used to make music go beyond what is traditionally classified as a musical instrument, or if you just mean it in a chaotic synth rebellious-phase kind of way.” 

Ronan just took a sip of his beer. After a beat, as if he was finally bothering to answer, he said, “I may be an anarchist with a half dozen speeding tickets and a barfight on my record, but I’m not fucking rebellious.” 

There he was again, both honest and truthful. He was testing Adam, he had to be.

Adam didn’t know what to make of that. “Unless you ask Declan, right? You told me about him. I’m sure he sees you as rebellious.” 

Ronan’s answering grin was feral, the kind of mouth Adam could understand being attached to Ronan “burden on the Boston legal system” Lynch. It was hot. Adam was feeling hot. Adam wanted to get to know that mouth, and the Virginia Woolf mouth, and the patissier mouth. Perhaps this metaphor was getting away from him.  

“He sees wearing jeans as rebellious,” Ronan answered. Adam laughed, picturing Ronan but wearing a conservative work suit and a briefcase. 

“So,” Ronan asked, as if their entire previous conversation had been wiped from the slate, “what kind of music do you listen to?” 

Adam started at the non-sequitur. “Mostly study music. Sometimes indie or folk.” 

“Ah.” Here, Ronan nodded sagely. “The lullaby remix of my music taste.” 

Adam looked at him with a strange but pleased expression. He couldn’t make heads or tails of Ronan’s sense of humor, but this was the most fun he’d had in ages. It felt like sparring with an equal; he loved his friends dearly, but he had never achieved this level of quick-witted banter with any one of them. 

Adam could do this all night, and he tried to. He asked Ronan more about his brothers, and if he had any pets, and what his favorite things to bake were. Ronan asked him about his studies, and his high school mechanic job, and about weird customer interactions. Adam told him, truthfully, that Ronan was perhaps the weirdest customer he’d ever encountered. Ronan feigned offense, and something warm grew inside Adam. The thought to end the night out never even crossed his mind, not until he let out a large yawn and subsequently noticed a look of guilt flit over Ronan’s features.

“I should probably let you go home,” Ronan muttered, apologetic. “You’ve had a long day.” 

Adam rolled his eyes. “I was the one who asked you out, dummy.” He signaled for the check anyways. 

“How’re you getting home? I have to take the red line back to Cambridge,” Adam said as he calculated the tip on his phone’s calculator. He put down an extra five percent for subjecting their waitress to the horror’s of Ronan’s music catalogue. 

“I live only a block down from the station. I can walk you there.” 

It was sweet, and Ronan was sweet even when he didn’t want people to know he was. Adam nodded. 

Adam tried to say goodbye when they walked into the brightly-lit station, but Ronan managed to sneak in behind Adam before the turnstile closed on him. Adam led them to the correct platform, loftily narrating stories about Persephone and her family as they lithely dodged lollygagging teens and travelers with overstuffed bags.

A train blared its horn, as loud and obnoxious as the noxious beat still stuck in Adam’s head. It sprang forward up against the platform, but Adam could feel his heart sinking. It was the one time he wished the train had taken longer, the only time. He was loath to leave Ronan, and he considered inviting him home with him, if nothing else than to talk for hours longer. 

Instead: “I’ll catch the next one.” 

It was a small thing, an off handed remark, but it was also a loud gesture. Adam intended, at the very least, to finish up the story he was telling. But the words were lodged deep down in his throat at the sight of the thoughtful surprise written plainly across Ronan’s face. 

Another set of beeps, and the intonation of the train doors shutting. He’d missed his chance, if he really had wanted to catch that arrival. They were alone on the platform now. 

The train whizzed past, and Adam shivered in the rush of cold wind that the departure’s velocity had created. He leaned in, almost absentmindedly, to chase Ronan’s body heat. Impossibly, Ronan still smelled like freshly-baked bread, and his ears were pink again. Adam wanted to kiss them. 

So he did. 

The expression flitting across Ronan’s face was affronted, but it was mostly just surprise. There it was, a shy smile, one Adam hadn’t seen before. 

Adam thought Ronan looked beautiful in the ugly fluorescent lighting of the train platform, and he wanted to kiss him.

So he did, except Ronan beat him to it. 

His lips were warm. Adam could hear a heartbeat but he wasn’t sure if it was Ronan’s or his own. 

When Adam pulled back, Ronan didn’t let him get too far away. “It was my twenty-second birthday,” Ronan said. “So you owe me twenty-two kisses.” 

“That’s definitely not how it works.” But Adam said it around a smile. He was more than happy to oblige. 

— 

“I don’t do casual.” 

It was the first thing Ronan said to Adam the next Monday evening when he stepped into Cabeswater. One of these days Ronan was going to walk into the bookshop looking for Adam only to find Calla, or perhaps Orla. Adam wasn’t sure which option was worse. 

“Okay,” Adam simply said. “I have to check them out.” He gestured to the mother and son standing a little ways off. 

Ronan deflated, and Adam rolled his eyes. “I’ll find you later. I do actually have to work.” 

Adam didn’t actually find him later. The cold front had passed, and the mild fall day found lots of locals out shopping and sipping their coffees from the vantage of park benches. 

The good news was that Cabeswater hit its sales goal by two in the afternoon, which meant that Adam would be making commission. The bad news was that Adam simply didn’t have time to go flirt with Ronan. His last transaction occurred at 8:58. Ronan stepped up in line by the register, but his hands were empty. Empty, but knitted together in what Adam recognized as a nervous gesture. 

“I don’t do things halfway,” Ronan started. 

Adam cocked his head at him. “If all I wanted was something casual, I would have taken you home after the second time you walked in here.” 

Ronan’s cheeks burned. Adam wondered how he ever thought Ronan seemed intimidating. 

“Let me take you out. Dinner.” 

It wasn’t a question, and Ronan didn’t say it as such. Adam heard the question in his eyes. 

“I’m running some tutoring sessions tomorrow and Wednesday, and I have a lab report due Thursday at midnight. How about Friday night?” 

Ronan busied himself with straightening up the display of bookmarks next to the register. He thumbed a green bookmark with a panda bear before setting it back down. “I guess that works.” 

Adam laughed, heart full of mirth. “Okay, Mr. Cool. If you wanna wait for me to close up we can make out in the back room.” 

Ronan’s head snapped up, and he scowled at Adam’s overjoyed laughter. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he said. “I’m a pillar of truth.” 

— 

“Adam,” Persephone called from the back office. “Do you want to tell me why you were kissing someone last night against my fridge? It gave me quite the fright when I came in this morning expecting to eat the strawberries I left in there.” 

Adam should have known. 

Persephone did not have CCTV. Or — she did, but she never used it. Adam was fairly certain that the security cameras had never been plugged in. The only reason he’d been able to watch Ronan from the domed security mirror was because it was a mirror and thus did not require any maintenance to work. Then again, mirrors were sometimes a dangerous thing to keep around psychics. 

Force of habit: Adam opened the fridge door to stow his dining hall takeout dinner — today, chicken enchiladas — and paused. He could almost feel Ronan’s tongue in his mouth as he stood there, as if possessed by the memory. 

Persephone would see through any excuse he tried to spin, so he decided not to answer. 

“If you feel the need to engage in lustful activities, please do keep it out of the energies of my store. I get enough of that from Orla.” Adam had never been more mortified in front of Persephone, despite the fact that her soft lilt hadn’t changed a single octave. 

He nodded stiffly and closed the refrigerator door as gingerly as he could muster. 

“You’re expecting a call tonight,” Persephone warned him. “Blue was here this morning; she wanted some of my strawberries. The energy put me in a right state with her around. I’m sure she will insist upon discussing these matters with you.” 

Persephone was, of course, correct. Ronan didn’t show today so Adam Swiffered the floors in an empty store. Quiet, until 9:00 on the dot, when the shop’s landline rang. 

“Blue,” he greeted, grimacing in anticipation for the interrogation to come. He pressed the speaker button so he could close up while they talked. 

“What a dumb thing to do,” she replied loftily, smugly. “To make out in Persephone’s store.” 

“I forgot she would be in today.” It was true, but it wasn’t relevant. These things didn’t have an expiration date. 

“Well, you tainted the energy of Persephone’s strawberries. I hope he’s pretty.” 

“He is,” Adam sighed, hating himself only a little bit for acting like a love-sick high schooler. He regained his composure. “He’s a regular here. Comes in maybe two days a week to read in the evenings. I was trying to keep it professional, but….”

“What changed?” Blue laughed. “I’ve never shoved the beautiful men who come into Nino’s against the break room fridge to have my way with them.” 

Adam flushed, and he was sure that Blue could tell, psychic or not. “I did not ‘have my way with him!’ We kissed. For like twenty minutes. Besides, would you rather I make out with him in the train station like I did last Friday?” 

“Oh, so that’s why you bailed on movie night. Going to bed early, my ass. Speaking of which, how is his ass?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

“Fine. If he’s a regular I’m sure I’ll see him soon enough. Can you at least tell me his name? I’ve been referring to him as “Adam’s latest booty call” and “Mr. Bookstore Kink” but I know Henry’s nicknames are probably way worse.” 

“You told Henry?” 

“Well, I was getting lunch with him and Gansey right after stopping by Cabeswater. He had his own stories to share about you mooning over this mysterious guy the past few weeks.” 

Adam opened his mouth to argue that he didn’t moon, but he knew that would be a lie. He mooned over Blue when they had first met, before their mutual discovery that any serious relationship between the two of them was certain to end in an avalanche of a heartbreak. Or, as Persephone had put it, broken dinnerware inside a wedding boutique. That had been the most specific prediction Blue had ever heard from Persephone, evidently. Adam, new to this world of psychics, hadn’t believed a word of it, least of all that he and Blue would ever stay together long enough to get engaged. That was telling enough. Nevertheless, he had mooned over her in the beginning. 

“I’m not telling you that, either.” 

“Adam Parrish!” 

“Blue, you and I both know that Henry has weaponized his social media skills for the purposes of my dating life far too many times. If it actually turns into something serious, I’ll tell y’all his name.” 

“You’ve been on one date and you’re already thinking it might get serious?” 

It was a valid question. It was a valid question that Adam had asked himself several times already.

“I meant hypothetically,” Adam assured her, except he didn’t.  

“Okay, sure.” Blue sighed. “We just want you to be happy. So when you and what’s-his-name exchange dowries or whatever, we will be nothing but supportive, you know.”

“I know.” Adam had the sudden feeling that Blue and Ronan would get along well together. “You would like him. He’s kind of brash and obnoxious like you, but he has a good heart.” 

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Blue said, even though Adam knew she was rolling her eyes fondly at him. “I’ll let you go, okay, but don’t think I won’t be keeping tabs on you!”

— 

The rest of the week came and went. On Wednesday, Adam successfully calmed down a freshman who was crying over her biology homework at his tutoring session. On Thursday, when Ronan had come by the bookshop, Adam asked for his number so they could make plans since Adam wouldn’t be working on Friday. On Friday, Adam woke up with the taste of Ronan’s mouth still on his tongue. 

Since Adam had chosen the bar on their first date, the second date was Ronan’s turn. They were to meet at a burger joint only a few blocks from Cabeswater, a fact which made Adam’s heart stop beating quite so loudly. He was nervous that this would be a fancy affair, even though Ronan was definitely not a fancy affair kind of guy. The nerves were based in the fact that this was the most Adam had felt by the second date more than anything else. He slipped on his favorite jacket, a worn brown leather bomber he’d thrifted the year before, and left the apartment, ignoring Henry’s curious eyes on him. 

By the time Adam stepped out of the train station, the sky had darkened to a bright twilight reminiscent of the color of his eyes. Ronan was outside when he arrived, leaning against a streetlight post and blocking pedestrians from accessing the crosswalk button. He straightened when he saw Adam, and Adam had to focus in order not to flush with pride as he watched Ronan’s languid gaze rake over him. He was looking at Ronan too, really looking. Ronan’s demeanor was quiet, and for a moment a soft smile played at his lips before it was replaced by one of his typical smirks. Ronan’s eyes taunted him. 

If Ronan thought he could take control of their silent conversation so easily, he was sorely mistaken. Adam marched up to him, and instead of whatever polite greeting he’d usually offer up in a situation such as this, he kissed the smirk right off of Ronan’s face. 

It wasn’t a long kiss, nor was it particularly intimate, but Adam succeeded in catching Ronan off guard. Adam pulled back and headed to the restaurant door, calling “comin’?” ever so innocently over his shoulders when Ronan stayed buoyed on the spot in shock. 

The burger joint was one of those new hipster ones, the kind that only served build-your-own burgers with options like salmon patties and avocado aioli. Their server came around to take their drink orders, and they each got a beer, though this time Adam stuck to his usual PBR. They filled out their order slips at the low booth, fighting over the single pencil stuffed into the caddy at the end of the table. Adam won, of course, since his strategic moves trumped Ronan’s thoughtless brute force. When Adam finished filling his out, he offered the pencil to Ronan, who accepted graciously and then grabbed for Adam’s slip. 

“I dare you to put peanut butter on your burger,” Ronan said.

“Wha—no. I’m obviously not going to do that.” He snatched up his order slip from Ronan and tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach when their hands brushed. He hadn’t even noticed that peanut butter was an option; it was listed under the premium toppings, a section that Adam hadn’t even glanced at. It didn’t matter that Ronan was taking him out — it wasn’t polite to rack up a needlessly expensive tab when someone else was paying. 

Ronan pouted, and Adam unsheathed his straw — never mind the fact that their drinks hadn’t arrived yet —from the wrapper so he could wad it up and throw it at Ronan. Ronan attempted to catch it in his mouth, and Adam was filled with a rush of heady affection for the utter fool sitting across from him.

Laughing, Adam asked, “besides, what would be in it for me? If I did ask for peanut butter on my burger?” 

Ronan put on a show of thinking for a moment before answering, “you get to kiss me.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve established that I can kiss you whenever the hell I want to. As long as you want me to.” 

Adam relished at the deep blush that appeared on Ronan’s cheeks. His Irish complexion really wasn’t made to conceal it. It was then that their server returned, bringing their beers and collecting their order slips. 

After dinner, they crossed over the highway to Lederman Park. Boston at night was electric and exhilarating, so alien from Adam’s rural hometown. He never could keep his eyes off of the city lights. Right now, Adam felt alive, but he always felt alive around Ronan, city lights notwithstanding. 

Ronan shivered — Adam could feel it in his own body through their linked hands — and it served him right for not bringing a hat or gloves. Adam didn’t say this. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place? My roommate’s out tonight.” 

Of course, an offer such as this came with implications. Adam thought back to I don’t do casual and I don’t do things halfway. “We don't have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he added. “I think we have hot cocoa.” 

Ronan nodded. “Lead the way,” he said, barely a whisper. 

They walked to the train station and Adam couldn’t get the image, the feeling of kissing Ronan as the train whizzed past out of his head. One look to Ronan confirmed that he was thinking about it too. Their eyes met, and an electric current ran through. 

The train ride was fairly quiet between them, though of course it was loud as ever on a Friday night headed towards Cambridge. They stood close, clutching the center pole, as the train lurched between stops. They watched each other, and Ronan quietly made fun of other passengers, and Adam laughed. 

Ronan insisted upon holding Adam’s hand when they got off the train, except he was on Adam’s left side. Adam’s fault for holding his CharlieCard in his right hand; he wasn’t used to keeping his hearing-side hand free. 

Ronan looked put out when Adam slithered out of his grasp, but Adam just shook his head with a sad smile, stowing his train pass in his pocket and crossing to Ronan’s other side. Right hand free, he laced his fingers with Ronan’s and squeezed softly. “I’m deaf in my left ear,” he whispered, low enough that Ronan would have missed it amidst all of the street noise if he hadn’t been paying attention. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Adam added when he saw Ronan open his mouth. “Not right now. I just wanted you to know.” 

Ronan closed his mouth and nodded. He squeezed Adam’s hand back, and something like a weight slid off of Adam’s shoulders. 

“I use he and they pronouns. While we’re sharing.” 

Now Adam squeezed Ronan’s hand. He had more questions, just like he knew Ronan had questions about his hearing loss, but now wasn’t the time. “Thank you for telling me. Do you have a preference?” 

Ronan shook their head, and the two of them kept on walking down the busy Cambridge street. 

Adam lived on the third floor of his ten-story building, a fact which was convenient since the elevators were remarkably slow. Adam wasn’t in any sort of rush, so he led Ronan to the elevators. As they waited — one minute, now two — Ronan pressed little kisses along their joined hands. When he had kissed all five of Adam’s right knuckles, he moved onto the shell of Adam’s ear. Since Ronan was on his hearing side, Adam could hear the ghosting of breath and the soft smattering of his lips. 

Adam wasn’t sure if Ronan was being affectionate after their impromptu confessions or if he was teasing Adam to get him back for his abrupt kiss when they first met up this evening. Either way, it was working. 

“Fuck it,” Adam whispered, desperate, and tugged Ronan along to the stairwell. Ronan followed him eagerly. 

As soon as Adam wrestled his key out of the door to his apartment, Ronan was on him. It boosted Adam’s ego to know that Ronan was just as desperate as he was. Fumbling for the knob, Adam jerked the door open, never once losing contact with Ronan’s lips, and as soon as they stepped inside Adam let himself be pushed against the door. God, this was what Adam wanted. They had made out before, but never in the safety of privacy. This was the first time they were able to let loose, and Adam sighed heavily as Ronan threaded their fingers into Adam’s hair.

Someone cleared their throat, which didn’t make sense, but Adam didn’t have time to think about it because he was biting Ronan’s lower lip and the noises Ronan made would probably distract Adam for days. 

“Okay! I think we’ve had enough of that!” followed when neither Adam nor Ronan acknowledged the throat clearing. Adam could feel Ronan frowning against his mouth, and this, of all things, was enough to get him to pull back. 

Adam craned his neck around Ronan’s head to see Blue standing in his living room, arms crossed, an expression caught halfway between amused and annoyed playing on her features. Ronan turned his head to follow Adam’s gaze and jumped off of him, uttering a long string of swear words. 

Adam rubbed at the bridge of his nose, a behavior he’d picked up from Gansey during their long study sessions. He dimly registered Gansey walking up to join Blue. This was not how he’d wanted to introduce Ronan to his friends. 

“Ronan?” This was Gansey, and Adam frowned, looking between the two of them. Ronan’s face was just as brightly red as it had been when Adam had kissed him in greeting all those hours ago. 

Blue exclaimed, “ he’s the one you’ve been mooning over for the past month?”

This time, Adam didn’t protest Blue’s use of “mooning.” He was, however, aware of Ronan’s gaze drilling holes into the side of his head.

Adam’s brain was short-circuiting, so he said the first thing that came to mind: “Y’all were supposed to be out clubbing.”  It was a confused shout that masqueraded as a whisper; unfortunately, the intended effect was ruined by the sound of a flushing toilet. 

It was then that Henry walked up, his eyebrows raised. “Yo, it’s Lynch! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, reaching over to pat Ronan’s back. 

Again, Adam looked between his friends and Ronan, all of whom wore matching wide-eyed looks, except for perhaps Henry, who just seemed happy to see Ronan. 

“Evidently sucking face with Parrish,” Gansey said, sounding apologetic, as if he was being reprimanded by an authority figure. 

As Gansey said the words “sucking face,” Blue chimed in with an “and other things, probably.” 

Adam’s brain finally caught up with the situation. “Y’all know each other?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, or angry, or excited. It was simply tired. 

“Why don’t we all sit down and talk this through?” Gansey asked, his presidential facade finally switching on. 

Ronan’s next words were somehow the most shocking part of the evening. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head out. Long day, work in the morning. Declan will kill me if I keep showing up late.” 

Adam saw through the feeble excuse instantly. He was not impressed. 

“Lynch,” warned Gansey. 

Ronan ignored him and turned to Adam. “Thanks for tonight.” They paused, and Adam thought they might kiss him goodnight. No such luck: a shadow passed over Ronan’s expression and he turned on his heel and yanked the door open. It latched quietly behind him, as if Ronan was attempting not to draw extra attention to his abrupt departure. It, of course, didn’t work. 

No one moved for a minute or three until Henry slipped out to his room, banging his knee on the side of the couch on the way. He returned a moment later with a joint and a lighter and offered both to Adam. 

“Do you really think that’s....” Gansey started, but faltered when Adam shot him a look. 

Adam took the joint out to the fire escape, not looking back to see if the others were following. It took him three tries to light it. Adam had only been high a couple of times before, and both times had occurred after he had moved in with Henry. He didn’t even know where he would get weed if he wanted it, apart from Henry. While he and Blue had engaged in conversations about the discriminatory conviction practices surrounding non-violent drug offenses, personally it wasn’t something he had a strong opinion on, one way or the other. His over-scheduled days relied on a clarity of mind that didn’t leave room for mind-altering substances. 

Now, though, he relished the fullness in his chest as the smoke entered his lungs. He breathed out in the slow, practiced way Henry had taught him, and then he handed the joint off to Blue. The four of them passed it around, even Gansey, pressing the ash from the paper off on the iron railing, until just a stub remained. 

When they returned to the living room, Adam saw that The Game of Life was open on the coffee table, and in front of the TV other board games had been stacked up. He recognized Blue’s personal copy of Scrabble. Everything was a little blurred out, and the shine from Henry’s fancy wrist watch caught his attention. The face was inlaid with bright opal, and that made Adam think about icy blue eyes. He swallowed. 

Gansey spoke first. “To answer your initial question, Adam: yes, we had planned on going out tonight. Unfortunately, Jane here was experiencing some period cramps, so we decided to stay in.” He paused. “Knowing you had a date tonight, perhaps it would have been prudent to update you on our plans.”

Adam nodded. He knew Gansey well enough to know it was an apology. 

“Can we get to the part where it turns out Adam is dating our friend from high school?” Henry asked. 

Adam reflected on that. There were multiple definitions of “dating”: it could mean the state of being a relationship, or it could mean the act of going on dates. Adam had been on four first dates in the past six months, Ronan included, so he supposed he was dating. Except, he never got to the point where he was dating the people he dated. Perhaps he was just high. 

“Adam, you’ll recall me mentioning my old roommate from high school. Well, that’s Ronan.” Adam nodded, vaguely remembering mentions of a “Ronan Lynch.” Now that the puzzle had been completed for him, it seemed obvious, but Adam was habitually so busy that the name of Gansey’s oldest friend had never been consolidated into his long-term memory. 

“Yeah, and me n’ Lynch go way back,” Henry added cheerily. It was the kind of thing that would have earned a rude comment from Ronan, had he not fucked off for whatever reason. 

“In your vlog…” Adam started, turning to Henry, whose eyes lit up. “You mentioned The Aurora, but you never said, like, ‘oh, faithful viewers, check out this bakery that’s owned by the family of my old classmate I’ve known since I was fifteen.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Henry conceded. “I’ve always had the suspicion that Lynch would try to physically fight me if I advertised online that I knew him. But I figured you knew.”

“I only have one more question,” Adam said, addressing Gansey again. “If you and Henry have known Ronan since high school, and apparently Blue’s met him already even though I was the one to introduce the two of you... how have I not met him before? I’ve known you for over three years.”

“Adam, do you have any idea how much you work?” Gansey said. Before Adam could argue, he added, “what I mean to say is that you tend to be very busy. Both of you do, especially since Ronan started teaching.” 

“Teaching?”

“On Saturdays they run baking classes for kids.” Gansey flushed. “Oh, shit —”

Adam nodded. “It’s fine, Gansey — Ronan already told me their pronouns.” It was the first time he had said it aloud. His thoughts drifted back to the part where Ronan apparently teaches children how to bake, and he had to make the active decision not to think too much about it. His heart was already too full of Ronan Lynch.

“I suppose all this is my fault, at any rate,” Gansey continued, a look of self-aggrandizement flitting across his regal features. “I do tend to always refer to you as Parrish in conversation. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t put it together before.” 

“Gansey’s addicted to not calling people by their actual names,” Blue added. “Must be all that elite New England boarding school education coming through.” 

“Hey, now, Parrish is Adam’s name, Jane, thank you — oh, I realize what you mean.” 

Blue waved him off. “Sometimes the universe has to wait to put you in someone’s orbit at the right time,” she said, sounding eerily like Persephone, and then giggled abruptly, even though the situation didn’t warrant it. 

Adam contemplated this. If he had met Ronan freshman year when he’d first met Gansey, he probably would have hated him. Ronan was too cavalier and confident and unbothered with money. If he’d met them any time before this past summer, he wouldn’t have had time to start anything real. He was always working, or studying, or sleeping. It was only the experience and generous paychecks from his summer internship that allowed him to finally step back and slow down just a little, just enough to really start to enjoy his social life. 

Both Gansey and Blue were correct, of course. But Adam couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the notion that he could have had all of this so much sooner. Ronan: his humor, his heart… his lips, his body. Adam elected not to tell this to his friends. 

It was almost too tender, the idea, and after Ronan’s strange departure it hurt his heart. While the word “dating” had been thrown around by Henry, they, of course, hadn’t put a label on it. The fact, however, that their lives were now inextricably woven together by their entire circle of friends seemed to solidly something in Adam’s mind. 

The feelings of it all was getting to be a bit much, so Adam turned his attention back to his friends. He realized he’d never been high with Blue before, even though as the daughter of a psychic who co-owned a semi-New Age bookstore, she seemed like the obvious choice. Both times previous had been with Henry; on the most recent occurrence, Gansey had strode into the apartment after a stressful family dinner and had smoked the second half of the joint almost completely by himself. 

Adam liked seeing Gansey high because it took him down a peg or two. He still used his fancy words, but in those moments it seemed much more plausible that him and Adam could have been cut from the same cloth. It wasn’t an entirely fair thing to think, but he indulged himself for just one moment. 

He let Gansey reset the Game of Life board so he could join the game, and he wondered if that’s what life was. He had been reaching upwards so desperately for years that he couldn’t help but doubt what came next. Go to college, get a good job, build a family. It’s what he wanted out of life, right? Maybe it was just the weed but a pit grew in his stomach at the clinical prospect, this idea that what if he was going through the motions to achieve a definition of success that was, at best, arbitrary? 

He closed his eyes on Henry’s turn, just for a minute. He thought of his classes, and his TA Kayla, and his research project that he was genuinely excited about. He pictured the weathered, frowning faces of his parents, of the town he had left behind, and then the peaceful smile of Persephone. He opened his eyes and studied his friends. He was okay. 

Blue nudged him for his turn. He smiled at her gratefully, and it was out of context but she beamed back at him. 

Before going to bed, he texted Ronan: won’t be at Cabeswater next week. Call me?

— 

The following week was the busiest Adam had or would have all semester, finals notwithstanding. Sometimes he wondered if there was no God because these sorts of deadlines always seemed to coincide with one another. Friday at 11:59 PM: that was the deadline for both his capstone research project proposal and the most important of his grad school applications. Of course, he’d been tinkering away at both for months, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have hours of last-minute adjustments and editing left to go. 

Technically, the research project proposal wasn’t due for another few weeks, but if he wanted his professor’s feedback before the final submission, he had to turn it in this week at the latest. Who cared about three days off school with all the work he had to do? Considering the doors that presenting at Harvard’s spring science symposium would open for him, he definitely wanted that feedback. It wasn’t negotiable. But working hard is what Adam knew best, so he would get through the week. He’d even requested the week off from Cabeswater, and he had been budgeting for weeks to make up for the absence of four shifts worth of pay. He hadn’t planned for his and Ronan’s date last week, but it only set him back an hour of pay, so he would be fine. 

On Wednesday, Gansey found Adam in his usual library spot, which wouldn’t have been unusual except for the fact that it was Wednesday and Gansey was supposed leading a campus tour for prospective students right now. Adam had been searching for one last source for his research project; his eyes hurt from staring at his laptop screen for hours on end, but he wouldn’t pay to print the articles until he knew they were what he was looking for. He wanted to finish it today so he could enjoy Thanksgiving with Blue, Henry, and Gansey tomorrow, guilt-free. 

When Adam said as much, Gansey looked startled. “I already finished my tours today, Adam. It’s two o’clock. Don’t you have to check on your chem lab project at 2:30?” 

Adam glanced at the corner of his laptop screen. It was, in fact, 2:01. He cursed and hit save on his Word document about five times more than was necessary before shutting the laptop swiftly. They were on Thanksgiving break though the rest of the week, but Adam and his lab partner had agreed to meet this afternoon to finish up their study. And he’d forgotten to eat lunch. As he slid his laptop back into his messenger bag, he dug around looking to see if he had a granola bar, but no such luck. “You’re a lifesaver, Gansey. What’re you doing here anyways, if I’m supposed to be headed to the labs?”

It wasn’t that Gansey never came into this library, but studying during the daytime wasn’t usually his style. Between classes and his tours and his internship at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Gansey’s school work was usually pushed to those hours late at night when his chronic insomnia kept him out of bed. This was precisely the reason why Adam had moved in with Henry instead, even though he’d been closer to Gansey at the time — he was a light sleeper (thanks PTSD!) and he knew Gansey’s schedule would clash with his own. 

Gansey tutted. “I know how Adam Parrish gets when he’s in deadline mode. I’m about to head over to Peabody, but I stopped by your place to grab one of your sacred Soylents.” Gansey’s features remained calm and caring, but Adam knew the morbid curiosity Gansey held for Adam’s love of protein shakes. It was about efficiency. 

A wave of affection for Gansey hit Adam. The beginning stages of their friendship had been met with turmoil, but really, first semester freshman year had been particularly difficult all around. Adam had constantly picked fights about money; though he had expected it, the easy displays of wealth at Harvard had made him a generally more irritable version of himself. Now, though, Gansey was his brother. He couldn’t imagine a future without Gansey, and Blue, and even Henry by his side. 

“I appreciate it,” he told Gansey, and he could tell that Gansey knew exactly what those three words meant. 

The chemistry labs were in the same part of campus as the Peabody Museum, so they walked together. Adam guzzled down his protein shake — he’d had the forethought to buy the cappuccino flavor for extra caffeine — while Gansey made small talk about some famous politician, a friend of his mother’s, who had taken a campus tour with her daughter that morning. Adam wasn’t really paying attention; he was running through his schedule for the evening in his head. 

When Gansey asked, “and how are things with Ronan?” Adam stopped dead in his tracks in surprise. 

“Oh.” Ronan hadn’t replied to his text, nor had he called Adam. They kept walking. “Fine.” 

If Gansey had picked up on the fact that things were not fine , he didn’t say anything. He simply hummed. “He doesn’t like to use his phone, so I was a bit worried. But I’ve always known you two would get along. He kind of lost himself for a few years after his father. But he’s so much more open, now — I’m so proud of him.” 

Gansey studied Adam as they walked, and Adam shifted uncomfortably. He already knew about what happened to Niall Lynch — the gist, anyway. It wasn’t that. Ronan hadn’t reached out to him, and now Gansey was singing his praises. He didn’t know how to feel. 

“I can see why they like you,” Gansey continued. His eyes widened in horror. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. You obviously know why I love you and our friendship. What I meant was that I can see how you’re their type.” 

Something warm blossomed throughout Adam’s arteries. He didn’t want to be having this conversation with Gansey, but his curiosity won the fight against all other instincts. “How so?” 

“Well, Ronan can be quite intense, and reverent — once you get past their bluster. Everything you do is done with intention. I can see how that’s an attractive quality to them.”

Adam couldn’t help the flush from spreading across his face. He had never truly felt the warmth of sunlight until he had basked under Ronan’s gaze. 

“I really like him, Gans.” This came out as a whisper. A lump formed in Adam’s throat. “There’s something just so….” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, but he could see Gansey nodding from his periphery. 

“I know what you mean. He’s different. How you feel about him is different. It’s how I felt about Blue when she and I first started dating.” 

Adam nodded. They’d had several conversations about this in the eighteen months since Blue and Gansey had gotten together. Adam had first introduced Blue to Gansey and Henry during those short two months when he had called himself Blue’s boyfriend, and by now Adam was self-aware enough to understand that sparks had flown between Blue and Gansey before his own relationship with Blue had ended. It was fine, now. Adam didn’t let Henry keep popcorn in the apartment because of the way he had treated the sophomore-year drama as free entertainment, but it was fine, now. They were all different people than who they were back then, and of course they were. 

Adam hummed an assent and downed the last third of the Soylent in one go. He tossed the carton into a nearby recycling bin. 

Gansey seemed to understand exactly what he was thinking. “Look at us, growing up. Parrish and Gansey.” Gansey looked up at the cloudy sky and back at Adam. “You’ve really come into yourself, Adam. I’m really proud to be your friend. I hope you know that.” 

Adam smiled back at him, but he had to quickly turn away to blink back a tear. Objectively, he had barely made a dent in his goals. But this was the life he had wanted, back in the days when he let himself fantasize about getting out of Henrietta. He just knew that it would change in the blink of an eye — it was senior year. He knew he was staying local for grad school, and he knew Gansey was vying for a permanent staff position at Peabody. Henry planned to work his way up the Massachusetts state government before pursuing national politics — it was more “authentic” that way — and Blue was already looking into gigs she could get with her environmental science major at Boston College. Adam desperately didn’t want anything to change, except he did. What Gansey and Blue had? That’s what he wanted to build with Ronan, here in Cambridge, surrounded by all of their best friends. 

“How soon did you know about Blue?” he asked. “Like, really know.” 

Gansey pursed his lips. Adam knew that the answer was probably something that overlapped with his courtship of Blue, but that wasn’t important here. “There’s no timeline on these things,” Gansey answered, looking thoughtful. “It’s not too early.” 

Objectively, Adam knew this. But to hear it coming from his best friend, from someone he really and truly trusted, was another thing entirely. Something eased within him. A few rays of sunshine beamed down on them from behind the grey sky. It all seemed so fragile, but in the kind of way that made Adam want to bottle this feeling up and store it in a snow globe. 

— 

Adam wasn’t an expert in dating by any stretch of the imagination. He wasn’t exactly good at it: he was usually too busy to prioritize dates or even flirtatious text conversations, and his overly-analytical brain didn’t win him any brownie points. Not with the people he’d dated in the past year or so, anyways. The most recent, a chemistry major named Anna who was in his year and enjoyed painting in her spare time, had told Adam she was looking for someone more spontaneous.  He hadn’t protested when she didn’t ask for a third date — clearly, they weren’t right for each other — but he had still missed the feeling of her lips on his for the three weeks following. 

With Ronan, it was easy. Adam didn’t feel like he had to be anything but himself, and Ronan brought out his wry sense of humor that sometimes fell to the wayside when he was more focused on practical matters. He doesn’t like to use his phone, so I was a bit worried, Gansey had said, and it wasn’t meant to be anything other than an off-handed remark but Adam took it as a warning. Or, rather, he took it as evidence that Ronan’s failure to reply wasn’t a confirmation that he was no longer interested in Adam. Still, with each passing day, his apprehension about seeing Ronan again grew just as much as his excitement. It was a feeling not unlike waiting for all of his college acceptance letters to come in the mail, or waiting to see his professors’ thoughts on the essays he turned in. 

He worked again on Sunday. Like every Sunday, Cabeswater was open only from noon to seven, so his was the only shift scheduled for the day. He wasn’t sure how to feel about working alone today. Part of him yearned for social contact after an insular weekend of editing documents; the other part of him was grateful to avoid Blue’s questioning and Persephone’s knowing eyes. 

Ronan didn’t come by Cabeswater. Adam didn’t know why he thought he would — he hadn’t informed Ronan that he would be working today. When he reached the stretch of street that both Cabeswater and The Aurora adorned, he was surprised to see the storefront of the bakery dark and abandoned. Closed Sundays, the sign read. He knew Ronan was religious, so it shouldn’t have surprised him. Thinking back through his schedule from the past month, envisioning the little yellow highlighted boxes on the monthly rota that he kept pasted to the back of his bedroom door, he realized that he hadn’t worked a Sunday since he had met Ronan. Three years of working the cash register at Cabeswater and he’d never noticed, but then again, he’d never had a reason to. 

Hour after hour ticked by, slower than usual like everything on a lazy Sunday, and Ronan did not appear. Adam wondered what time Mass ended, and he wondered how many blocks or T stops away the Lynchs’ regular church could be found. If he showed, would it be noon, one? Would he still wear his Sunday best? Adam swallowed, flushing nervously in the quiet store, at the mental imagery of Ronan in a suit and tie. He spent a not-insignificant amount of time visualizing the ways in which different color ties — aqua, cornflower, periwinkle — would bring out the hues in Ronan’s eyes. 

Get a grip on yourself, Adam Parrish. 

“Cheer up, young man,” an elderly woman advised him as he rang up her purchases. She wore a large gold cross around her neck but didn’t waver in handing him books about auras and tarot and chakras. He smiled politely and asked if she wanted any gift-wrapping. “Oh, no, dear,” she replied. “But I will take one of these bookmarks.” 

“Go ahead; they’re free.” 

She settled on an emerald bookmark with a smiling panda that read “even bears love to read!” which had never made sense to Adam, even if he ignored the fact that pandas were marsupials and not bears at all. Adam set a book about chakra balancing back onto the counter after scanning it in, and she slipped the bookmark underneath the front cover. 

“So what’s got a nice young man like yourself down in the dumps? It’s a beautiful day, after all.” She said it with a smile as she produced a few bills from a crisp envelope in her purse. 

It wasn’t. Thirty-seven and windy, with dark clouds that threatened to pour over any minute but weren’t forecasted to until one in the morning. That’s what today was. 

Adam didn’t know what felt more pathetic: that a little old woman was asking after his problems, or that he was considering confiding in her. 

She seemed to sense his hesitation. “Oh, I’m putting you on the spot. My granddaughter, Gabby — she tells me I do that. Well, honey —” she pointed out the window to the clouds. “Sun’s always there, even if you can’t see it.” 

Adam handed the bag, heavy with books, over to her. She slipped her change into the tip jar. “Thank you, ma’am. You have a good rest of your day.” 

She laughed good-naturedly. “A southern boy, so polite.” Adam flushed. “I never get called ma’am up here. Reminds me of the good ol’ days in South Carolina, before me and my Gloria moved up here to have our wedding. Massachusetts was the first state, you know, and we’ve been together almost forty years.”

“Wow,” Adam breathed, unable to help the gust of wistfulness from enveloping his heart. He wanted many things in life, but what kept becoming harder and harder to ignore as he thought about grad school and his future was the conclusion that he wanted, desperately, to look back at a life full of love. “Congratulations.”

“Well thank you,” she said, a proud but warm gleam solidifying in her dark eyes. “You have a blessed week, mister Adam, and remember that the sun’s always there, even if you can’t see it.” 

She pulled the hood of her cobalt puffer over the thick expanse of her graying hair, and she was gone in an instant. Persephone was always telling Adam about his latent psychic energies. Had it not been for the physical realities of the receipt in his hand and the coins in the tip jar, he thought he might have seen an apparition. 

—

He’d made up his mind. 

Here was a list of things Adam couldn’t control:

1. Whether Ronan would visit Cabeswater, today or ever again.
2. Ronan was best friends with his best friends. Being some part of each other’s lives was inevitable. 
3. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Ronan.
4. He couldn’t stop thinking about that lemon tart from The Aurora that Henry had given him the first night he had met Ronan. He wondered if Ronan had baked it, if long before their lips had met he had pressed his mouth to a thing molded and formed by Ronan’s own hands. 
5. He couldn’t stop himself from cataloguing everything he knew about Ronan, a collection of everything Ronan had trusted him with.
6. Ronan’s words. 
7. Ronan’s actions. 

Here’s what he could control:

1. His words. 
2. His actions. 

So he’d made up his mind, and he was going to crack first, because that was something he could control. 

He just had to get through his shift. 

He toyed with the green panda bookmark until its edges softened and fuzzed. It was a reminder of the kindness of strangers, the randomness of life. How strange it was that he and Ronan had been brought together when they had. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t bear to let this opportunity pass him by. It wasn’t fair to himself, and it wasn’t fair to Ronan. A plan formed in his mind, and though it was terrifying in an objective sense, it filled Adam with a kind of peace. He could stand up for himself — not in the way he had been taught, mirroring his father, but in a way that was about compassion and the drive to shape his life how he wanted to, no matter the risks.

The Aurora closed at nine, just like Cabeswater; he’d looked this up in preparation. Adam was banking on someone letting him in, and he sure as hell was banking on Ronan actually being present at the bakery. 

He closed up the bookshop as quickly as possible. He couldn’t cut any corners tonight, though, because Calla would be opening tomorrow. Miraculously, he managed to be out the door by 9:13, though he wasn’t sure the extra few minutes would have made a difference. 

The lights were still on in The Aurora, and from the glass storefront Adam could see a tall girl with two braids down her back mopping behind the counter. A suited young man stood by the seating area, talking on the phone; with his blue eyes and Roman nose, Adam could tell he was a Lynch. Must be Declan. 

Adam hesitated. He wasn’t sure if the doors would be locked, and he didn’t want to attempt to open them in case they were. He, personally, always locked the front doors at Cabeswater as soon as nine o’clock hit so that he wouldn’t have to bother shooing out any unaware customers who tried to sneak in after closing. 

He knocked on the glass-plate door. A small bit of relief sparked up in him when he noticed the pre-existing smudges: at least he wasn’t marring freshly-wiped glass. The girl with the mop looked over at him with a frown, but Declan signaled to her that he had everything handled. Declan, bewildered, hung up his call and strode over to the door. 

Before Declan could utter “we’re closed” or some other equally obvious and annoyed statement, Adam said, “Is Ronan there? I need to talk to him. I’m Adam.”

The name didn’t seem to register. Figures — Adam didn’t expect that Ronan’s tumultuous relationship with Declan included heart-to-hearts about their dating lives. He tried again: “I’m a friend of Gansey’s.” That seemed to ease the look of suspicion off of Declan’s face. “I’m sorry to come by so late, but I work next door, at the bookshop, and I just finished closing for the night. Is Ronan there?”

Declan flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. “I’ll go get him.” He shot Adam a look that read don’t you think about trying anything funny. We have security cameras and access to the best lawyers in Boston. Adam didn’t doubt it. Declan turned to the girl with the mop. “Mary, keep your eyes on him.” 

As he waited, he studied the pottery displayed on the far wall. He had once gifted Blue with a small flower pot he had purchased here, and last time he’d visited her house, it had held a gorgeous flowering cactus on her bedside table. He thought back to the last time he had been to the bakery, a month ago, when he had watched Matthew and Aurora Lynch unload Aurora’s pieces from her car. Now that Adam knew Ronan better, this place just felt imbued with Lynch energy, the way a home did. 

Ronan and Declan emerged from a room in the back, arguing in low voices. When Ronan saw Adam, he straightened and blushed, though there was really no reason for him to have done so. Perhaps he really had been avoiding Adam. 

“Can we talk?” Adam asked. He tried to ignore the curious faces of Declan and Mary, the latter of whom had stowed the mop away and could now be found wiping down one of the pastry cases, the one closest to where he and the brothers Lynch stood. Whether this choice had been made from a desire to follow Declan’s order down to the letter or simple nosiness, Adam didn’t know, but this was the least of his concerns. 

Ronan wouldn't meet his eye, but he nodded and led Adam though a swinging door behind the register to the kitchen. Despite the vast array of jobs boasted on Adam’s resume, he had never done food service, so he hadn’t ever seen what an industrial kitchen looked like outside of movies. Everything was washed in chrome, from the stainless steel workstations and sinks to the refrigerators and electric mixers. A set of metal shelves lined one wall, and stacked upon them were the biggest bags of flour and sugar that Adam had ever seen. Ronan leaned against the wall next to a stack of baking sheets almost as tall as he was. Adam couldn’t decide whether it smelled more like buttery dough or chocolate or sugar. 

“So…” Ronan said, impatient, and Adam realized with a surge of irritation that he was supposed to start. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Not a question. 

“Not exactly,” Ronan said. 

“You could have just told me if you’re not interested anymore.” 

“That’s not what’s going on.” Ronan’s voice betrayed surprise and hurt. Adam thought he was the hurt one here. 

“Then tell me what is, because you can’t leave as abruptly as you did that night and then ignore my text and stop coming by Cabeswater and not expect me to think that’s what’s going on.”

“I didn’t stop coming by Cabeswater. You said you weren’t working last week, and tonight Declan made me stay late to help with counting inventory so we have enough ingredients for the holiday recipes. Even though that shit’s his job.”

“Then why won’t you look me in the eyes?”

Instantly, Ronan met his eyes. Adam fought the urge to melt under Ronan’s gaze. He reminded himself that he was mad, or at the very least, annoyed.

“That Friday was a lot. You never signed up for me being a part of your whole fucking social group. You calling out of work — I thought you needed space from me.” Adam watched as Ronan tensed, steeling themselves against some unknown enemy. Adam knew the feeling well. “Or, that, you know, you’re one of those people who doesn’t want to date someone who’s nonbinary.” 

Adam narrowed his eyes. For a moment it stung that Ronan thought so little of him, but he reached past his pride and understood that it wasn’t personal. “Ronan, it doesn’t matter to me. Well, it matters to me if it matters to you, but I like you for you, not for your gender. As for my week off work, that had nothing to do with you. I had important deadlines and the school break was a convenient time to push through them. I had scheduled that week off two months in advance, before I even met you.”

“Oh.”

“Ronan, I told you I didn’t want casual, either. I still mean that.”

Ronan let out a frustrated noise and rubbed his hand over his stubbly scalp. “Yeah, I know, but you just… you have this whole life at fucking Harvard . You’re gonna do amazing things. I never even graduated high school. I only have this job because of nepotism. Finding out that we have the same best friends — it felt like God was fucking teasing this idea of me fitting into your life in my face, even though I know I never could.”

“But why not ?” Adam paced around the room. It was rather warm in here, from all the ovens, but he didn’t want to remove his coat. Right now, it was his armor. He sighed. “Let me be frank with you. I don’t have anything unless I work for it. I can’t afford to live in Cambridge unless I work thirty hours a week, on top of a full load of classes and my capstone research project and managing my fucking PTSD from my shitty abusive childhood. But that’s not exactly second date material. You don’t know me, Ronan. Not like you know Gansey, or even like I know Gansey. I want to change that, but you can’t go around making assumptions about what I feel and what I want you to do about it. I didn’t have any family — not in the way it counts — until Blue and Gansey and Henry came along. I’ve only applied to grad schools in and around Boston because I’ve built a life here. Did I sign up for you being high school besties with one of my closest friends? It came as a shock, of course it did, but it doesn’t change anything. I know what I want.” 

Ronan eyed him suspiciously, which did nothing but exasperate Adam, who felt like he’d done a pretty good job at the grand gestures thing so far. “You’re not just saying that because we have the same friend group and can’t avoid each other forever, right?” 

“Would you listen to me? No, I’m not. Now, get over here and kiss me before I jump you and knock over that entire shelf of pans.” 

For once, Ronan listened. In one swift movement, he crossed the room and held Adam close. Finally, finally, they kissed Adam. 

“I think I like bossy Adam.” 

Adam was definitely filing that away for later use. “You know Declan has been listening this whole time, right? Probably best not to go into all of your kinks just yet.” 

Ronan’s eyes widened but they managed to let out a breathy reply in Adam’s right ear. “My kinks? You don’t even know the half of it yet.” 

Adam gulped and slid his hand into Ronan’s so he could lead him back to the front of the store. In all likelihood, The Aurora was a far worse location to get hot and heavy with Ronan than Cabeswater. 

Declan was sitting at a table when they emerged, typing on his phone in a practiced way that exuded professionalism on the surface. Adam thought it looked like playacting, not that Declan would ever admit to eavesdropping. 

“Declan,” Mary called from behind the pastry cases. She rested a transparent plastic bag full of stacked pastry boxes onto the counter. 

“We’ll take ‘em,” Ronan said at one, gesturing to himself and Adam and sidling over to the counter for the bag. He didn’t bother to explain what exactly he was taking or where he was taking them to. Declan nodded, though, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.

Adam addressed Declan, “it was nice to meet you, Declan. You have a lovely shop.” 

Declan nodded once and offered his hand for Adam to shake. “Great to meet you as well, Adam. Give Gansey my regards.” 

“Alright, Dec, stop harassing my boyfriend.” Ronan started towards the door. “Parrish.” 

Adam couldn’t help his ridiculous grin when Ronan said “boyfriend.” He tried to school his features to murmur a quick goodbye to Declan and Mary, and then he followed Ronan out into the cold December night. 

“So, what is it that we’re doing?” 

Ronan shrugged. “A couple times a week we bring shit that’s too old to sell over to the homeless shelter. Usually Matthew does it, but he’s out of town for a tennis tournament.” 

Adam grinned up at Ronan. He felt lighter and happier than he had even when Ronan had called him his boyfriend. That reminded him: “Is boyfriend okay? I mean, for you?”

“Yeah, it is, for now anyway,” Ronan said, and Adam grinned triumphantly. Adam wondered if, down the line, Ronan would prefer something gender-neutral like partner or significant other. A funny jolt spasmed through his heart as he realized just how much he wanted to get to down the line.

Adam turned back to Ronan. If he was lucky, Ronan would be his future, but right now it was enough that Ronan was his present. “I love that my boyfriend and their family give back to the community.” 

Adam could see a blush on Ronan’s face, and he wanted to point it out but he knew Ronan would just blame it on the frigid wind. 

Ronan changed the subject. “Tell me about your research project. If you’re not sick of talking about it, I mean.” 

“No, I’d love to tell you. So the grad programs I’m applying to are for molecular biology with a concentration in epigenetics.” One glance at Ronan showed Adam that they were already a little lost. “That’s basically the interaction between environment and genes. Sometimes we have genes in us programmed for various things — a certain metabolism, or depression, for example — but they don’t present until they are turned on, so to speak, by environmental factors. So I’m really interested in continuing the research on the relationship between emotional trauma and epigenetics. I’ve already met the epigenetics professor in Harvard’s grad school, and if I’m lucky enough to get into the program, he would be the perfect advisor for a thesis in this. But for my undergrad capstone, it’s just a research project — I can’t do any experimental studies of my own. I’m doing a metadata analysis, which basically means I’m looking at a bunch of the studies that have already been done, specifically focusing on childhood trauma, and drawing conclusions based on that.”

Ronan looked stunned. “Damn, Parrish. I’m pretty sure I only got about a third of that. You really are a genius. You go to Harvard or something?”

“Oh, shut up,” Adam said, but he was smiling. “Tell me something complicated about baking and we’ll be even.”

Ronan obliged him. “Declan’s not a baker, he’s just the business guy. No matter how many times I tell him, he doesn’t seem to understand that the temperature and consistency of butter affects the final product! Softening butter isn’t the same thing as melting it, not unless you want disappointed customers. And then he’ll get confused when I ask him to keep some butter cold in the fridge for pastry dough and some butter out in room-temperature so I don’t have to wait for it to soften for cakes and cookies.”

“I’m somehow impressed that you managed to make that more of a complaint about your brother than a lesson on butter.”

Ronan flashed a wicked grin at Adam. “And don’t forget it. I’ve got more where that came from. Do you wanna hear my top ten?” 

Adam laughed. “Of course I do,” he said, and let Ronan lead him down the street.

— 

The following Saturday, Adam lounged on the plush green couch in his apartment as he read for one of his Monday classes. He pulled the coffee table close so he could rest his feet against the edge as he propped his textbook and notes against his knees. 

Tonight, his goal was to be as relaxed as possible while still maintaining his productivity. Henry was nowhere to be found, so he could spread out; indeed, the kitchen table was piled with opened books and loose handouts from class. His weekly planner was halfway hanging off the counter by the microwave from when he had been waiting for his hot chocolate to heat. He had dimmed the lights just a little bit and turned on the string of fairy lights Henry had woven around the room. He lit some amber-scented incense, a gift from Blue, and changed into his most comfortable pajama pants, the ones with the little silver bells and candy canes printed on them. 

He and Ronan had been texting all week. Adam didn’t know how he would explain this development when he saw Gansey next; it might cause a heart attack or some sort of seizure. Regardless, he knew Ronan had left him on read earlier when he had asked Ronan out for lunch after church tomorrow, but he didn’t have the time to get too concerned over it. Finals were fast approaching. 

The door swung open revealing Gansey, Blue, Henry, and Ronan. Sudden noises still gave Adam a knee-jerk reaction so he jumped, drawing an errant line across his paper. 

“Surprise!” Blue shouted. She sounded tipsy. Adam let his eyes wander over the figures of his friends, and that’s when he noticed the canvass grocery bags hanging from Ronan and Henry’s arms. Adam hauled himself up to go make space on the kitchen table, and as he did so, Gansey popped open a can of what looked suspiciously like a Straw-ber-ita. 

Ronan caught his eye, looked back at Gansey’s fruity little canned drink, and curled his lips in disgust. Adam couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. He pulled Ronan in for a kiss when he thought the others weren’t looking, but this calculation was misled at best. Gansey, however, seemed almost as delighted as Ronan. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked to no one in particular. The last g dropped off the end of the word as he registered Ronan taking in his thrifted Harvard tee and Christmas-themed pajama bottoms. 

“We’ve noticed how hard you’ve been working these past couple weeks,” Gansey said. “So we figured we’d treat you to a night in.” 

“Blue and I picked out face masks,” Henry chimed in. 

“You didn’t— thank you.” Adam wanted to tell them all that he loved them — he was training himself to get in the habit of showing his appreciation more readily — but he knew that would hold a different meaning with Ronan present. Adam didn’t know Ronan completely enough yet to be certain about something like love, but he suspected he was well on his way to that place. 

“It was Lynch’s idea,” Blue said with a shrug as she handed Ronan a beer. They made a face at her but accepted it anyway, removing the bottle’s cap, somehow, with their phone case. Gansey frowned at Ronan as they repeated the gesture on a second beer, which they then handed to Adam. 

The five of them gathered in the living room, but between the couch and the armchair, they really only had space for four. Ronan didn’t hesitate in plopping down heavily on Adam’s lap; ordinarily, Adam would have been embarrassed, but his heart was too full to the brim with affection for his friends and especially for Ronan for there to be room for anything else. He kissed Ronan’s shoulder, bare as it was since he had removed his leather jacket a few minutes prior. A dark tattoo snaked out from under the neckline of the shirt — Adam had noticed it before, but he had never had the chance to properly explore it. He wondered if they would get in trouble with Gansey for sneaking off to Adam’s bedroom. 

Softly, just for Adam, Ronan whispered, “if you’d like, you can come over to my place tomorrow after church and I can cook you lunch.”

Adam shivered at the images this idea conjured up. “Deal. As long as you don’t change from your church suit.” 

“I’m right here,” Blue complained from Adam’s side. “Do you really have to talk about your suit kink now ?”

“She probably gets all hot and bothered over Dick wearing, like, an old t-shirt,” Ronan whispered into Adam’s ear. Adam again became acutely aware that he was wearing an old t-shirt. 

“Rule number one,” Henry intoned as he doled out sheet masks, “is that we are not couples tonight.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, and Ronan made no moves to extricate himself from Adam’s lap. Gansey said, “we’re going to table the topic of potential partners for Henry since now is not the time, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about it.” 

Adam almost wished Gansey had set him up with Ronan years ago. The prospect of having all that extra time with Ronan tugged at his heart, but he knew he wouldn’t have been ready for Ronan.

“Rule number two: music will be played from my Spotify playlist, but anyone can add their requests to the queue. Except Lynch — your music taste is abysmal.” 

“Fuck a donkey, Cheng. This is why you’re single.” Adam sniggered against Ronan’s chest even though he fully agreed with Henry. 

“Hey now, I’m single because I don’t believe in dating apps and—”

“And you’re still hung up on Czerny, clearly,” Ronan pointed out. Henry pinked. 

“Czerny?” Adam asked. 

“Noah Czerny,” Gansey supplied. “Another friend of ours from high school. He’s who Henry stayed with in LA over the summer.”

The name was familiar — Gansey and Henry had mentioned him plenty of times when regaling Adam and Blue with their prep school escapades. It was familiar in the way that Ronan’s name had been familiar, and Adam wondered if he ran into Noah Czerny at random he would fail to recognize him as well.

“He told me he’s thinking about moving up to Boston after graduation,” Blue said. 

“Really?” Gansey asked. “That’s the first I’m hearing of this. Fantastic!”

“I disagree with this topic of conversation, so I am going to go stick the pizza rolls in the oven,” Henry announced. 

Adam flipped through his memories, trying to recall every mention of Noah from the past five months. Over the summer, Henry had spent a month or so in California for Vidcon and YouTube collaborations. Adam knew he’d had a fling, but he didn’t know it had been with an old high school friend. As soon as Henry was out of earshot, Adam asked, “so what’s the story there?”

“Noah goes to UCLA but he’s actually a pretty popular Twitch streamer. Henry spent the summer with him and they were, I don’t know, friends with benefits?” Gansey explained. 

“Fuckbuddies,” Ronan agreed. Adam did not enjoy hearing the word “fuckbuddies” come out of Ronan’s mouth while they sat atop Adam’s lap, which meant he definitely did enjoy it.

Adam turned to Blue. “If he lives in LA, how do you know him? You knew that he might move up here before Gansey did.” 

She shrugged. “I met him when Gansey and I visited his family for his birthday last year. Noah was in town.” 

“They got along famously.” Gansey beamed. “You Skype with him twice a month, don’t you, Jane?”

“Yes!” she agreed. “He’s a lot of fun, and way more down-to-earth than I expected from anyone who lives in LA."

“I’ll give Noah a call tomorrow!” Gansey said. “You know what — Noah can take the spare bedroom in Monmouth, unless you or Henry wants to move in after graduation.” He looked at Adam. 

“I don’t even know what next month looks like,” Adam said, raising his hands in surrender. “Ask me again in April.” 

In his periphery, Adam saw Blue mouthing to Ronan. She was exceptionally bad at it, but Adam had been reading lips since he was seventeen. He shot a glare to Blue and she glared back.

Henry emerged from the kitchen with a platter full of pizza rolls. “Alright, I’m back. You can stop talking about Czerny now.” 

“Guilty,” Blue said, but she did not look guilty.

“I propose we talk about Lynch,” Henry continued. “And how grateful we are that someone was able to pull him away from that bakery to come hang out.” 

“You had to let him go to the same college as you,” Ronan complained to Gansey. Adam nudged them with his shoulder. 

“Are they always like this together?” Adam asked Gansey, who pulled his gaze from Henry to face him. 

Gansey nodded. “I’d say it’s better when Noah’s here too, but after last summer I suppose that would no longer be true.” 

“I can’t wait to see that,” Ronan said with a snort. “Cheng and Czerny’s big ol’ reunion. It’ll make me n’ Parrish look like fucking Kate and William.”

“You think we were bad at getting our shit together?” Adam asked. “It took Blue and Gansey, like, a month to tell me they were dating because they didn’t want to hurt me, even though I told them I had moved on.”

“Okay!” Gansey stood up to diffuse the bickering before it escalated. “Why don’t we watch something? Any suggestions?”

“ Say Yes to the Dress,” Henry said. 

“ Paul Blart: Mall Cop, ” Ronan argued. 

“I say we let them fight it out,” Adam decided. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Henry asked.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Ronan confirmed, and Adam shifted over to leave space. 

They tied four times, and while Gansey refused to pick sides, Blue decided on The Great British Bake Off. Adam couldn’t complain: between Ronan’s unrelenting baking opinions and Gansey’s anecdotes about his semester at Oxford, he spent the entire night laughing.

— 

Ronan lived alone in a snug one-bedroom two blocks down from The Aurora. Adam stared out at the city from the glass elevator; if he looked hard enough, he could make out the individual ravens in a flock nestled upon the eave on a CVS. 

“Twelve,” a faceless voice intoned from the elevator, and already this felt like a different world from Adam’s shitty student apartment. 

In front of Ronan’s door, a welcome mat greeted Adam. It said, quite eloquently, “fuck off.” Adam grinned. 

He knocked three times and heard a shout that sounded like “come in!” but also could have been a number of other things. Tentatively, Adam stepped inside and hung his coat on a peg right next to Ronan’s famed leather jacket. He ran his hands along the supple leather just to be self-indulgent, and his hearing ear faced the door, so he didn’t notice Ronan approaching. 

As promised, Ronan still wore their church suit, minus the jacket. The sleeves of their button-down were rolled to the elbows, and the tie looked to be in danger of abdicating the affair entirely. Adam had to wonder if this is what Ronan had once looked like in their  private school uniform. On top of the ensemble, they wore an apron, green as the summer trees in Adam’s hometown. “Kiss me, I’m Irish,” it read, so Adam did. 

“I’m going to have to thank Matty for this apron, again,” Ronan said when Adam pulled back, though the quip was somewhat lost in his breathlessness. 

“It smells great! What are you making?” 

“Vegetable omelets. Right now I’ve just got some onions caramelizing on the stove.” 

Ronan led him into the kitchen and motioned for Adam to sit on a barstool at the island. Adam’s eyes roamed the open layout of the apartment. The furniture was dark and textured and decidedly expensive. Adam could make out a wink of the Charles River, glimmering in the early afternoon light, through the large windows in the living room. A small balcony was outfitted with plants in a variety of sizes, and Adam recognized the handmade pots from the bakery. 

He joined Ronan at the island. Ronan stood on the other side, facing Adam, whisk in hand. Adam didn’t say anything as he watched Ronan crack two eggs each into two white ceramic bowls. The eggs came from an unadorned carton that simply read “Beacon Street Farmer’s Market” in blue ink. 

Ronan added lemon juice, cream, and salt into the eggs before whisking. Adam asked after the ingredients: “I thought it was just eggs in anomelet.” He felt a little foolish talking cooking to a professional baker. 

“It can be,” Ronan agreed, unperturbed. “The cream gives it a richer flavor and texture, and adding an acid like lemon juice helps to enhance the flavors.” 

Adam nodded even as he could feel himself frowning. 

“What?” Ronan met his eyes, and there was no judgement. 

“It’s just….” Adam sighed. “I’ve never really done any cooking before. I guess there’s more to it than I thought.” He didn’t add that once he graduated, he’d be off the Harvard meal plan, and he would have to fend for himself in the kitchen. 

“I can teach you, if you want. The basics,” Ronan offered. He said it with the practiced nonchalance of someone who was never nonchalant. 

“I can’t ask you to do that. You cook all day for work.” 

“Bake,” Ronan corrected. “Baking is chemistry. You can experiment with flavors and form but not with anything else. Cooking allows for much more freedom.” Adam had always known he was some type of nerd, but the idea of the science of cooking fascinated him and made it seem far more approachable all at once. Ronan continued, “I’d be happy to do it.” 

“Okay.” Adam smiled up at Ronan. He really did need to learn how to cook, but he was eager for any excuse to spend time with Ronan. 

Adam listened as Ronan explained how he had sautéed the onions, and why he had chosen this type of mushroom, and the benefits of nonstick versus cast iron skillets. He watched Ronan mix and flip and chop, and he wanted those hands on him. Ronan was his boyfriend now: Adam was allowed to ask for what he wanted. Ronan frowned in confusion as Adam rose from the barstool, and his movements stilled as Adam placed a kiss on the side of Ronan’s jaw.

“Turn off the stove,” he instructed in a low voice between kisses. Ronan complied without complaint. Adam didn’t know how far Ronan was willing to go right now, just six days after they had put an official label on their relationship. But Ronan growled “bedroom?” and Adam confirmed with a kiss, hard and deep. 

He let Ronan lead him around the island and to the left, but he really wasn’t paying attention because he was focused on untying the knots in Ronan’s apron. Once that was taken care of, he began working on the buttons of Ronan’s shirt. Every time his hands met the warm skin of Ronan’s chest, the electric tension between them grew. Adam should have considered this before, when he had requested the presence of Ronan’s suit. Perhaps he should have just asked Ronan to answer the door wearing only the apron; yes, that would have been easier. 

Shirtless, Ronan pushed Adam down onto the bed and straddled him, mouthing wetly at his collarbones as he pulled Adam’s sweater off of him in one swift movement. Adam’s ego boosted from the feeling of Ronan’s heavy gaze raking over his body. He allowed Ronan to kiss down his stomach and strip him down completely before he met Ronan’s mouth with his once more. This kiss was hungrier, and he could see it in Ronan’s eyes that it wasn’t just physical. Adam wasn’t sure if his own heart or body ached for Ronan more, but he didn’t have to choose. 

Adam reached for the clasp on Ronan’s pants, searching their gaze. Ronan nodded, and Adam pulled them off of Ronan along with their boxer briefs. Then, before Ronan could anticipate it, he flipped them over so that he was atop Ronan and motioned for Ronan to get on his back. 

“Little early for that, dontcha think?” Ronan teased, but it was all breathy and hoarse. Adam choked on his laughter. “You’re such an asshole,” he said, making Ronan laugh from his accidental double entendre. Adam straddled Ronan and traced the lines of their tattoo first with his eyes, then with his fingers, then with his mouth. 

“If you keep doing that I won’t last very long,” Ronan warned. Adam flipped him over again, so he could see Ronan’s face. 

“Well we can’t have that,” he said, doing his best to put a sweet cadence to his words. “I’m just getting started with you.” 

—

After, curled up with Ronan on the most comfortable mattress he’d ever felt, Adam felt more at peace, internally, than he had ever felt before. And yet, there was so much to be done: he hadn’t finished his reading for class tomorrow, and he had emails to answer, and when would he even find the time to learn how to cook? Ronan kissed right between his eyebrows, and he let out a little involuntary sigh. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Ronan whispered, and Adam felt his eyelids flutter closed from the warm breath on his skin. 

He woke up half an hour later to the scent of toast and eggs. Ronan had broughta wide tray with their lunch into the bedroom, and Adam sat up, groggy and sheepish. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

Ronan waved him off but smirked nonetheless. “You deserved it after that….” His eyes raked over Adam’s bare skin. “Performance.” 

Adam blushed deeply and looked around the room for his boxers and shirt. Ronan had changed into jeans and a t-shirt with tears in one shoulder. Adam reached up and toyed with the strands of ripped cotton. 

“Chainsaw,” Ronan grumbled, and Adam laughed because he did not understand what Ronan meant. “My bird. I locked her in the bathroom today because I don’t like her watching me… you know.” 

Adam knew. “So is that a common occurrence, then?” he teased. 

“No!” Ronan said a little too loudly. “I mean, you know I don’t do casual. So it’s not. Sometimes I spend time with, um, myself….” 

“So do I,” Adam said brightly. He enjoyed the deep red of Ronan’s cheeks. “You’re giving me lots of ideas, Lynch.”

“I, uh… how do you take your coffee?” Ronan asked, a little desperately, and Adam laughed.

“Just a little milk.” 

Adam watched Ronan’s hands, the same way he had done so earlier, as Ronan poured the milk from a ceramic beaker. Adam accepted the coffee gratefully, and he took a long sip, sighing as he felt the rest of his neurons spark to life. 

Ronan gestured to the food laid out before them, and Adam nodded, but he did not set his coffee down. The warmth of the mug grounded him, and he so easily felt like he could slip away into his thoughts. He wanted to be present here in this moment, to savor it even though he knew that he would be able to have so many more like it in the future. It was too perfect.

If Adam put the mug down, he might tell Ronan he was falling in love with them, or that this apartment was so Ronan that it felt like the most real thing he’d ever seen, or something else equally as true and ridiculous. 

“Can I meet her? Chainsaw?” Adam asked instead. 

Ronan nodded, gesturing absentmindedly with his knife to the bathroom door. “Yeah, after we eat. Otherwise you might have to fight a raven to the death for your lunch.” 

“You never said she was a raven ,” Adam said, a little exasperated and plenty fond. “I was expecting, like, a cockatiel. Nobody actually owns corvids as pets.” 

“I do.” Ronan flashed his straight bright teeth. “Besides, you’ve already seen my cockatiel.” 

Adam burst out laughing. He had to finally set down the mug on the nightstand or risk spilling coffee all over Ronan’s plush comforter. “You keep surprising me, Ronan Lynch.” 

Something about the way he said Ronan’s name seemed like a prayer, and Ronan, ever the churchgoer, certainly picked up on it. Adam grabbed his utensils and worked on slicing his omelet for something to do. He bit into the eggs, creamy and savory and the best eggs he had ever tasted. 

Adam wished that Ronan would crack another joke, but they just said, “you’re always surprising me, too, Adam Parrish.” They said it less like a prayer and more like a revelation, like a fact they would go to the ends of the earth to prove. Ronan paused for one long moment. “For example, I did not think anyone was capable of being that flexible.” 

Adam choked on a bite of omelet. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m eating your food, you asshole.” But again, he said it fondly. “And anyway, it’s not my fault you don’t stretch.” 

“Oh, I bet you do yoga with the Cabeswater ladies, don’t you? Right after a reiki session.” 

Adam was proud of Ronan for resisting the low-hanging fruit that was a dirty yoga positions joke. “I never have actually done yoga. Reiki, once or twice. Can’t be mildly psychic with unbalanced energy.” He shrugged. 

Ronan’s eyes widened and they pointed their fork at Adam. “Shut the fuck up, you are not psychic,” he said, not unkindly. 

“Am too. At least, that’s what Persephone says, and the others agree. I can’t like, make predictions or anything, but I’m pretty good at tarot.” 

“Prove it.” 

Adam rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t have a tarot deck, Ronan. Tell you what: next time you come over to Cabeswater, I’ll do a reading for you, if that doesn’t offend your Catholic sensibilities.” 

“I don’t know if I believe in that sort of thing,” Ronan said, and Adam nodded, “but weirder fucking things have happened.” 

A cooing interrupted their conversation, but it came from the wrong direction to be Chainsaw. Adam looked up above the doorway and saw an analog clock with a different bird printed at each hour. Currently, the short hand pointed to the two, a blue jay. 

“We’re learning new things, today,” Adam said. “I’m a little bit psychic, and you own a bird clock.” 

“Oh, shut it, it’s from my mom.” 

“I have to leave at three, by the way — so, the cardinal. But tell me about your mom.” 

Ronan’s face softened. He told Adam about her pottery, and her cute little ranch out in Amherst, and the stray cats she’d adopted at the cute little ranch out in Amherst. He pulled his phone out to show Adam the pictures. “That one’s Gasoline, and Tomato Bisque, and there’s Boysenberry in the corner. Tomato Bisque again, and next to her is Nether Realm which is funny since they hate each other. Nether’s sister is Aether; they’re bonded, and he’s been especially protective over her since she lost the eye. Yeah, she’s doing well. Oh, this one is Spangletooth — no, actually, Matty named him. The last one is Lucy, and she’s why we don’t let Declan name the cats anymore.” 

The cats were all very cute, but Adam was most taken by the pictures of the ranch. It looked like a place to come home to. He didn’t know what to do with that thought, so he kissed Ronan. 

They could build this life together. It was too much too soon, but it was everything Adam wanted in life and more. It was everything he never thought he’d be able to have. It was everything he had longed for after all these months of hearing Blue and Gansey wax poetic about each other to him. He tried to convey that in a single kiss. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, but he had plenty of time to get it right.