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“I don’t know where Ronan is,” Gansey said, looking up from his phone and glancing at Adam, “but since that puts us at seven forwards, we’ll just roll the bench. Please remember to call your positions when you’re coming off the ice so we don’t end up with three people all thinking they’re playing right wing again. Sound good?”
Gansey kept his eyes on Adam as if he might have some secret knowledge about where Ronan was; Adam shrugged, hoping that his blush wasn’t noticeable through the cage of his helmet. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking to assume that they’d been discreet in their postgame makeouts in the back of Ronan’s car, or that Ronan wasn’t the kind of guy who kissed and told. At the very least, Adam trusted Gansey to keep whatever he knew under wraps, questioning glances aside.
Half the team had already left the locker room when Ronan shouldered through the doorway. “The man of the hour!” Gansey said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Alright everyone, change of plans—we’ll roll forwards until Ronan comes out, then go to what we did last week with two centers and three sets of wings.”
Ronan nodded, shoving someone’s bag aside and dropping his own on the floor; he rubbed a hand over his face a few times before starting to undress. Adam waited until the rest of the team had left before approaching. “Hey,” he said softly, tapping Ronan’s calf with his stick. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fucked up my pregame nap alarm.”
“You sound like shit.”
“I just woke up, cut me some slack.”
Given that Ronan had driven a half hour to the rink, he clearly hadn’t ‘just woken up,’ but Adam wasn’t about to argue while Ronan was trying to get dressed as quickly as possible. “Alright,” he said instead. “See you out there.”
Ronan made it to the bench just as warmups were ending, wedging himself into the pregame huddle where Gansey was giving a pep talk about how even though they beat the Hornets last time, they shouldn’t let their guard down. Everyone took their places—Adam and Blue playfully shoved at each other while Gansey and Henry got in position for the faceoff. The game got off to a decent start—Adam scored about halfway through the first period, bumping fists with Ronan when he got back to the bench.
“Looking good out there,” Ronan said, resting his hand on Adam’s lower back in a surprisingly sweet, subtle gesture. Even though he was decidedly out of the post-nap period, he still sounded off, slightly hoarse with his consonants a little blunted.
Adam bonked his helmet against Ronan’s and smiled. “Thanks.” After a moment, he asked, “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Probably coming down with something.” With a one-sided shrug, Ronan took his hand off Adam’s back. “What I get for working with kids.”
Before Adam could reply, Ronan was going on for Carla, leaving him with the mental image of Ronan with a classroom of kindergarteners or something like that. He shook his head as if to clear it, focusing on the game and—yeah, something was definitely up with Ronan. His playing had improved in the previous few weeks, but tonight he was just off ; he fell, missed an easy pass, and lagged behind the action, taking too long to change directions. Near the end of the period, when it was his turn to go on for another shift, Rhian had to call his name twice, and Gansey ended up shaking his shoulder and giving him a little shove to his feet.
In the second period, after a minute-long shift, Ronan stumbled off the ice and ducked into the far corner of the bench where everyone left their spare sticks. He braced one forearm against the glass as he unfastened his cage and coughed into his elbow. Gansey got to his feet after a few seconds and joined Ronan in the corner; Adam stood as well, hovering close enough to hear.
“Ronan, you can’t play like this,” Gansey said, voice gentle but firm.
“I’ll be fine. Get me my water?” Taking the opportunity, Adam grabbed the sticker-covered bottle and bumped it against Ronan’s shoulder; Ronan squirted a long stream into his mouth. “Thanks. You two can go—just needed a minute to catch my breath.”
Gansey shook his head. “You’re clearly unwell. If you won’t do it for me, do it to keep from infecting the whole team.”
Pressing his lips together, Ronan’s serious expression was undermined by his having to turn away to cough a few times. “Fine.”
“Why don’t you go to my place?” Adam piped up, resting his glove against Ronan’s back. With a nod at Adam, Gansey stepped back, and Adam went on, “Get in my bed— shower , then get in bed. I’ll be back after the game.”
For a moment, it looked like Ronan might argue, but he nodded instead, leaning against Adam a little more heavily. “Thanks.”
“Of course. And please , take something for that cough—everything’s under the bathroom sink.”
With a measured breath, Ronan nodded again, then grabbed his stick and left.
Adam opened the front door as quietly as possible, lifting it up just enough that the hinge wouldn’t squeak, and tried not to think too much about the fact that he was coming home to Ronan, who was presently in his bed . It had taken him and Blue months to get to sleepovers, and while Adam had certainly grown up since then, he was still protective of his space. He needed a few minutes to prepare himself for the sight of Ronan tangled in his sheets; he also needed a snack. Easily navigating to the kitchen in the dark, he set the bag with his dirty clothes and towel on top of the washer, spent too long deliberating which flavor of yogurt he wanted, and went to the living room.
He flipped on the light and screamed, his spoon and yogurt clattering to the floor.
Ronan, his head on the arm of the couch, shot up with a gasp.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ronan,” Adam said, picking up the miraculously-unharmed yogurt; it was a good thing that he hadn’t taken one of the fancy ones in the glass jars that Blue had gotten him hooked on. “I told you to take my bed.”
After rubbing at his eyes for a moment, Ronan squinted up at Adam. “Wanted to get my fever down before I took a shower. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Sitting beside him, Adam pressed a hand to Ronan’s forehead, then tugged at the back of his sweat-soaked shirt. “Well, it’s definitely down now. C’mon, shower and bed.”
“I figured I’d sleep out here anyway,” Ronan said, getting to his feet; he stood still for a few seconds, hand on the wall, before starting toward the bathroom. “Don’t want to get you sick.”
Adam laughed, a little snort not unlike Ronan’s own laugh. “I made out with you for like, two hours after Thursday’s skate. I’m already fucked.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Go start the water, I’ll find you something to wear.”
Ronan did as he was told, and when Adam returned with a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, he was already in the shower, the curtain blocking Adam’s view of him. Obviously, Adam had seen him shower before, but something about it being in his own home felt different. Intimate. He set the clothes and a towel on the toilet and went back to the living room, finally able to curl up in the big armchair and eat his post-game snack. (He’d ended up choosing the mint chocolate cookie yogurt—basically dessert, but with protein.)
He was puttering around the apartment—neatening up his room, setting up the coffee maker for the next morning (and making double his usual amount,) changing into what he thought was the cutest sleep shirt he owned—when he heard Ronan calling out his name. Opening the door a fraction, Adam asked, “You need something?”
“Uh.” Ronan was quiet for a moment. “C’you help me up?”
Adam pushed the door open entirely, absolutely terrified that he’d been caught up in his own head and missed the sound of Ronan slipping and falling. Instead, mercifully, Ronan was sitting, uninjured, in the shower, curtain pulled back.
“’m really dizzy.” He sounded shy, decidedly un-Ronan-like.
“Probably the heat.” Unfolding the towel, Adam threw it around Ronan’s shoulders.
Ronan shrugged. “Maybe. Whenever I get sick it goes right to my sinuses ‘n’ my ears ‘n’ my balance gets all fucked up.”
“And yet you drove twenty miles to go play a fast-moving collision sport.” Adam looped one arm through Ronan’s, bracing his leg against the side of the tub. “Up on three?”
The walk to the bedroom was slow, and Ronan had to pause with his hand on the wall once, but they made it. While Ronan dressed himself—maneuvering carefully, not bending over—Adam gathered water and tissues and medication and a few other things he figured they might need overnight. He managed to fit everything on the bedside table (although he had to move his book into the drawer alongside his tarot deck), plugging in his phone after and setting it underneath a sleeve of saltines.
“You don’t need to do all this,” Ronan said, even though he was already in Adam’s bed, head on Adam’s pillow, wearing Adam’s clothes.
“Pretty sure I said the same thing when I couldn’t walk unassisted.”
“Yeah, but—” Pausing, Ronan’s breath caught, then hovered for a moment before he ducked his face under the comforter and sneezed twice. “Sorry.” Adam shook his head, smoothing his hand over Ronan’s head. “It’s different.”
As if Ronan had hair to push back, Adam trailed his fingers over his forehead and behind his ear. “I don’t think so. I was hurt, you helped me; you’re sick, I’m helping you.”
“You didn’t stay at my place.”
“If you were the one whose apartment was around the corner from the rink, I’m sure I would have.” Brushing his fingers over the back of Ronan’s neck before unnecessarily adjusting the covers around him, Adam sighed softly. “But no, I don’t need to do this. I want to, though.”
Ronan hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks.”
“Good. Now scoot, this is my side.” Ronan scooted, and Adam slid in behind him, putting an arm around his waist. After a moment, he slipped his hand under Ronan’s shirt, his abdomen firm and warm under Adam’s palm. “Wake me up if you need anything.”
“I’m not gonna wake you up.”
“You can try, but I’m basically the lightest sleeper known to man.”
Twisting around, Ronan let out an exasperated little grunt. “If I’m gonna keep you up all night, I’m just gonna go stay on the couch.” Adam tightened his arm around Ronan’s waist. “You seriously trying to keep me here?”
Adam nodded. “I could take you. You’re compromised.”
“You’re gonna fight a man while he’s down? Dirty move.”
“I can and I will.” Nudging Ronan’s shoulder with his nose, Adam insisted, “Roll over and go to sleep.”
Finally without protest, Ronan lay back down, fitting himself against Adam’s big spoon. “I’ll try to be quiet while I sneeze myself to death.”
“Only if I inherit your gear when you do.”
“Sure as hell wouldn’t fit Gansey, so, sure.”
Gently, hesitantly, Adam pressed a kiss to the back of Ronan’s neck; he felt the other man shiver, but from the temperature of his skin, Adam had a feeling it wasn’t from fever. “Hope you feel better when you wake up.”
Ronan put his hand over Adam’s, brushing their thumbs together. “Unlikely, but thanks. Sleep well.”
This was all so domestic—cuddling, goodnight kisses, Ronan wearing Adam’s clothes. It was unexpected, certainly, but nice.
Waking up to Ronan coughing at two AM was somehow still domestic, not entirely unexpected, but significantly less nice. In the time it took Adam to wake up and get his heart to stop racing, Ronan had pulled out of his arms and was coughing into his elbow, clearly trying to be quiet.
“Hey,” Adam murmured, rubbing his hand over Ronan’s back. “‘s okay to let it out. ‘m already awake.”
“Shit.” In between coughs, Ronan’s voice was rough, and Adam’s heart twisted. “Sorry.” He squirmed away from Adam and attempted to shove the blankets off, a tired, uncoordinated dance of trying to cover his cough and get out of bed.
Adam pushed himself up as well, turning on the light and pressing his hand to Ronan’s chest to keep him in place. “Easy, Lynch, easy.” Ronan shook his head, and Adam pushed against Ronan with a little more force. “Sit back.”
Apparently that was all it took; Ronan, breathing somewhat normally now, sat with his back against the wall. Adam passed him a glass of water, watching as Ronan took a few small sips, clearing his throat after. “Told you I’d end up waking you up.”
“And I told you I don’t mind.” Touching the side of Ronan’s neck, Adam frowned. “Think your fever’s back. And that cough sounds awful .”
“Figured.” Ronan knuckled at the side of his nose, gave an ineffectual sniffle, and coughed once. “I think my lungs are okay, actually,” he explained as he massaged at his cheekbones, “Just all this shit, and I can’t fucking breathe through my nose.”
He looked and sounded absolutely miserable, worse than he did when Gansey had told him to go home. After an elaborate back and forth of pills and water and the tissue box, Ronan finally seemed settled, although still visibly uncomfortable. While he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, Adam put a hand on his thigh. “Lie back down, try to go back to sleep?”
Ronan shook his head, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “Gonna be up for a while, until the meds kick in. I’m gonna go wait it out in the living room.”
“Are you always this self-sacrificing, or just with me?” Getting on his knees, Adam looked directly at Ronan.
“What?”
“Like, would you stop being a pain in the ass about letting me look after you if I were your boyfriend and not just some guy you hook up with after hockey?”
With a breath of a laugh, Ronan shook his head. “You’re not just some guy.”
“Then lie down,” Adam instructed, tugging at the blanket covering Ronan’s lap. It would be easy to prod Ronan again, to ask directly about what the fuck this was , but he’d already asked the question; he couldn’t bear to do it again. “I’m not letting you go stumble around in the dark and risk cracking your head open so you can sleep on my tiny-ass couch. Just shut up and get comfortable, okay?”
After a long pause, the only sound that of Ronan’s congested mouth-breathing, he actually listened, moving down in the bed so that his head was on the pillow. Quickly, so as not to miss his chance, Adam shut off the light and lay down as well. Almost immediately, Ronan wrapped himself around Adam, hooking their legs together and putting his head on Adam’s chest. He was warm—too warm—against Adam’s side, but the pressure of his body was calming, like a weighted blanket (albeit one that kept sniffling.)
“If you were my boyfriend,” Ronan said, not lifting his head from Adam’s chest, “would you play with my hair?”
“Hate to break it to you, but you don’t really have enough for me to play with.” It was a good thing Ronan couldn’t see Adam’s face like this, because there was no hiding the smile that spread across his face.
“I used to.”
There was no reason for that sentence to hurt the way that it did, but it hit Adam in the chest all the same, whiplash from that little spark of joy seconds earlier. There was still so much he didn’t know about Ronan—just these little bits and pieces about his life, his past. Wordlessly, Adam put one hand on Ronan’s scalp, trailing his fingers over his stubble and smoothing his palm down the back of his head. “Like this?”
Ronan nodded. “Yeah. ‘s really nice.”
“You gonna be able to fall asleep if I keep it up?”
Another nod. “Think so.”
“We gonna talk about the whole boyfriend thing before you do?”
While Ronan’s little snort-laugh was endearing, it didn’t translate well to having a head cold; he ducked his head toward his chest, coughing a few times. When he settled his head on Adam’s chest again, he apologized and said, “You’re playing with my hair and I’m trying to be a good patient; I think the answer’s pretty clear.”
“Say it, though?” Maybe it was a little desperate—Ronan was right about it being obvious what side of the fence they’d landed on—but Adam needed to hear it.
Ronan lifted his head just enough to meet Adam’s gaze, his own eyes somehow both bleary and bright. “Yeah, Parrish, I’ll be your boyfriend.” He let Adam guide his head back down and go back to stroking his hair. “Wish you would’ve asked me when I could actually kiss you.”
“I suppose this’ll have to do for now,” Adam said, tilting his head and kissing Ronan’s stubbly hair. “Celebratory takeout brunch tomorrow?”
Nodding, Ronan took Adam’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Only if there’s virgin mimosas to toast with.”
“Isn’t that just orange juice?”
“And seltzer. Gotta have the bubbles.”
“Oh course, the bubbles.” Adam moved his hand down from Ronan’s head toward his back, rucking his shirt up enough to press his palm against his boyfriend’s low back. “Sleep first, though.”
Ronan nodded again, this time followed by a yawn. Or at least, Adam thought it was a yawn, but a second later Ronan pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover his face as he sneezed twice, then twice more after a pause. “You’re one hundred percent going to catch this, you know.”
“Bless you.” Once Ronan was nestled against Adam’s chest again, Adam tugged him a little closer with the hand on his back. “You’d better look after me when I do.”
“Oh, I’ll go full housewife on you. I make a mean mushroom and barley soup, just ask Gansey.”
With a laugh, Adam shook his head. “We’re going right from boyfriend to housewife?”
“Look, this soup is decidedly marriage material.”
“So now I’m marrying the soup?”
Ronan pressed his face against Adam’s chest, into the soft area above his armpit; his breath was warm through Adam’s shirt when he spoke. “We should table this conversation for when I’m not borderline delirious.”
“Sure thing. Now will you please try to sleep?” Ronan nodded in reply, and Adam kissed the top of his head while Ronan squirmed back into a comfortable position. “Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.”
In spite of his protesting that he’d need to wait for the medication to kick in before he could sleep, Ronan was out cold after a few minutes. Adam stayed up a little longer, running his thumb over Ronan’s lower back, finally settling his hand over his hip before drifting off to sleep.