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If it had been anybody but Ronan, Adam would have assumed it was pity. The closest thing it could be would be good old fashioned Christian charity - the whole ‘opening up the house for the impoverished in the winter months.’ thing.
But it wasn’t some off-brand Dickens novel. It was the heater in St Agnes’ crapping out and Ronan pointing out that he had a spare room in the Barns.
In all honesty, Adam would have preferred to not stay with Ronan. It was nothing against him, or against his home, but it was the idea of the… proximity. Being trapped in a house, practically alone, with Ronan, who had a habit of wandering around half naked -
It was enough to drive a man insane.
But it was really cold, the kind of cold that made him feel like he’d never get warm again, in St Agnes’; and he’d sell his organs for a new heater before he stayed over at Monmouth; and there wasn’t any space for him to stay at Fox Way, no matter how much the women there would be kind about hosting him.
So the Barns it was.
And it had been… interesting, so far.
Largely, they kept to themselves. Ronan was out of the house early each morning to do God only knows what in the fields until the early afternoon, where he’d tromp in covered in mud, greet Adam with a grunt, before going off to shower. Then, in the evening, Ronan would cook for them, or they’d order takeout if Adam could scrounge up the cash for it, and they’d spend a few hours watching TV and idly chatting until they went their separate ways - Adam to sleep, and Ronan to haunt the halls of the Barns as sleep evaded him for another night.
It was strangely domestic. Adam didn’t know how to feel.
It was looking to be another one of those days.
Adam set himself up at the dining table, unable to do work when he didn’t feel like someone could come and catch him slacking any second. When he didn’t have work - Boyd had decided to close at the weekends around the holidays, and Maura steadfastly refused to let him help out at the psychics because she thought he should be resting - he’d study to keep himself busy so he didn’t go insane.
Ronan was already out of the house. There was a sticky note stuck to the coffee pot, telling Adam to help himself to anything in the kitchen, just like there had been every day of the week. He didn’t know when Ronan was going to get the hint and realise that Adam wasn’t going to do more than leech off his seemingly endless coffee supply, already feeling like enough of a burden as it is. Especially since Ronan refused to let him pay for any of it because, quote, “it’s not like I give a shit that you’re here, and I already had this stuff in.”
Adam was deep in the zone of studying, feverishly working out calculus answers to the point where the only sound in the room was the harsh scratch of his pen against paper and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. So, when the front door banged open, he startled straight out of his skin, pen skittering across the page, leaving a black mark right down the middle that he’d have to fix later.
His head snapped around to identify the noise, and his brain stuttered to a stop at the sight that greeted him in the doorway.
Ronan, cheeks and nose flushed a beautiful, cherry blossom pink. Quickly melting pieces of frothy snow littered his hood and shoulders. His skin was just as pale as the snow littering him, his eyes and flushed cheeks practically vibrant with the colour contrast.
He looked like a prince from a storybook, handsome and cold and perseverent.
“The grounds too fuckin’ hard.” Ronan grumbled, shucking his coat from his shoulders and hanging it up beside Adam’s, “Stupid fucking snow.”
Adam gave up on trying to do any more work, knowing that Ronan was much too distracting for him to be able to work on calculus at the moment, “It’s snowing?”
Ronan narrowed his eyes, “No fucking shit, Parrish.”
Adam rolled his eyes, “Stop whining about it. It barely ever snows over here. This is exciting.”
The last time he’d seen snow had been that fateful day that Cabeswater had walked them through the four seasons. Ronan had looked different in that snow than he did now. Before - well, it wasn’t like Ronan ever tanned, he just kind of stayed the same shade of pale, but he’d apparently been at least a little sunflushed back then, because he’d juxtaposed the snow in a strange way.
He hadn’t looked correct in the snow before. Now he did. Now he looked like some kind of winter nymph that had melted directly out of the snow to haunt Adam with his good looks and icy eyes.
Ronan grumbled more under his breath as he kicked off his muddy boots and padded, shivering, to come and sit at the dining table with him.
“I don’t care that it never snows over here. It still sucks.”
“Not a fan of the snow, Lynch?” Adam asked, observing in the careful way he was so used to doing. Ronan’s cheeks still held their hectic flush, and his body was trembling a little bit from the cold. He’d shoved his hands deep into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. Adam had the sudden urge to reach out and warm Ronan’s hands between his.
“No.” Ronan said, like it was obvious, “It’s just rain that you have to wait for it to make you piss wet through. Fucking horrible.”
Adam frowned as a shiver wracked Ronan’s body, “Are you cold?”
“What’s with all the fuckin’ questions?”
Adam rolled his eyes again, an exaggerated movement so Ronan would know just how fed-up he was of his pu-off attitude. He reached out to grasp the sleeve of Ronan’s hoodie, quickly drawing back when dampness met his fingertips.
“You’re soaked, Lynch!” he exclaimed, wiping his fingertips off on his jeans, “Jesus. Why are you still sat here? Go get changed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re going to get sick.”
“Christ, it’s not that big of a deal.”
Adam raised disbelieving eyebrows at him, “If you can sit here and not shiver, then I’ll believe that.”
Ronan held some very hostile eye contact with him - luckily, Adam had spent enough time around him by now that its effect had largely worn off - as his entire body tensed, clearly trying not to shiver. It didn’t work, because a second or so later, another shiver wracked his body.
“There. Point proven.”
“Fine. I’m cold. Happy now?”
“Take your clothes off, Lynch.”
Ronan’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline, “We’re gonna need to get married before you can start making those kinds of requests, Parrish. I’m a man of God.”
Adam felt blood rush up to his cheeks, but he refused to back down the way Ronan wanted him to, “You know what I mean. Go put on some clothes that aren’t wet through, and then maybe I’ll think about proposing.”
The flush on Ronan’s cheeks grew a few shades darker. He mumbled something, then swore loudly, and got to his feet, stomping off upstairs.
Adam pressed his lips together to stop himself from smiling. To pass the time while Ronan was getting changed into something, hopefully, warmer than his sodden clothes - and also to warm up the house, he started to build up a fire in the woodburner.
It was a novelty he’d come to love, being able to easily keep the house warm by setting a controlled fire. It was the sort of thing that had only ever existed in the cosy fantasies in his head, and now it had translated into reality. It’d definitely be one of the things he’d miss when the heating at his place was finally fixed and he had to go home.
Plus, it was a rhythmic, monotonous task - crumpled up newspaper at the bottom, kindling, blocks of old furniture found in a shed that Ronan had cut up with an axe in the backyard, minor amounts of firestarter, blowtorch - that kept his mind occupied on anything but the thought of Ronan peeling off his wet clothes upstairs.
The fire sparked to life under Adam’s hands, and he quickly withdrew himself from the danger zone, leaning back against the couch and letting his newfound warmth sink into his bones. He hadn’t realised how cold he’d gotten, but he was quickly tucking his hands under his thighs for some extra warmth.
He was alerted to Ronan having finished getting changed by the tell-tale stomping down the stairs - Ronan never walked when he could make as much noise as humanly possible by attempting to smash his foot through every step as he made his way down it. He turned just in time to see Ronan appearing by the foot of the stairs in grey and black flannel pyjama pants, a tight tank top, and wearing pink and purple heart-patterned socks. Adam dragged his eyes away from the way Ronan’s broad shoulders narrowed into slim hips.
“There.” He said testily, narrowing his eyes across the room at Adam, “Are you fuckin’ happy now?”
God, it was so domestic. It felt eerily like Adam was a nagging wife who wanted the best for her husband, even if he couldn’t see that himself. He had the sudden urge to pull Ronan in and kiss his temple.
Instead of giving into that thought, he said, “Nice socks, Lynch.”
“Shut up, Parrish.” Ronan said, crossing the room to stand over Adam, his back to the fire, “Matthew got me them.”
That, at least, explained his insistence on wearing them when he’d usually never be caught dead in anything that even remotely resembled colour.
“Get your ass on the floor.” Adam said, reaching up to twine his fingers with Ronan’s and tugging downwards. His hands were so cold. Had he gone out and jumped in a snow drift and laid there for hours? How could anyone be that cold?, “You need to warm up.”
Sarcastically, Ronan said, “Yes, dear.”
But he let Adam pull him down into a bundle of limbs on the floor.
Niall Lynch’s hand-knotted rugs weren’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but sat there, in front of the fire, with Ronan’s cold arm pressed firmly to his as they sat side by side, he thought that he couldn’t possibly get more comfortable.
The Barns was becoming scarily like home. He didn’t really know how to feel about that. If it had been anywhere else, he would have hated it. Would have despised the idea of thinking of home as anywhere other than a place he’d built for himself.
But, because it was Ronan, he was conflicted. And he didn’t really know what that said about him, or about what he wanted.
—--
Ronan didn’t entirely know how to act in this situation. There was Adam, all crumpled and soft and studious, in his stupid Aglionby gym hoodie, and his stupid grey sweats, and with his stupid face all flushed from the warmth of the fire.
It was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Think things he didn’t want to think.
(He thought about the colour of Adam’s lips, and how their shape was the perfect one to slot with Ronan’s-)
If he was as smart as Gansey seemed to think he was, he would’ve moved away. Would’ve curled up directly in front of the fire like a dog (he was cold, after all) instead of sitting by Adam’s side, fighting the urge to lean into him.
But he’d never claimed to be a smart man, so he sat there, torturing himself with the precious warmth of Adam’s sepia skin pressed against his.
“Jesus, Lynch.” Adam grumbled, pushing hair back from his face, “How are you so cold?”
Because I couldn’t come back inside, Ronan thought. Not with you there, looking like that. I’d ruin everything we’ve built.
“I’m cold blooded.” Ronan sneered, flashing all his teeth in a grimace, “Calla always calls me a snake.”
Adam rolled his eyes, looking almost fond, “She does that because you’re as mean as a viper, and like recognises like. C’mere.”
Ronan raised his eyebrows but didn’t even think about fighting as Adam carefully manoeuvred them until they were sat square in front of the blazing heat of the fire.
See, now, this was even worse than before, because Adam had put his arm around Ronan’s shoulders - probably because of body heat and some sort of physics shit - and all he could think about was how nice Adam smelled. He knew, of course, that it was shitty 3-in-1 vanilla scented shampoo, conditioner and bodywash, but that didn’t stop his brain from repeatedly trying to make him lean in because Adam was sitting there smelling like a damn bakery.
(Why did everything he did have to be so stupidly attractive?)
“Why wouldn’t you wear a sweater?” Adam asked. The hand that he had over Ronan’s shoulder flattened against his nearly naked shoulder.
Ronan swallowed, and had to spend a second collecting himself before he could talk. He didn’t think Adam had ever touched him like that before - prolonged skin-to-skin contact, that was. He’d always moved out of self preservation before a touch could grow to be longer than a second or so.
“What?” Ronan said, mustering up as much sarcasm as he could. He flexed his arm until his bicep popped. Adam’s fingers tensed on his shoulder, “And deprive you of the gun show?”
Adam snorted out a laugh, “Oh my God.”
“You’re not sounding very appreciative of the lengths I’ve gone for your viewing enjoyment right now, Parrish.”
Adam patted his shoulder, “I’m very appreciative. I just didn’t realise that I was getting a strongman performance today. Or ever.”
“That’s because you don’t come outside while I’m working. What do you think I do all day, wander around fields like some tragic painting?”
Adam’s lack of immediate response said yes, he had thought that.
“I thought you spent most of your time dreaming.”
“And that gets me covered in mud, does it?”
“I never said that you didn’t do any manual labour.” Adam protested, “And it’s always entirely possible that you dream of mud every day. I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.”
Ronan turned to look at Adam. He was intending to look put-out and disappointed in Adam’s lack of faith in him, but those plans didn’t quite work out, because he hadn’t realised how close they were. As in - they were close enough that, if he nodded, their noses would brush together.
He didn’t even breathe. He could see every freckle that winter hadn’t faded away, the exact way the firelight threw the shadows of Adam’s eyelashes across his cheekbones, the strange amalgamation of pretty colours in his eyes.
He sent up another desperate prayer. He was doing that more and more these days.
“Um.” He said, moving slightly backwards so that he wasn’t in danger of doing something truly stupid and throwing away an entire friendship just because his face was close to the guy he’d been crushing on for over a year, and they were so close, and they were fucking cuddling in front of the fucking fire, “I spend most of my time just chucking shit about out there. The Barns are full of dreamt-up junk.”
“Mmm.” Adam hummed, low in his throat, “I might have to come out and check things out some day.”
God, like Ronan would even be able to function with Adam there, looking while he sorted through all the garbage in the Barns. He’d end up having an aneurysm. Or accidentally putting a rusty nail through his hand because he got too distracted.
“I can introduce you to the cows.” He said, “They’d like you.”
Adam titled his head to the side, “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”
“Because I like you.” Ronan said, cursing his own relentless honesty. Life would be so much easier if he was a liar, “And I dreamt them to life. So they’ll like you too.”
Adam’s lips parted slightly. God, it would be so easy to kiss him right now. Ronan wouldn’t even have to move that much. He’d have to angle his body, maybe, and that would be it. Adam even already had a hand on him.
“Is that how it works?” Adam asked, curious.
“I think so.” Ronan responded, thankful that the conversation had moved onto the subject of his dreaming. It wasn’t an entirely safe subject, because a lot of his dreams had revolved around Adam recently (and ever since he’d met him, if he was honest with himself), “It’s not an exact science.”
“So…” Adam said slowly. His index finger had begun to trace a lazy pattern against Ronan’s skin, almost like he didn’t realise he was doing it, “When Chainsaw has a name just for me..?”
Ronan nodded.
“And she doesn’t have one for anyone else…?”
Ronan bit down on his bottom lip, every muscle in his body tensing as Adam toed the line of his second secret.
He shook his head. His entire body felt hot all over, and it wasn’t just the fire in front of them.
“Okay.” Adam said, and exhaled heavily, “Alright.”
Ronan’s entire body was braced for the rejection that he was sure was to come. Adam was Adam, so calm and level-headed and strange and fucking magnificent, and Ronan was such a mess all the time and there was no conceivable way that they’d ever work out because everyone could see how much better Adam was than him.
But the blow didn’t come.
Adam’s arm tightened around Ronan’s shoulders, briefly squeezing him, and then settled back into its relaxed position.
“Do you want to watch some TV?”
Ronan sighed. The relief he was feeling was probably palpable in the room, “Sure.”
Adam reached behind him until he found wherever the TV remote had gotten itself wedged in the couch.
He didn’t really pay attention to whatever Adam put on, but he appreciated the background noise that filled the room to distract them from the awkward tension of Adam absolutely figuring out his dumb, adolescent (all consuming, ever present) crush on him.
It was actually lovely in front of the fire. The warmth started to seep into his bones, warming the cold that had drenched him, and lulling him into a sense of security. Adam’s body felt nice pressed against his.
He usually didn’t even let himself feel remotely tired around other people, even if he hadn’t slept the night before. But he couldn’t help it, with the fire, and his pyjamas, and the steady rhythm of Adam’s breathing, the comfort of Adam’s arm around his shoulders, and the background noise of some mindless sitcom, it was all too much.
He slipped easily into sleep’s beckoning arms.
—--
Adam kept his body entirely still. He’d never exactly been one for fidgeting, but he seemed to crave movement now that he wasn’t allowed.
He wasn’t going to move. It was hard enough for him to go to sleep that he knew just how many nights Ronan had stayed up, only alerting Adam to his presence because of his careful footsteps past his bedroom door, and the faint wail of electronica through his headphones.
Ronan never managed to sleep, so it was only fair that Adam didn’t wake him when he didn’t manage to fall into the Sandman’s clutches.
He’d never seen Ronan like this before.
Sure, he’d witnessed him dreaming prior to this moment, but there was something different here. Ronan looked so soft, so gentle. Every single one of his harsh, cold edges had been melted down to curves.
Adam wasn’t quite sure why his heart was beating so fast. Maybe it was the gentle tickle of Ronan’s breath on his neck every time he exhaled.
Adam’s shitty, second-hand flip phone chimed as a message came through, and he moved his body as little as he could as he fetched it from his pocket. He kept his movements slow and sluggish, stopping entirely when Ronan showed a sign of stirring, only to resume when he was sure that he was staying asleep.
Eventually, he managed to open his phone to a message from Gansey.
How’s life with Ronan going? Well, I hope?
How Gansey managed to speak like a middle aged man in the 1950s who lived in the suburbs with a wife and two children entirely escaped Adam, but he sent a text back. It took a little while, with his flip-phone and not being able to move one half of his body and all, but he got it sent.
It’s great. Ronan’s asleep right now.
Gansey’s text reply was instant.
He’s sleeping while you’re there?
Adam re-read the text a few times, trying to decipher the tone. He decided, after his third read of it, that Gansey was more shocked at the trust Ronan was displaying, rather than disapproving of the potential danger Ronan was putting Adam in. He responded:
You could say that. He kind of fell asleep on my shoulder.
Gansey’s reply took a lot longer to come in this time. Adam ended up flipping his phone closed and lightly resting his head on Ronan’s, tempted to let sleep draw him in, too. Just as he was starting to slide into unconsciousness, his phone chimed again. He roused himself to check what Gansey had said.
He cares for you, Adam. I trust that you’ll do well by him.
Adam glanced down at the sleeping face of Ronan Lynch. He looked surprisingly youthful as he slumbered, without his customary glare. Even though there wasn’t much about his informal hair and clothes that could look rumpled, he somehow still managed to achieve that rumpled and boyish look. One of his hands had come to absently curl around Adam’s hip.
Something warm and nervous fluttered in Adam’s chest.
He sent out another text to Gansey without even needing to think about what he was saying. He knew it was true.
I promise I will.
And then he shifted to curl his body more into Ronan’s, and promptly fell asleep in front of the dying fire.