When Adam made a promise, he absolutely followed through. For someone who had very little in the way of material possessions for most of his life, his word was one of the few honest, weighty things he could give to people. So when he promised Ronan that he was going to dress up as a zombie cheerleader for Halloween because he absolutely needed to step up to the challenge for his equally competitive boyfriend in their game of costume chicken, Adam did it.
It wasn't a very good costume—there weren't many thrift stores in Vallo that carried old high school cheerleading uniforms. And he had offered Blue money (which she refused, vehemently) to sew a logo on the chest of the shirt, but it got the point across with his white pants and bold, generic high school top. He even learned a few cheers, just in case Adam needed to take it to the next level with Ronan.
Given their track record, he definitely would.
Setting up the Barns for the Halloween event was much smoother than putting on zombie-ish makeup went in the bathroom. Bags of candy and cute decorations lined the stalls and overflowed in the trick-or-treating zone, the animals all ‘dressed up’ were a hit, and the market had been busy—busier than Adam had expected.
He had eyed Ronan most of the day, even doing discreet fist pumps and mouth rah-rah in his direction as he counted cash and directed people to different stations. As the sun started to set, and families started to filter out, Adam scooted nonchalantly down to where Ronan was standing, and squeezed his side.
“If I say I’m cold, do I get to wear your letterman jacket?” Adam asked, then reconsidered. “Do zombies get cold?”
Ronan wasn’t likely to admit it without some prodding but he kind of loved Halloween. The spooky lighting, the costumes, the dramatics. The fact that he could walk around with Chainsaw on his shoulder and people barely batted an eye. He didn’t have her now but it was only because the lacrosse uniform he was wearing had involved him wearing a helmet for a lot of the morning and he’d gotten sick of her tapping her beak against the side.
The fact that he was wearing said costume was Adam’s fault, of course. They were both shit at backing down once a gauntlet got thrown, even when it was a really stupid gauntlet. Ronan wasn’t complaining anyway. Adam’s white pants had been the highlight of his morning and he was still sneaking glances and snickering everytime Adam did some cheerleader thing. In return, Ronan did stupid jock things scoring dances and walking by to slap Adam on the ass after a good sale.
It wasn’t a hardship. He did have to take the gloves off eventually, once he’d dumped a gallon of ice cream on a customer.
“Apparently some zombies don’t even eat brains, so who the fuck knows.” He shrugged and playfully looped an arm around Adam’s neck to pull him in closer. “We could find some bleachers to make out under. That’ll warm you up.”
Adam let out a soft, quick laugh and leaned in closer to Ronan. It was no letterman jacket, but Adam was content to leech heat off Ronan by proximity. With fall settling in, the Barns had become pleasantly cool and Adam had more excuses for shoving his hands into Ronan's pockets that didn't seem self-indulgent. Only necessary.
"Does that actually work?" Adam asked, but realized too late that he gave himself away. What he was really asking was do people actually do that?, which by process elimination meant that Adam never asked anyone to makeout under the bleachers. And no one asked him. Not that he would have said yes to even going to the gym with someone those first months at Aglionby; it was difficult enough to give in to the friendship that Gansey was offering.
"I think we'd get more privacy in the locker rooms. Or parking your car on a cliff that overlooked the city, where everyone also parked," Adam said this with a suggestive arch of his brow, but his voice was perfectly even and composed. "Besides the closest bleachers are in the city, I'd rather just drag you off to one of the barns later."
Ronan laughed. He wasn’t exactly personally acquainted with under the bleachers activity either. The one and only person he’d ever been with - ever wanted to be with - was tucked under his arm. Ronan lifted the hand he had draped over Adam’s shoulder and brushed his thumb along his boyfriend’s jaw.
“I like how you’ve made a list of places to fool around. I’m gonna store those away, just in case.” His smirk was cheeky but his mind tripped down a line of thought involving a more innocent reason they could find themselves on school grounds together one day: if they had a kid attending there. He’d been thinking about that future too much lately. He blamed having his thoughts on talking to his own parents soon.
With a flash of annoyance at himself, he unhooked from Adam and perched on the table in front of him instead. “Not gonna lie, I can’t wait to take off all these pads.” He tugged at his collar, exposing the shoulder pads underneath. “Wearing this shit all day was not my best idea.”
Adam's reaction to casual physical affection should have dulled after being able to touch and kiss Ronan without second-guessing it. But even that light brush of his thumb against Adam's jaw caused Adam's brain to do a mental hiccup, a quick short circuit.
"Of course, I have a list," Adam preened, before shuffling in close to Ronan, and bringing his voice low, in case anyone was going to pop-up nearby. "One of them is in the Library of Alexandria, I just didn't want to say anything in front of Gansey and have him give me a horrified look every time we went inside. He'd probably wonder if I wanted to get handsy with you under poetic texts or the mathematics section."
His hand followed Ronan's when he pulled down the collar of his jersey, and Adam slid his fingers under one of the pads. There wasn't much room, but he massaged at the muscle there anyway. "A little bit longer and I can make it a better idea?" He leaned in and kissed Ronan on the corner of his mouth, sweet and chaste. "I was going to give you a massage for your birthday, but it might be more useful today instead."
“I don’t know why the fuck you make that sound like a bad idea.” Ronan grinned a shark’s grin and stretched his legs out to cage Adam between his thighs. “Let him wonder. Let him be right too.” He curled his fingers around Adam’s hips and squeezed as Adam kissed the edge of his mouth. It was subtle enough to not give him too much trouble if someone walked up on them but enough contact to settle some of the need to touch that had plagued him all day.
“Wait, wait.” He pulled back and squinted up at Adam. “Are you saying I have to choose a massage today or a massage on my birthday? Because I’m picking anniversary rubdown, no question.” He frowned, even though the subject was a good one. It made him warm, thinking about this being two years he hadn’t managed to completely fuck up. But he had a valid reason to scowl. “Actually, we should plan some shit for that. Last time I tried for the surprise, you got a room full of crabs and I got banned from an Ivy.”
Adam's ministrations slowed but didn't stop. He only squeezed once, maybe a bit too hard, at the tight muscle in Ronan's shoulder when he mentioned anniversary rubdown., but the thought didn't last long. His own brows furrowed briefly in that worried, complicated way.
The crabs. Ronan being banned from Harvard. Trying to explain to his roommate what happened, and lying bitterly about Ronan. Losing their opportunity together in Cambridge. It definitely didn't make Adam feel good. He squinted back at Ronan, and slipped his hand from his shoulder to touch gently at his mouth. Adam was not a fan of this frown from Ronan, even in their cartoonish zombie makeup.
"Yeah, and the last time I tried to surprise you—" Adam realized that it wasn't a competition, and that bringing up the last birthday-slash-anniversary wasn't the best idea. "No big surprises this year. Except for your gift. I have to have some mystery or it's not going to feel special." Adam had spent copious amounts of time putting it together, he couldn't ruin it now.
"We don't have to plan anything, you know. It is still your birthday. I don't want to take away from that with everyone here to celebrate it."
A little thrill sparked up Ronan’s spine at the mention of a gift. It was stupid, really. He had everything he could possibly need. But those were kind of his favorite gifts. When someone had everything they thought they needed and he could find something that was just purely about want. About how well he knew them. He liked giving gifts, the feeling it left him with and the look people got when he got it right, but he knew Adam tended to stress about the cost of things and whether the gift met a certain criteria of worthiness in that pragmatic mind of his.
Ronan shifted awkwardly on his table perch, still scowling. He didn’t want Adam stressing about that shit here.
“You could hand me a can of fucking coke on my birthday and it would still feel special, Parrish.” He reached up to thread a hand into Adam’s hair, pushing it back away from his make-up. “But if you think you’re getting out of doing something for our anniversary when we actually can pull it off without an eight hour drive, you have lost your damn mind.” A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth and he shifted his hand from Adam’s hair to the side of his neck. “I don’t care if it’s just taking cake up to the roof and looking at the stupid stars for a few hours, but we are doing something.”
Adam let his eyes fall closed for a brief, blissful moment with Ronan's fingers in his hair. It was nice to think about their anniversary in real, tangible ways. No what if I came up there for a few hours? or what if you stayed for a night after? or the awful way Adam had to explain that his education was preventing him from doing anything long term until approved holiday breaks.
He loved Harvard and the prestige it had earned him after working so hard to get there. But Adam hadn't been kidding when he offered the option to attend a university closer after the incident on campus. He didn't want to miss things like this anymore. He loved Ronan more.
"Well I was going to hand you a can of coke on your birthday as a gift, but now you've spoiled yourself," Adam said, opening his eyes and shooting Ronan a mirroring smirk. He leaned in, his mouth right by Ronan's ear, his voice low. "And maybe not the roof of the house, but what if we take the bike on that strip of road by the quay and—hello! How can I help you!"
Adam was quickly righting himself, and wedging out of Ronan's legs, like they weren't just about rile each other up in public during the last hour of the market in front of the ten-year-old dressed as a skeleton and his mother. He was already crouching down to the kid's level and giving them directions toward Matthew's trick-or-treating area.
Ronan tried not to be shitty to kids, but God he wanted to make an exception for this one. Going from instantly keyed up at Adam’s words whispered close to his ear to suddenly under the watchful eye of a mother was a brutal transition but he managed not to growl at her. Just barely.
It helped that watching Adam crouch to be at the kid’s level made his chest warm in a distractingly sappy way.
“Nice costume, kid. If you wanna get that face paint retouched, I’ll be back at the face painting booth in ten minutes.”
That seemed to get Mom to ease up on the evil eye, thankfully and the kid shouted thank you at them both before running for the trick or treat area. Ronan squeezed the back of Adam’s neck and leaned over to whisper in his ear in retaliation. “It’s embarrassing as shit how much I like watching you be good with kids. You sure you don’t want to be a teacher?”
He didn't have to turn his head to know that Ronan was watching him. It was only after he realized that, Adam felt his tongue get heavy in his mouth, and words were coming at a struggle, like involuntary stage fright even after the mom and son skipped away from their table. Adam stayed crouched, his whole body trying to get him to sit with the words Ronan was whispering in his ear: good with kids.
Adam let out a short, breathy laugh and shook his head. Being polite for a few minutes didn't mean anything, didn't actually show Adam was capable of being any more than respectful no matter the age. He had a hundred excuses lined up, but he kissed Ronan instead.
"What would I teach? Latin? Economics? A very specific subset of Welsh history that I learned second-hand from someone who should be an actual historian?" Adam asked as he pulled away. "If you wanted to watch that, you'd have to apply to be a TA and spend more time inside a school. And I wouldn't get to argue and verbally cut down people on a daily basis. That's frowned upon in most places of learning."
Ronan liked to consider himself an Adam Parrish body language expert. It was a debatable fact, especially whenever they fought, but that didn’t stop him from squinting at the tension in Adam’s shoulders. The kiss felt like a distraction. Especially with them exposed in the middle of the market as they were. But Ronan couldn’t pin down where he tripped up so he kissed back in a distracted way.
“You’d definitely be a step up from any of our Latin teachers,” he joked darkly. “But I guess you’re right about the verbal warfare…” There was a faint wrinkle between his eyebrows as he glanced off towards where the kid had ran then back at Adam with raised eyebrows. “You can admit it if you just don’t wanna be around kids all day. It’s not like I’d judge.”
"It's not that," Adam said, running his hand down Ronan's arm, before turning back to the table and unnecessarily organizing the few items there: clips, pens, and stray candy wrappers that needed to be tossed. "If that was the case, I would have found reasons to get out of helping with every event you've held at the Barns. I like kids, I'm just not—"
Feeling his shoulders rising slowly to his ears, Adam sighed to relieve some of that unintentional pressure he was placing on himself. Logically, Adam knew that explaining what he meant to Ronan wasn't a problem. Like everything though, Adam was overthinking, and there was something ridiculous about stressing in a cheerleading costume.
"We don't have to talk about this now," Adam said, turning to lean into Ronan, attempting to get close before they were interrupted. "We were making plans for our anniversary, which is going to involve me wearing a leather jacket at some point and me driving you somewhere. And cake. And a rubdown."
Even as Adam was forcing himself to relax in increments, Ronan was reaching for him. He slid a hand up Adam’s spine and massaged between his shoulder blades. It was instinct to crowd closer to meet Adam’s lean into his space. He didn’t even look around. He couldn’t give two shits if anyone needed anything right this second. Adam Parrish was tense; the rest of the world could fuck off for five minutes.
He did move them a little out of the way, though. Just a few steps and they were behind a stack of crates.
“What makes you think we won’t still make those plans after talking about this?” Ronan rubbed his nose alongside Adam’s, an absentminded caress and a question rolled into one. What’s wrong? He could let it go, give him an out, but something Adam had said pulled at him. “You’re just not what, Adam?”
This was better—Ronan's hand on his back, helping him release that tension. It came on suddenly, a deep seeded thought causing involuntary reactions. He didn't want to talk about it, so he immediately walled himself up. But he also wanted to get it out of the way and that was why he let himself be scooted behind some crates for minimal privacy.
He felt the question as their noses touched, and his returning answer was nothing. Nothing was wrong. Why was Ronan asking? Why was he pushing this? Why did it matter? There was frustration building underneath his skin now, and that side of Adam that could tip so easily into anger was right on the precipice of falling in. There were a hundred things he could say that would start a fight, but it was the hum of Cabeswater inside of him that smoothed a cooling balm over that tempering fire.
He wasn't angry at Ronan or at the idea of having the conversation, Adam was angry that it was a problem to begin with. His problem.
Adam looked down and away, focusing on the wood grain in one of the crates. "I'm not good with kids. You're good with kids. I'm polite to kids. There's a difference." He was absently touching Ronan's jersey, keeping contact so that neither of them could pull away. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea or assume I'm things I'm not."
“Parrish…” Ronan scowled, quick and sharp like someone had cut him off in traffic. It wasn’t that he couldn’t believe Adam thought this way. Besides Gansey, no one in Ronan’s life had ever judged himself as harshly as Adam. He hid it behind being practical and being prepared. Like he was armoring himself against the world. But Ronan liked to think he was doing it less these days. He gentled his tone, just a little, and brushed his fingers along the edge of Adam’s hand.
“Adam. I don’t know what the fuck you think I was doing last summer, but I was pretty much always paying attention to you. I got front row seats to you working your magic on the weirdest kid on the planet. I watched you win her over.” He scooted closer, trying to capture Adam’s gaze. “I see you all the time with these kids. It’s not just some dumb act.”
Even when Ronan's tone changed, and Adam finally looked back at him, his expression was sharp; Adam didn't look convinced. He knew what Ronan was trying to do, and it almost worked. He had managed to win Opal over, through a series of patience and bribery. And maybe by example, when he taught her how to swim. But, there was always a but when Adam wanted to be right.
"Opal is different. And it wasn't always easy. I could feel myself getting frustrated with her all the time, when I knew—logically, I knew she didn't know any better. Sometimes she'd shove something in her mouth after I told her five times not to or we'd tell her to come in after a long day and she'd run away or constantly break things that I had just fixed and, and—" All the words were getting tangled in his mouth, and Adam hated the feeling. He always knew what to say, but on the spot and when it came to his emotions? He still was not adequately equipped to explain it.
"I only have to spend a few minutes with kids here. I'm not their parent. What happens when I can't keep it up? What happens when I stop being good with kids?" Adam asked, like it was an inevitability not an impossibility.
Ronan’s frown felt permanently wedged into a place at this point. He wasn’t dense; he knew the reason behind Adam’s line of thinking. He was just suddenly a little terrified that something out of his dumbass mouth would make it all worse. That didn’t stop the words from rushing free like a geyser trying to break through rocks, though.
“What happens if you can’t be perfectly level-headed twenty-four-seven? I don’t know, Parrish. I guess maybe you’ll raise your voice, like every parent since the beginning of time. Maybe you’ll curse, like the boyfriend you think is so much better with kids than you are. Maybe you’ll need to take a walk to cool off. I don’t know. I can’t tell you what will happen. I can tell you what won’t happen.”
He got in close. His stare was intense but his voice dropped low and soft, full of every bit of fierce love he had inside of him.
“You won’t suddenly turn into a different person. You aren’t Robert fucking Parrish and you never will be.”
"You don't—" know that. His mouth tried to form the rest of the sentence, to fight Ronan like every fiber of his being screamed to do. But Ronan also knew how to cut through all the bullshit with a few simple, brutally honest words, and Adam was stunned. Of course he thought with enough time, with enough stressors, something inside of him might switch on. He could physically remove himself from his father, but half of Adam was Robert Parrish. He would never really escape whatever psychological landmines might be lurking beneath.
It scared him, because Adam didn't want to be his father either, but it was hard to tell himself that. It was better coming from Ronan. From someone who had an outside perspective.
Adam was breathing fast, the adrenaline of the pending argument surging through him with nowhere to go. He closed his eyes; Ronan's closeness was overwhelming but desperately needed. His fingers curled tight into Ronan's shirt, holding him there for one deep breath, then another.
"I don't want them to be afraid of me," Adam said, on an exhale. His voice was slow, even, testing every word out first. "I don't ever want to scare them. And I don't know what will be that point for me, so I have to stay in control. Because once it happens, I can't undo it. No matter how good I am after that, they will always remember the one time I wasn't."
“That’s why you aren’t him, Adam. And why it’ll never happen.” Ronan wrapped an arm around Adam’s neck and risked pulling him into a hug. As much as he knew contact was dicey when this subject was on the table, he felt like he needed to remind Adam that touch had a better meaning in his life now. And that Ronan was determined to be a steady rock in the river of bullshit that life liked to throw at them. He wasn’t fucking budging.
Figuratively anyway. If Adam said get the hell off me, he’d get the hell off him.
For now, he pressed his cheek against Adam’s so he could talk close to his good ear. “You’re always telling me I’m better than my dad. It’s a hundred times more true for you.” He pulled back to look him in the eyes again. “Fuck, a thousand. So you can be afraid of what you’ll do all you need to be, just know that I’m not.”
Adam didn't waste any time. The second Ronan pulled him closer, Adam's hands automatically went around him, fingers digging deep into his lower back underneath his padding. It felt good to be held. Adam knew he might have struggled before, slipped away because all of that contact became too much to deal with. But he had learned—through careful, considerate, deliberate, adoring touches—that sometimes it was necessary. Sometimes, when Ronan pulled him so close all he could breathe in was Ronan, he knew that he was safe.
Because Ronan wasn't afraid of him. Adam loved this reckless ridiculous amazing man, who wanted to tell him he was a thousand times better than the person Adam thought he might become.
"It's going to happen again," Adam murmured after a long, tense silence. "This conversation, it's going to happen again. Maybe not the same way, and maybe I'll have other irrational reasons, but—just. Remind me of that again because I can't do it myself. I don't like to believe me. I'm biased."
He went a little slack in Ronan's arms, trying to bury his face in his jersey. It was only too late that he realized he had just smudged half his face paint into his costume. Adam pulled his face away, quick. "Shit."
It was a relief to feel Adam hold him close right back. Ronan could shoulder a lot of shit as long as he had this, right here. He scratched his fingers down Adam’s back. Soothing. Digging in to loosen up tense muscles. He laughed when Adam smeared make-up all over him and pulled back to get a good look at them both.
“Good thing I’m a stubborn asshole and making a mess of me won’t change that huh? I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. Shit, I’ll tell you in multiple languages.” He smiled slowly, a little serious but hoping the joke would soften some of that haunted look in Adam’s eyes. Since they were already a mess, he leaned in and pressed a path of kisses from Adam’s jaw to his mouth. They were quick and shockingly gentle for Ronan Lynch – I’m here, you’re safe, you’re loved.
“Come on.” He nodded back towards the house. “Let’s go hose down. We can get Sargent to cover for us for a few minutes.”
Adam mirrored Ronan's slowly growing smile. The gentle joke, followed by the smattering of kisses, eased the tightness he felt in his chest. He sighed, almost like relief and warmth in one breath. Leave it to Ronan to be able to communicate his feelings so eloquently with simple affection; Adam could only wish he was that good.
He nodded at Ronan's suggestion, but there was a stubborn wrinkle between his brow. Adam did make an attempt to wipe the makeup off Ronan's shirt, but he was ultimately making it worse with every stroke.
"You know she's going to time us if we only ask for a few minutes," Adam said, leaning up to kiss Ronan, soft and a little dreamy. He was feeling more like himself than the moment before, and the moment before that. Adam gave Ronan a coy smirk, before heading in the direction of the house. "The rubdown has to wait until later."