Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

The first time Declan mentions going to college, Niall laughs.

“What do you think you’re going to do with your life?” from most parents is a question demanding plans.  From Niall, it’s every one of Declan’s warm and fuzzy dreams being doused in gasoline.

Aglionby is supposed to be a compromise.  Niall doesn’t care where the boys go to high school, but Declan cares desperately.  He does the research, plans for weeks how he will pitch it to Niall.  In the end, he appeals to ego, leaning heavily into how it will look for Niall to have his sons at a school like that.

His strategizing gets him to Aglionby, but Niall is sure to remind him it’s as far as he can go.

Declan’s life is supposed to go like this: graduate high school, live at the Barns, work for his father’s illegal dreaming business until one or both of them dies.

When Ronan finds Niall’s body, Declan’s options open up.

The new plan Declan settles on is four years at Georgetown.  It was never the dream, but it’s closer to the dream than he ever thought he would get.  Practicality always wins out.  He can lure the sharks away from Henrietta and set up shop in D.C.  He’ll be at a respectable Jesuit university where he’s relatively close to the Barns in case of emergency.  He still has two brothers under 18 in Henrietta.  He has a responsibility to be there for them for as long as they need him.  

Then Ronan turns 18.  Then Ronan drops out of the school Declan fought so hard to attend.  Then Ronan has nothing to fill his time but drinking and dreaming and giving Declan and Dick Gansey gray hair.  Then Ronan finds himself at the Barns, where he learns some unpleasant truths.

He calls Declan to demand answers.

“I’m going to wake Mom,” Ronan says fiercely.  

Because he says it to Declan, because Declan says it can’t be done, because Ronan is 75% motivated by spite, he follows through.

Aurora, not unkindly, says she has things covered.  Ronan is less polite.

Declan submits the transfer application assuming nothing will come of it.  He almost forgets about it, his days filled with school and drudge work at his internship, with putting out fires his father started before he died.  Declan has gotten used to good enough, and he thought good enough was all he’d get.

He checks his mail and sees a thick envelope.  He takes it up to the attic of his townhouse to open.  

When he sees the word “congratulations”, he starts to cry.

The best part of going to Harvard University is that no one asks why Harvard?   

Declan stands in the impressive room where they have everyone gathered for a new student orientation event.  He’s surrounded by brand new freshmen with stars in their eyes who are undeterred when he admits to being a sophomore and a transfer student.  They ask him about Georgetown, but, thankfully, no one is really that interested.  No one thinks to ask why he transferred.

Why would they?  It’s Harvard.  If they did ask, there would be a slew of easy answers.  About the prestige, or the quality of the alumni network, or the academic reputation of the university.  

No one at Harvard knows that Declan’s father and brother are dreamers.  No one at Harvard knows who Colin Greenmantle and Laumonier are.  No one at Harvard would guess that going to school in Cambridge, Massachusetts is choosing to draw Greenmantle and Laumonier’s attention away from Henrietta, is choosing to live in Greenmantle and Laumonier’s home turf.

No one at Harvard knows that Declan can’t ever make choices that are wholly safe or selfish.

Declan has always survived by pretending that part of his life doesn’t exist.  When asked what his father does, he breezes through an answer about his dad selling life insurance.  When asked where he grew up, he keeps it to “Virginia, but I spent lots of time in D.C.”  He moves quickly to the next question.  He asks more questions than he answers.

Declan is good at this.  He can feel himself running on autopilot, a flash of a smile and a firm handshake and small talk that the person won’t remember three conversations later.  It’s a balance that Declan is used to striking — charming and handsome, but unmemorable.  This is how Declan shaped himself to be.

The night passes in a blur of the same conversations over and over again.  The crowd in the room starts to thin out, students going off with their parents for a final farewell dinner.  Declan starts mentally preparing himself for a night alone in his new apartment.

He pauses when he sees a handsome sandy-haired boy hugging the wall.  

He looks distinctly uncomfortable, cornered.  There’s an overenthusiastic freshman in a tacky shirt that Declan had barely escaped conversation with earlier who is talking with his hands at him.  The boy’s eyes have a thousand-yard stare.

Declan can see a cry for help a mile away.  The fact that the guy is easy on the eyes makes rescuing him more appealing.

“There you are,” Declan says as he approaches, angling his body to be exclusionary of everyone else.  “Are you ready to leave for dinner?”

To his credit, the boy (Adam, according to his nametag) takes no time at all to catch on.  He doesn’t sputter or ask what Declan is talking about.  “I am.  I was just saying goodbye to George.”  His voice rings a little too loudly, which undermines what’s clearly intended to be a casual tone, but George doesn’t seem to notice.  

“You two know each other from D.C.?” George asks, glancing back and forth between Adam and Declan.

“Yes,” Adam says.

“We do,” Declan bluffs, glad that Adam isn’t making this harder.  “We were just heading out, though.  Can’t keep the families waiting.  My apologies for interrupting.”

Adam says the most halfhearted goodbye, the emptiest ‘it was nice to meet you’, before he peels himself from the wall to join Declan.  They leave the room together and exit the building into the cool air of a New England summer night.

“You’re from D.C.?” Adam asks.  There’s a strange expression on his face.  Declan can’t help but notice — he’s a little bit more caught up in staring than he should be.  Adam looks more alert and alive outside, cheekbones highlighted by shadows and the glow cast by streetlights and buildings.   

There’s a familiar swoop in Declan’s stomach.  He doesn’t want the night to end here.  The longer he can keep Adam talking, the better.

“Virginia, actually,” Declan says.  “But I was at Georgetown for the last year.  I’m a transfer student.  Where in D.C. are you from?”

Declan watches the way Adam pauses, the way Adam’s brain visibly starts running a million miles per minute.  It should be an easy question, and the fact that an answer doesn’t come immediately puts Declan on edge.

Declan’s brain barrels ahead of itself to worst case scenarios.  Is he a plant?  Is he a honey pot?  Is this a ploy from Greenmantle, does he think that if he can’t scare me into giving up the Greywaren, he can seduce it out of me?

“I’m from Chevy Chase, actually,” Adam says. 

Declan knows he’s lying.  He just isn’t as good at it as Declan is.  That, more than anything, sets Declan’s nerves at ease.  Colin Greenmantle would never pay a less than flawless liar.  Not to target Declan, who has lived and breathed liars and could pick one out of a lineup.  Greenmantle does not like Declan, but he has more respect for him than that.

In an ideal world, Declan would get to be less intensely, exhaustingly paranoid.  But this is not an ideal world.

“That’s a nice area,” Declan says.  “You feel ready for a New England winter?”

“Not at all,” Adam says, a grin illuminating the features of his face.  And, fuck it, he’s still hot, whether he’s a liar or not.  As a fellow liar, Declan finds himself able to look past it.

“Thank you, by the way,” Adam says.  “For that, back there.  I don’t do well in crowds, and that guy…”

“Some people just don’t know when to stop talking.”  Adam’s grin is sharper this time, and Declan thinks he likes it even more.  “I hope I didn’t overstep by saying you were having dinner with me.  I’m sure you have family to say goodbye to.”

“No, I’m alone,” Adam says.  “My parents couldn’t get away from work, so I moved myself up here.  I have the whole night open.”

Declan can’t say I’ve never met my mother, and everyone was afraid of what would happen if my father’s dreamed wife left the ley line that’s powering her survival, so he doesn’t.  “I have the whole night open, too,” he says instead.  “You’re welcome to come back to my apartment with me, if you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He lets his eyes linger on Adam’s lips, just in case his meaning was missed.

“Do you have a roommate?” Adam asks, and Declan is reassured that Adam got the message.

“No.  It would just be you and me.”

“Perfect,” Adam says.  “Lead the way.”

Sometimes, Declan thinks to himself, school-sponsored events swarmed with freshmen are worthwhile, after all.  

Adam says he isn’t hungry, but Declan says he is.  He sticks a small frozen pizza in the oven that he knows his digestive system will be mad at him for later, and Adam eats half of it.  They both instinctively avoid standard personal getting to know you questions and talk about Harvard.  Adam tells Declan about his roommate, and the two of them compare class schedules.  Declan doesn’t expect to have any classes in common, since he’s a year older, but he discovers that they’re in one of the same gen ed classes.

“I guess we’ll be seeing each other twice per week, then,” Adam says.

Declan wants to say that they could see each other at night, too, but he holds his tongue.

Adam looks comfortable at Declan’s dinner table.  His features are clearer here, the freckles that dot his face and his slightly uneven haircut and his blue eyes.  When he reaches for a slice of pizza, Declan can’t help but notice his calloused hands and long fingers.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” Adam says, and Declan feels a little too transparent.

Unlike with most things that night, Adam isn’t lying about that.  

They barely make it to rinsing the plates in the sink before they’re bumping elbows, and then they’re meeting eyes, and then they’re kissing, the sink shut off and Declan pressing Adam back against the counter.  

“It takes more than pizza to get me out of my clothes,” Adam says.  It doesn’t take more than pizza to get Declan out of his clothes, but he has also been informed by more than one ex that he has a ‘warped sense of what constitutes intimacy’.

Pizza may not get Adam out of his clothes, but it does get him into Declan’s bed.  They make out lazily for what feels like ages, Declan kissing Adam down into the comforter and Adam feeling Declan up through his clothes.  Declan wants to tell Adam that his shirt doesn’t have to stay on, but he hesitates when he sees Adam’s eyes starting to droop.

The bags under Adam’s eyes weren’t something Declan noticed before, but the dark circles are apparent up close.

“You should stay the night,” Declan says.  “I can lend you sweats and a t-shirt, and you can crash here.”

There’s a long silence, and Declan can see the rejection bubbling up on Adam’s face before the words leave his mouth, so he doubles down.  “It’s too late for you to be wandering around, and my bed is almost certainly more comfortable than your dorm room bed.  It’s a big bed, and I don’t expect anything from you.  There are no strings attached.”

Adam takes another long moment before he finally agrees.  He doesn’t seem happy with the solution, but Declan points out that Adam doesn’t know where he is, anyway.  

Adam does accept a pair of sweats and a more comfortable shirt, at least, and the brand new spare toothbrush Declan stuck in a drawer.  He looks distrustful as they both get into the bed, as if it’s going to swallow him whole.

“Nothing comes with no strings attached,” he says once the lights are off, the words so quiet Declan almost misses them.  

Declan can’t put together the words to disagree, because he’s thought that same thing more times than he can count.

Adam doesn’t stick around long in the morning.  Declan wakes up before him, but not by much.  Declan offers him a shower and breakfast, but Adam has apparently accepted enough hospitality for one visit and isn’t willing to accept more.

Declan wants to kiss him like this, hair ruffled from sleep and his body warm and loose, but the magic of nighttime has passed.  There’s something about Adam in the morning that feels familiar, and Declan at first thinks it’s the ease of it, the way that the two of them navigate sharing a bathroom with no trouble.

It isn’t until later, when Declan is running Adam’s words through his head again with an anxious hyperfixation, that he realizes that it was something different entirely.

In the softness of morning, the cadence of Adam’s words was different, dropped Gs at the end of words and vowels rounded and elongated in Adam’s mouth.  Declan hadn’t noticed because he was tired, because it was an accent that was instinctively familiar, an accent he was born and raised around.

Chevy Chase my ass, Declan thinks, but he decides not to call Adam on it.  In Declan’s experience, it’s always a good thing to hoard secrets until he needs them.  

In Declan’s experience, it’s always better to have more dirt on someone else than they have on him.

2.

Declan has heard the joke that the hardest part of Harvard is getting in.  He figured it was hyperbole and jealousy from people who weren’t able to get into Harvard.  He had prepared himself for a huge adjustment in the difficulty of classes as compared to Georgetown.

But the semester starts, and Declan is finding the classes to be… fine.  

His classes are fine.  Declan has a year of college under his belt, and he has a rhythm for preparing for class and managing his workload.  It translates pretty well, and he finds that he’s keeping up just as well as anyone else is.  

Declan thinks, so far, that the main difference between Georgetown and Harvard is that Harvard has a lot more obnoxious people who assume that being at Harvard means they know everything.  He tells Matthew as much, when Matthew calls him to talk about how great things have been back in Virginia.  Matthew laughs, because Matthew always laughs, even when Declan isn’t funny enough to deserve it.

Declan avoids the people who are a little too hung up on final clubs.  He doesn’t pretend to be old money, but can be blandly pleasant at the drop of a hat.  So he fits in fine.  Declan has always managed to get along with people, has always managed to build up a cluster of acquaintances robust enough that he never has to do a group project alone.   

He isn’t sure, at first, if that cluster of acquaintances will include Adam.  On the first day of Declan’s class with Adam, Adam is already seated when Declan arrives.  There are seats next to Adam that are free.  Declan hedges towards them, watching Adam’s face carefully.

Adam sends Declan a small smile, and Declan takes that to be as much of an invitation as Adam is going to give.  He sits down in the seat to Adam’s left and starts unpacking his bag and pulling out his laptop.

Adam frowns, and Declan wonders for a flash of a moment if he misread the signs, after all.

“Hi,” Adam says, his whole body turning to face Declan, and Declan feels a palpable sense of relief.

They talk briefly before the professor walks in, although Adam seems distracted.  Adam and Declan share looks throughout class, Adam barely containing a smirk when someone says something both loud and stupid.  It feels so natural that Declan doesn’t want to jinx it by acknowledging anything out loud.

He didn’t get Adam’s number after Adam spent the night.  He wants to ask for it, buried under the excuse of ‘we can form a study group’.  He doesn’t even know if Adam is a good student.  He’s at Harvard, but they’re all at Harvard, so that doesn’t mean much.

He thinks Adam is probably smart, though.  Declan has seen the way Adam sizes up a situation in a split second.  Not everyone can do that.

The professor announces as the class ends that they should pick their seats carefully for the next class, because they’re choosing their seats for the semester.  Declan arrives early and finds the seat to the left of Adam open again.  He starts unpacking his books when Adam says his name.

“Can we switch seats?”

Adam’s hands are clenched into fists in his lap, his face pinched and his shoulders held taut.  Declan waits a moment for some sort of explanation.  Adam’s face is guarded, though, and he doesn’t explain further, so Declan doesn’t ask.  

“Only want me to see your good side?” Declan asks, aiming for levity as he repacks his bag and stands up to slide by Adam.  

“Something like that,” Adam says.  

The seating chart goes around the room, and when Declan writes in his name in the seat to Adam’s right, Adam’s shoulders visibly loosen.

Someday, Declan thinks, he will ask for that story.  But not yet.  If there’s one thing Declan has learned, it’s to let people tell him things when they want to tell him or when he needs to know, and no sooner.  

If he pries, they feel like they can, too.

Adam Parrish is always noticing things.

He makes idle comments about the people around them.  He always remembers names.  He can spot a hangover from a mile away.  He casually mentions while walking out of class one day that their professor wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, and Declan masks his surprise by teasing Adam about why he would have noticed.

“Because he’s hot,” Adam says, his tone entirely too strained to be casual.  He says the words like someone who knows there are consequences for voicing them out loud.

Adam noticing things should make things easier, in theory.  But the reality is that it makes things harder, their twin hypervigilance.  There’s never a moment when Declan isn’t aware that he’s being observed.  Declan wonders often what Adam notices about him and never says out loud.  Adam gives Declan strange looks sometimes, like he has a version of Declan in his head that he’s holding up against the Declan he’s talking to.  

Declan wonders sometimes if Adam may already know more than he lets on.  He tries not to be paranoid about it, but paranoia is Declan’s default state.  

For Declan’s part, he notices things, too.  He notices that Adam doesn’t talk about himself, if he can help it.  He notices that Adam is different talking to him than he is to some of the other students.  He doesn’t know if Adam has assessed that Declan isn’t nice, but Adam doesn’t bother to stretch kind smiles across his face for Declan like he does for the boys he meets outside the classroom sometimes.

More than once, Declan has watched someone reach out to touch Adam only to see Adam flinch. 

Most of all, Declan can’t stop thinking about Adam’s request to swap seats.  

Once he noticed that it mattered, that Adam preferred Declan on his right side, Declan can’t stop noticing.  They leave the classroom, and Adam falls into step on Declan’s left.  Someone on Adam’s left talks to him, and Adam turns his entire body to listen.  Sometimes Adam misses things people say, when the classroom is loud, or when he isn’t expecting to be spoken to.  Declan thinks that maybe Adam is overtired the first time it happens, but after the third time Declan has to carefully nudge Adam to tell him the person next to him is saying something, he starts to realize something else is going on.

Hearing loss, Declan thinks.  He doesn’t know what else it can be.

Declan tests it out, one day.  He’s invited to a party and is told he can bring whoever else he wants.  Whoever’s worthwhile, the acquaintance actually said, but Declan thinks that Adam falls into that bucket.  He asks Adam before class if he wants to come, says there will probably be drinking, says it will be loud.

“I don’t do drinking, and I don’t do loud,” Adam says firmly, and Declan thinks he got at least part of it right.

“Do you do movies at my place?” Declan asks, a shot in the dark.

“Maybe,” Adam says, his grin a little smug.  “If you give me your number, I can text you when I decide.”

That, of course, is an easy answer for Declan.  Despite his paranoia, he thinks Adam is probably not trying to blackmail or murder him, so he rattles off his personal phone number instead of the number for his most recent $10 burner phone.

Adam writes the number down in the corner of his notebook.

It isn’t until Thursday night when he gets a text from an unfamiliar phone number, a simple two-line message saying, “Tomorrow at 8.  Meet me outside Thayer.”

It powers Declan through a very exhausting phone call with Ronan, listening to and deleting messages on his burner phone from Greenmantle asking how he likes Cambridge weather, and all of his classes Friday.

He knows he shouldn’t let himself get excited, but he can’t help it.  He hasn’t gotten to Netflix and chill in far too long.

He hasn’t had a real friend for even longer, but he isn’t ready to get his hopes up on that quite yet.

“I’m running late,” Adam texts Declan at precisely 7:58 PM Friday evening.  “My roommate will meet you downstairs.”

Adam’s roommate (Fletcher, who informs Declan of his name as he promptly shoves his hand at Declan to shake) takes Declan up to Adam’s room.  He tells Declan that Adam was working on a group project, that Adam is in the bathroom down the hall, that he should only have to wait ten minutes, and that Declan should tell Fletcher all of his hair care secrets.

Fletcher has a lot of words running through his brain.  Declan doesn’t think they would be compatible roommates, and isn’t sure how Fletcher and Adam are.

(Declan does not share his hair care secrets.)

He does take the opportunity to look around the room.  It’s clear where Fletcher’s part of the room starts and ends, a wall covered in flags and a desk plastered with pictures of hot boys.  Adam’s part of the room is mild by comparison, the bed neatly made and the desk only housing books.

There’s nothing wrong with Adam’s part of the room.  He has everything he needs, clearly.  But Declan can’t help but shake the feeling that nothing about Adam’s side allows for comfort.  He can’t see a single picture.  There are no postcards or knick-knacks or personal touches.  He doubts the bed is comfortable, because it’s a dorm room bed.  

Declan compares it to his brand new apartment.  He thinks even his place has more personality than this.

“You aren’t part of the Crying Club, are you?” Adam’s roommate asks.  “Adam’s skipping Friday night cards for this.”

“I don’t know what a Crying Club is,” Declan responds.  He doesn’t mention the fact that, whatever it is, it sounds horrifying.  He can’t imagine anything less appealing than crying in front of other people, let alone having a whole club for it.

“That’s what people in our hall call Adam’s group of friends,” Fletcher says brightly, seemingly missing out on the fact that it isn’t a compliment.  Fletcher goes on about how he’d gotten homesick on his first night, how Adam had the presence of mind to calm him down, how they’ve been close ever since.

“He’s lucky to have such a great family,” Fletcher says wistfully.  “He has all these great stories about them.  They sound like a Southern fairytale.  But he never complains to the rest of us about missing them, because he doesn’t want to rub it in.”

Declan can’t recall having heard Adam say a word about his parents since the first time they spoke, let alone tell any glowing stories.  He knows that he didn’t invite those conversations — if Adam talked about his family, he might expect Declan to share in return, and the easiest lie is silence — but it does seem odd, now that he thinks about it, that Adam would fail to mention a family he viewed so positively.

“I’ll have to ask him about them,” Declan says to Fletcher.  Fletcher beams and is off onto another story, which Declan mostly tunes out.  He scans the room again for pictures of parents that look like Adam.  

He tunes back in when the door opens and Fletcher asks, mock accusatory, “You have friends who don’t cry?”

Declan turns to see Adam set his shower kit on the floor and towel dry his dripping wet hair.  He’s already dressed for Declan’s, in clothes that look more comfortable than the stuff he wears to class, ridiculous sweater vests and collared shirts and other outfits that look like he’s cosplaying a college student.

Declan likes the henley and jeans much, much better.

“Don’t worry,” Adam says, a grin on his face.  “I think he might have a sob story in him.  No one’s that perfect on the surface without some deep, dark secrets.”

“Speak for yourself,” Declan says.  Adam reaches for his keys, and Declan waits near the door.  “There’s nothing to see here.  I’m boring to the bone.”

It’s something Ronan would say about Declan in earnest, but, to his surprise, Declan can tell Adam doesn’t believe him.  Luckily, they’re spared further discussion when Fletcher practically shoves them out the door, with only one off-kilter joke about bones.

The walk to Declan’s place is uneventful.  Declan asks about the group project that made Adam late, and Adam is annoyed enough that complaining about his group carries them all the way to Declan’s building.  

Declan pulls up Netflix on his TV and asks if Adam has any preferences on what to watch.  Adam apparently has many — Declan thinks he missed the memo on how Netflix and chill is supposed to work, although the back and forth is fun, anyway.

They finally pick a movie.  Declan makes popcorn.  He sticks an altoid tin in his pocket and thanks past Declan for remembering to buy unexpired condoms.  Declan gives Adam a bit of space when he settles in next to him on the couch, but his chest is filled with heat when Adam leans in closer on his own.  

Declan gets the movie ready and hesitates for a moment, fiddling with his remote.  He wasn’t thinking before about the implications of his standard move, a well-placed whisper in the ear, for someone who he suspects can only hear out of that one ear.  But with Adam practically on top of him on the couch, he thinks he maybe should have considered it sooner.

He pulls up the options menu and turns subtitles on.  He tries to be casual about it, but he’s close enough to Adam to feel him freeze.

“Why?” Adam says flatly.

Declan could lie.  He could make up an excuse about it being something he liked.  He’s always been good at thinking on his feet, and two or three different easy responses pop into his head.

“You can’t hear out of your left ear, can you?” Declan asks, instead.  

It takes a moment for Declan’s words to sink in, for Adam to go from frozen still to human live wire.  He reaches over and takes the remote, and for a moment, Declan thinks he may be about to turn the subtitles back off.  

Instead, he turns the TV off, and Declan suddenly and vividly realizes he will not be using those condoms.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.  I don’t need special treatment.  And I don’t go asking about your stuff,” Adam says.  Declan has heard his voice go hard before, but this is something different.  Adam’s voice is tight with barely contained anger.  Adam’s hands are fists, the skin pulled white over his knuckles.  If Declan weren’t used to far more terrifying men staring him down, he would have focused on the anger and not noticed the fear in Adam’s eyes.

“I don’t have any stuff to ask about,” Declan says.

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s the wrong response.  It’s a lie, of course, for one thing.  A lie when he just asked Adam a deeply personal question.  But even worse, even if it were true, it puts them on uneven footing.  It puts them at Adam Parrish: one secret, and Declan Lynch: none.

“You’re so full of shit,” Adam says.

“I’m going back home,” Adam says.

“I knew coming here was a mistake,” Adam says.

Declan knows he should feel something as he watches Adam gather his stuff and leave.  He knows he should feel upset, or confused, or hurt.  He thinks he probably should follow Adam and apologize to him.

He sits on the couch and watches as Adam storms out.

The anxiety kicks in a few minutes later, once he’s relocked the front door.

There’s a loud voice in the back of his head, the one he has lived with since he was a kid going on his first job with his dad, that runs through the worst case scenarios.  It can see several of them.  Adam sitting next to him in class hating him and never wanting to talk to him again.  Adam coming over one day armed with google search results featuring a certain obituary that Declan has tried countless times to get taken down, or news articles from the one local paper that didn’t take bribes.  Colin Greenmantle finding Adam and hiring him to feed information about Declan to him, Adam agreeing purely because he’s mad at Declan.

Even Declan has to admit to himself that the last one feels unlikely.  But Declan has faced more unlikely situations than that before, where Colin Greenmantle is concerned.

Declan can feel his stomach lurching, can feel the way his body catches up to the situation before his brain can.  He knows he needs to fix it, even as he can’t fully wrap his head around what just went wrong.  He knows how he would have reacted in that situation, if he were Adam.  He knows he would have laughed it off, or not said anything, or minimized.

He didn’t expect Adam to blow up in his face.  He doesn’t know how things went so wrong so quickly.  He usually can predict that, can see the car crash from a block away instead of being in the car when it happens.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he texts Adam’s number.

Adam doesn’t respond.  Declan keeps checking his phone all night.  It starts to build into a pervasive sense of dread and anxiety, and he has to stop himself from texting again, to preserve his own dignity and avoid looking clingy.  He doesn’t usually try hard to keep people around, and he tells himself that this should be no exception.  The reality is that he just met Adam Parrish.  The reality is that he doesn’t know Adam Parrish, and if Adam doesn’t want him to, Declan can’t do anything to change that.

It’s too many thoughts swimming through his head, and he thinks he could drive himself crazy if he doesn’t do something about it.  So he pulls a Ronan.  He turns his phone off until it’s time to set his alarm before bed.

Declan doesn’t text Adam on Saturday.  He focuses on his homework.  He calls Matthew to check in and listens to Matthew ramble for a half an hour about a new friend he made, new shoes he saved up for that ‘you would love, I’ll send you a picture’, and how Ronan really likes a new recipe that Aurora tried out.  Declan asks Matthew if anything weird has happened, trying to get a sense for whether Greenmantle is chasing down Lynches other than him.

“Ronan’s doing online classes,” Matthew says instead, absently, like it isn’t earth shattering.  Like going to school isn’t something that Declan and Gansey both spent half of their waking hours trying to convince Ronan to do.  Gansey only succeeded half the time.  Declan succeeded even less.  

It shouldn’t sting.  It shouldn’t be so obvious that they have all reshaped their lives without him so easily.  It’s a good thing, Declan knows that, and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.  It shouldn’t make Declan feel more worthless than he already does.  

“Love you, Declan,” Matthew says cheerily before he hangs up the phone.  But it doesn’t help soothe the pit in Declan’s stomach.  

He wasn’t sure why he thought talking to Matthew would.

The texts finally come Sunday night, just after Declan finally recommits to not caring.

Adam Parrish: I had an accident as a kid.

Adam Parrish: It isn’t a big deal but I don’t like to talk about it.

Adam Parrish: If you treat me different after this we’re done.

Declan is so relieved to hear back that he decides not to dig himself into a deeper hole.

“I won’t,” he replies.

Adam doesn’t text back.

3.

Declan remembers the first time he went on a business trip with his father.  

He was seven years old.  The trip was to New York.  Niall told Declan over the phone that Declan had a very important job, but that he had to keep the purpose of the trip a secret.  By that time, Declan understood secrets.  By that time, the idea of new secrets was enough to have Declan’s heart pounding in his chest and his stomach twisting.

Niall told Ronan that they were going to visit family friends, that Ronan was too young, but that he could come some other time.  Ronan pitched a fit about it that lasted a week and a half and that led to several sleepless nights for Declan.  Despite his best efforts, Declan couldn’t stop Ronan from bringing out from a dream what Ronan called hoverboots, which shot flames out of the bright red soles and which Ronan insisted could get him to New York.

Aurora confiscated them, and Ronan sulked for three days.

It was Ronan’s reaction that made the trip more appealing.

Declan packed his bags three days in advance.  He didn’t know what to bring on this secret mission.  He didn’t know exactly what his father did, though he had gotten hints.  Aurora always said his work was important.  Niall always talked like his work was adventurous.  

All Declan knew was that, for once, it felt like he was getting attention from his dad that Ronan wasn’t, and Ronan knew it, too.

In spite of himself, he got excited.  

The trip to New York was mostly uneventful.  The motel they stayed in was cheap.  Declan kept waiting and waiting and waiting to hear what his big and important job was, but Niall told Declan to find a way to entertain himself and watched reruns of old television shows until it was time for bed.

It wasn’t until the next day that Niall finally explained.  Niall told Declan to get in the rental car and turned on the radio.  He gave Declan a bag to hold.  He didn’t need to explain for Declan to know the bag was full of dreamstuff.  He told Declan that his job was to sit in the car and to hold the bag, and to not let anyone in until he had finished negotiating with the buyer.

At the time, it felt like an insult.  He told his dad that he could do more to help.  But Niall silenced him with a look.

“If you don’t want to do it, next time I can bring Ronan.”

The negotiation took about a half an hour.  A car was parked a few rows away in the mostly empty parking lot, and Declan could feel two pairs of eyes on him.  He remembers chills running down his spine when the men in the car stared at him.  There was a gun on the dashboard.  He didn’t need to know much to understand that they were not nice men.  

It was the first time in his life he was certain that he did not want to die.

He also remembers sitting in the car, the air conditioning going but the radio silent, wondering to himself if he was actually that important after all.  

Years later, from time to time, Niall mentioned the trip.  He was usually fresh off a successful job, his tone as warm as it ever got towards Declan, his voice smug in a way that made Declan glow from the inside out.  He never gave the same explanation more than once.  One time he explained to Declan that he needed someone to watch the car, and ‘you can’t trust someone who isn’t kin’.  Another time, he told Declan that people think twice about shooting when a kid’s around.

After dealing with some of Niall’s associates for years, Declan knew to be skeptical of that claim.

The answer that stuck with Declan most, though, that popped that brief bubble of pride and that still lives in the marrow of his bones, was an explanation that Niall gave when Declan was twelve.

“You needed to understand,” Niall said, “that you couldn’t always be so goddamn clingy.  You needed to sit with yourself and know you were in danger, and that I wasn’t there to help you.  I had to figure it out myself the hard way.  I wanted you to learn young.”

If the lesson hadn’t stuck the first time, it did the second.  ‘Clingy’ was added to Declan’s list of undesirable traits, and Declan reshaped himself again.

After Declan receives Adam’s texts, and the worst of the anxiety melts, he re-evaluates some things.

First, he determines that he still does, in fact, want to have sex with Adam.  It’s the easiest part of things and the hardest part of things, but it’s an important gating question.

Second, he determines that whatever the fuck his reaction was to Adam getting upset, it can’t happen again.  His response to Adam being upset was disproportionate to the reaction he should be having, he decides.  It’s clinginess in another form.  Declan doesn’t like having strong reactions to things, and he doesn’t like giving anyone the power to make him feel this way.

So, third, he decides that maybe he needs to fuck some things out of his system.

He still sits next to Adam in class.  The conversation after their fight is less stilted than Declan expected it might be.  But once Declan gets it into his head that maybe the shortcut around feeling like he wants Adam more than he should is finding new people to want, he immediately starts to feel better.

He goes to a party or two.  And then a few more.  He doesn’t get drunk.  He has fun, because this part of things has always been fun to him — the drawing a person in, the getting the person alone, the figuring out what someone wants and giving it to them.  He knows he has a type, regardless of gender, and that it’s blonde hair and blue eyes and a willingness to not ask too many questions.

Back at Aglionby, he would have dated one or two of them.

He does swap numbers with one, a girl named Ashleigh, whose father is a Lieutenant Governor and whose hot pink fingernails scratch lines down his back.  He doesn’t think it will go anywhere, but she jokes about it being her turn to fuck him next time, and it’s hard to say no to that.  

It’s steadying, is the thing.  This is a version of himself that Declan understands.  This is a version of himself that doesn’t ask for much and that gives away even less.  

It’s a Declan that Niall would recognize, and a Declan that is decidedly not clingy.

It takes Adam and Declan three weeks to text about anything unrelated to class.  Adam texts Declan on a Wednesday night asking if he wants to get dinner on Saturday.

Declan responds that he’ll check his calendar, even though he already knows he’s going to say yes.  He waits a day and a half before confirming, and Adam sends him the name of a place nearby that’s popular with students on account of not being ungodly expensive.

It doesn’t quite line up with the sweater vests and polo shirts, but it does line up with the bare bones dorm room.

Declan reminds himself not to be clingy.  He doesn’t overdress for dinner, like he’s tempted to.  He lets his hair be a little bit wild.  He only checks the menu in advance twice.  He is being perfectly reasonable about this, and not treating it like a real date until Adam says otherwise.

Except that Declan gets there five minutes early and finds Adam already there and waiting for him.  Except that Adam looks good, his freckles fading as the days get shorter, his hands looking like someone introduced him to the concept of moisturizer.  Except that conversation through dinner feels easier than it has in weeks with Adam, not because Adam is nice, but because Adam is present.

Adam gets the check, and Declan knows he isn’t misreading the signs.

“We could go back to my place,” Declan offers, and Adam doesn’t leave him wondering.

“Only if you still have my toothbrush,” he says, and they start walking back together.

When Declan was little, Aurora had a favorite record.  She would tell one of them to grab it from the crate with all the other LPs, would put it on the turntable and bring the needle down, the sound through the speakers muffled and scratchy and warm as she worked in the kitchen.  It was threaded through Declan’s childhood, soft folksy tones and her bright laughter.  If he were still the type of person inclined to sing, he could sing it all from start to finish.

He remembers, mid-way through the fourth song on the album, that there was a scratch in the record.  A minute and a half  into the song, there were a few seconds of dissonance before the song resumed.  It was only a few words missed, but it never failed to be jarring.  He started to expect it, started bracing himself 20 or 30 seconds in advance.

Declan thinks, sometimes, that being around Adam is like listening to an album so full of record scratches that it’s hard to understand the song underneath.

The Adam at dinner is the version of Adam that Declan is most familiar with.  A little bit wry, a little bit challenging.  They get into a heated conversation about prep school boys that seems informed by experience on both sides (though Adam won’t say which school he went to, and won’t give hints that aren’t you heard of it).  They talk about a philosophy class that Declan enjoys and Adam has no patience for.  They briefly venture into politics before they realize that’s a mistake.  

In spite of himself, in spite of that voice in the back of Declan’s head telling him to keep Adam at arm’s length, Declan has fun.  Adam isn’t afraid to ask Declan why he thinks what he thinks.  He isn’t afraid to tell Declan when he thinks he’s wrong.  He’s a little bit petty in a way that is familiar to Declan, in a way Declan would be if he voiced the thoughts inside his head out loud.

Then, a record scratch.  They run into someone who knows Adam outside the restaurant.  And it’s a different Adam, the Adam of sweater vests and endless patience, the Adam who won’t say out loud that he thinks someone is being stupid.  It’s an Adam who seems more softened, but in a way that’s deliberate instead of natural.  It’s clearly the Adam of Crying Clubs.

Declan starts to realize that this is an Adam who does not cry in Crying Club, but who shaped himself into someone who others thought they could cry to.

And then the scratch ends, and it’s a slightly different song.  It’s an Adam who hangs close to Declan the whole walk home, as if he’d reach out to grab Declan’s hand if Declan let him.  It’s an Adam whose eyes seem to take in too much when they’re back at Declan’s place, and don’t seem to take in any less when his gaze turns to Declan.  He sees the remote and chooses to ignore it.  He knows where Declan’s bedroom is, but tells Declan to lead the way.  It isn’t impatience, but there’s a tension that wasn’t there before, some sort of energy thrumming under his skin.

Declan likes this Adam.  Declan likes this Adam a lot.  

Declan didn’t know what to expect from sex with Adam, but he didn’t imagine it to be urgent.  Adam doesn’t ask for what he needs so much as take it, like if he voices it out loud, Declan might ask why.  Adam gently tugs at Declan’s hair when Declan has his cock in his mouth and he pulls Declan off when he’s getting close, his breathing ragged and his thighs and calves tensed.

“Do you want me to fuck you instead?” Adam asks.

Declan immediately reaches for the lube.

Declan opens himself up, because he doesn’t usually have the patience for other people to do it, because he knows how he likes it best.  But Adam is always noticing things, and from the way he’s watching Declan, Declan thinks he may even let Adam do this next time.

Adam does fuck into Declan just right.  He fucks Declan like he means it, like he knows Declan can take it.  Declan wonders if Adam has been getting in some practice while he’s here at Harvard, too.  The dudes Declan slept with after parties didn’t get this part right.  They were too cautious, too careful with Declan.

This Adam isn’t careful with Declan, and Declan isn’t careful with him.  They both come hard, and Declan has to take a second to catch his breath.

It’s what makes the next record scratch so jarring.  

They’re both cleaned off.  Adam doesn’t have to be coaxed into staying the night, this time.  Adam doesn’t move to put his clothes back on, so Declan doesn’t either.

Declan thinks that he did a good job keeping his distance.  Declan thinks they’re done for the night and that he survived unscathed.  So it catches Declan totally by surprise when Adam says, his voice more unguarded than Declan has ever heard it, “You have a lot of scars.”

It’s deviating from the usual script.  Neither of them is supposed to voice observations out loud so it isn’t expected of them.

Some people accumulate scars without stories.  Declan doesn’t.  Declan mostly does one night stands, because he can never forget that his body is the most grim kind of scrapbook.  Here’s the time someone tried to stab me because my dad thought he could get creative with pricing when he was two months late on an order, thank god they mostly missed and oh yes, remember that time a hit man threatened me in my D.C. townhouse?  You wouldn’t, because I didn’t tell anyone.  I got a bit of a concussion when I hit my head against my entrance table, and the glass from the photo of my brothers sliced my shoulder.  I learned the very important lesson of not keeping glass frames on entryway tables, because the hit men coming wasn’t something I could really stop.

It doesn’t even touch on all of the scars from boxing, or living on a farm, or from the couple of years when he and Ronan were always at each other’s throats.

Declan just didn’t expect Adam, of all people, to mention it.  Because if Declan’s body is a scrapbook, Adam’s body is a graveyard.

“I played a lot of sports as a kid,” Declan says.  He does not volunteer more information.

“I don’t think sports leave scars that look like that.”  

“I guess you would know from experience” probably isn’t the best reply, but it’s the one Declan gives.

The song finishes the next morning when Adam finds the one full family photo Declan displays, in a small but new frame that he keeps on his desk.

“Tell me about them,” Adam says, and Declan has to decide which version of the story to tell.

“My middle brother is your age,” Declan finally says, staring at the picture of the five of them.  “Wild, kind of a pain in the ass, but a good kid.  My youngest brother is.  Exactly what he looks like there.  It’s pretty much impossible not to like him.  They’re closer with each other than with me, they don’t really need me much anymore.”

“And your parents?”

“My dad’s wife was made for him, practically.  My dad… people liked him.  But not in the way they like my brother.”

Declan almost expects Adam to pick up on the fact that Declan is talking about what other people thought, and not what he thought.  Or on the fact that Aurora is never Mom, not when Declan is being honest.  But Adam latches onto an arguably worse part of what Declan says.

“Liked him, past tense.”  It’s a statement, not a question.

“There was an accident.”  It’s more of the truth than Declan usually gives, but far from the reality.  It’s enough that, delivered tersely, it makes it clear to not ask questions.  If Declan understood the album underneath the skips, he would be able to frame it better.  

Luckily, it seems to serve its purpose.

“Between the two of us,” Adam says, “we seem to have a lot of accidents.”  

But he drops it, and he doesn’t ask for any additional answers Declan can’t give.

4.

Declan learns information about Adam in fits and spurts.  Some of it is stuff Adam clearly wants Declan to know, and some Declan only notices because Adam guards himself too closely.

Things about Adam he learns from Adam: only child, doesn’t drink, knows Catholic hymns but isn’t religious.  Is very good with his mouth and his hands, but is pretty quiet in bed.  Knows a lot about cars.  Knows Latin, and isn’t surprised Declan does too.  Father works in investment banking.  Mother works in politics, but not in an elected position (yet).  Will not say much else about them.

Things Adam’s friends seem invested in telling Declan:  Adam is, supposedly, old money.  Adam’s parents are, supposedly, beacons of queer acceptance.  Adam’s parents are, supposedly, very loving and supportive, but also very busy, so very busy that no one has ever actually seen or heard Adam talk to them, not even Fletcher.

Things about Adam he learns from watching carefully: has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and can’t stand to be wrong.  Rarely accepts people paying for him, but has a keen sense for when he’s being ripped off.  Cares about fairness.  Nothing is more important than school.  Doesn’t sleep enough, doesn’t eat enough, doesn’t get out enough, despite his friends’ best efforts.  When confronted with genuine affection, his mask only ever slips for a moment, or two.

Declan has known Adam for most of a semester, and it doesn’t feel like much to know.

Declan gets even more suspicious when he finds out that Adam isn’t going home for Thanksgiving break.  Adam gives some line about his dad being on a trip for work and about having to study, but Declan increasingly doesn’t think he believes it.  

Declan has lived a life of ‘Dad’s on a work trip and is missing Thanksgiving’.  Adam’s delivery has none of the correct emotional resonance, too blasé in a way that is totally unpracticed.

Declan plans to go home for Thanksgiving break.  Matthew texts him twice asking if he’s going to, and he hates to let Matthew down.  He goes so far as to start packing, planning which books he needs to bring and what assignments he needs to finish at the Barns.  He’s mostly dreading the trip, but he’s determined to make it, because he needs to see for himself that his brothers’ lives aren’t on fire.

Declan has good intentions.  He usually does.  Reality just gets in the way sometimes, when he gets too optimistic and forgets who he is.

It starts with a rock.

Actually, that’s not quite true.  It starts before then, starts with voicemails on Declan’s burner phone.  They range from cryptic to terrifying, but the message is the same: tell us where the Greywaren is, or else.  The ‘or else’ varies based on the day — sometimes it’s vague, ‘or you’ll regret it’, sometimes it’s specific, ‘or else we’ll kill you’ or ‘or else we’ll pay a visit to the Barns’ or ‘or else there will be another bloody body left in the driveway for you to find’.

These messages are not new, which is why Declan ignores them.  It isn’t that he isn’t afraid when he listens to them.  He is.  He always is, in a way that burns at him like stomach acid, that makes his jaw tighten and that makes him text Ronan ten times in a row and then panic even worse when Ronan never responds.  

He just can’t do anything about the messages, and Declan has learned to deal with the smaller horrors without letting them bleed into his everyday life.

The rock is an escalation.

It’s the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  It’s a good day for Declan.  He finishes and submits a paper for one class and works on his final exam study outline for another.  He makes dinner, and Adam comes over.  Adam rides him and Declan blows Adam, and Adam is tired enough to let Declan tug Adam to the shower, to let Declan get his hands in Adam’s hair and watch Adam relax in the warm water.

Adam’s eyes are closed.  It’s a blessing, because there are things Declan can’t give when he’s being watched.

It’s a good day.  It almost feels like something from a dream world version of Declan’s life, something Declan imagined wistfully when he stared at the ceiling of his room at night back at the Barns.  Declan at Harvard.  Declan touching a boy who he wants, a boy who often understands that sometimes the truth isn’t meant to be shared, that sometimes the truth is ugly.  

“I should go back to the dorms,” Adam says, because he assumes that gentleness is either temporary or a trap.

“Let me walk you out,” Declan replies.

Declan feels the chill before he sees it.  He thinks at first that it’s just that his hair is still wet, or that the hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet.  It isn’t until he’s in the hallway that he sees his front door wide open into the cold, dark air.

“Did we forget to close the door?” Adam asks, because he doesn’t know to be afraid.

“Probably,” Declan says, even though he knows it isn’t the truth.  He’s careful.  He’s always careful, even around Adam.  Even when he’s caught up in urges and wants and other things made for people who are not Declan, he knows to lock his front door, and to check the locks.

It’s Adam who sees the rock sitting on the rug just inside the door.  It’s small and perfectly flat on top, the edges rounded like they were ground away.  Painted delicately on the surface in neon yellow paint that seems to glow faintly in the night is a familiar metallic bee.

“What is this?” Adam asks, but the words sound far away.  

“It’s nothing, it’s mine,” Declan says.  His body is running on autopilot, picking up the rock before Adam can examine it too closely.  He knows this is a threat.  He knows this is meant to make him afraid.  He knows that he has to guard his face, because god knows who’s watching right now.  It was a mistake for him to ever think anyone wasn’t.  “I must have dropped it coming in.”

“I don’t believe you,” Adam says slowly.  “What's going on, Lynch?”

“It’s nothing,” Declan repeats, his voice as firm as he can make it, even as he can feel the fear coming on, his brain distant from his body, his stomach clenching, his hands shaking.  He takes a deep breath.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“You seem worried about it,” Adam replies.  His face has gone hard, and Declan is filled with dread.  This isn’t a time for Adam to be noticing things.  Declan doesn’t want this to become a group project — he wants Adam gone so he can shut the door, barricade it and panic call his brothers.  

He doesn’t want Adam to be collateral damage, either, although it may already be too late for that.

“Just go home, Adam.  I said it’s nothing.”

Adam’s fists clench, and he stuffs them in his pockets.  “I hate when you do this.  Sometimes I think you trust me, and then you do shit like this.  I feel like I don’t know anything about you.  You know how fucked up that is?”

It takes an enormous amount of restraint to not call Adam a hypocrite.  “I do.  But if you get things wrong, that’s your mistake,” Declan says flatly.  “I don’t ever think you trust me.  I thought you assumed the same.”

For a moment, Adam just stares at Declan.  His eyes are piercing, and Declan is once again afraid of what Adam sees.  It’s just so much smaller than his other fears right now that he can’t bring himself to care as much as he should.  The rock was a good reminder, a necessary one.

There isn’t anyone who could understand the life Declan lives.  People are better off when they don’t try.

“Be careful going home,” Declan says as Adam heads back out into the night, but Adam doesn’t say a word.

Ronan and Matthew are safe.  It takes calling Aurora to confirm it, which Declan had been trying to avoid.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, though.  

“You aren’t coming home for Thanksgiving, are you, Declan?” she asks gently, like it’s what she expected.  It stings to have her be right without knowing the reason, but he confirms, either way.

“Just remember that you have a home to come back to,” she says.  “Your brothers miss you, you know.”

Declan doesn’t bother telling her she’s wrong.  He just thanks her and hangs up.

I got a call from a man named Greenmantle, Adam texts Declan on Thanksgiving.  Declan isn’t surprised, but it feels like a line being crossed.  It feels like a reason to do something.

Block him.  I know it’s a lot to ask, but trust me.  You don’t want to bring this shit into your life.

It isn’t too much to ask, Adam replies.  I’m just asking the same from you.

I’ll work on it if you do, is all Declan can offer, but it seems to be enough.  Even if it weren’t, it’s the best he can do.  You’ll have to be someone worth trusting, though.

I’ll work on it if you do, Adam says.  

Declan doesn’t reply.  His exhaustion runs bone-deep, the kind of existential dread that makes it hard to function on a basic level.  It’s been a while since it’s been this bad.  He doesn’t think things ever actually got better, but he got better at pretending they were fine.

He thinks about Christmas looming, about the concept of living the rest of his life in terror.  He thinks about his brothers and Aurora, who understand that Niall’s job was dangerous but have never understood just how close to the line of fire it brings them.

He knows that if he does nothing, things won’t get better.  So he braces himself and dials Greenmantle’s number.

“He destroyed it before he died,” Declan tells Greenmantle.  “It existed, but it’s gone.  He was a selfish bastard, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone got him.  I didn’t tell anyone because I still have a few things my father made with it that I’m looking to offload.”

“Make me an offer,” Greenmantle says, “on what’s left.”

“I don’t reward bad behavior.  If you quit fucking with me and my loved ones, I’ll think about it,” Declan says, and he hangs up the phone.

5.

The conversation with Greenmantle seems to buy him some temporary peace.  It isn’t enough to set Declan at ease, but it is enough for him to feel comfortable going back to the Barns for Christmas.  

Ronan doesn’t actually believe Declan is coming, which makes Declan even more determined to follow through.

Fletcher mentions to Declan that Adam isn’t going home for Christmas, and Declan decides that if there were ever a time to try out this newfound attempt at mutual trust, this would be a place to start.

“My parents are going on a trip over Christmas break” is Adam’s first explanation.

“I don’t believe you.  You wanna try again?” Declan says, and Adam scowls.  

“Fine,” Adam says.  “I can’t afford to go back.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

It isn’t what Declan expected to hear, with visions of the scars on Adam’s body often frozen in sharp relief in the back of Declan’s head.  It’s better than what Declan was expecting the truth to be, so Declan doesn’t entirely trust this answer, either.

“Okay,” Declan says.  “Let me give you a ride, then.  I can drop you off before I head to Singer’s Falls.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Adam insists.  His scowl deepens, and Declan knows that, once again, this is a lesser version of the truth.

“So that isn’t the full story,” Declan says, sighing.  “Try again.”

Adam stares at Declan for a very long moment, and Declan thinks that maybe the conversation is over.  Adam is quieter when he says, finally, “I don’t have anyone to go back for.”

“Then spend it with me.”  It isn’t fair, asking Adam to walk into the Barns with everything that has gone said and unsaid.  There is no way he could prepare Adam for Christmas with his family.  But Adam doesn’t take him up on the offer, anyway.

“No.  You can give me a ride,” Adam says.  “You just can’t take me back to my family’s place.”

“Fine,” Declan says.  “Just tell me where to drop you off.”

The where is not Chevy Chase.

The where is St. Agnes, Declan’s church back in Henrietta.

“Don’t ask me any questions, and I won’t lie to you,” Adam says as he gets out of Declan’s car, going back to the trunk to grab his bag.  Declan has to admit that Adam doesn’t look out of place here, inasmuch as Adam looks like he fits anywhere, with his sandy hair and fair eyebrows and sharp cheekbones.  He sounds out of place, but Declan knows that isn’t always the case.  Declan knows that must take effort.

“Do you want me to wait until your family gets here to pick you up?” Declan asks.

“No.”  Adam slings his bag over his shoulder.  “If you did, you’d be waiting a long time.”

Declan hates to leave him behind.  He has a bad feeling in his gut, like this is something he should fix.  He’s the one who dragged Adam down here, hours in the car with Adam dozing in the passenger seat.  He’s the one who thought it might be good, Adam going somewhere where he would actually be known, somewhere where he didn’t have to lie.

As Declan drives away, though, it occurs to him that maybe Adam has to lie everywhere.  That maybe no matter where Adam is, he’s always alone.

It would be something they had in common, if it’s true.

When Declan was younger, business trips with his father were an unpredictable but regular staple of his life.  His dad would come into town for a week or two, shower Ronan and Matthew with presents and whirl Declan away on a job.  Sometimes the trip would be for just a weekend.  Sometimes it would be for a whole week.  Declan never knew where he was going, and he dreaded the jobs themselves.  If Niall was getting Declan involved, it was often because Niall had made a mess of things himself.

The part of the trip that Declan liked best was driving away from the Barns.  Niall liked to travel by night, a combination of paranoia and a flair for the dramatic.  They would pack up the car and head out with the sky ink black, the only light the moon and the stars shining brightly in the clear sky.  

Time moved differently during those drives.  Declan’s eyelids always drooped, although Niall was always alert, his voice warm and loud over the CDs or cassette tapes he chose.  Sometimes, he would let Declan pick, grinning at Declan when Declan picked the one he knew his father liked best.

During this part of the trip, Declan was still excited.  During this part of the trip, Declan was aware of how special it was that he got to be the one sitting in the front seat of his father’s car, going on a special trip.  During this part of the trip, the fear and dread seemed less important, overwhelmed by the electricity of the windows rolled down as his father took the sharp curves around the mountains a little too fast.  During this part of the trip, the wildness that was baked into proximity with his father was something that felt shared instead of imposed.

During this part of the trip, Declan felt included.

The worst part of the drives, though, was that Niall liked to share his thoughts with Declan.  Sometimes those came in the form of stories.  Ronan always hungered for his father’s stories, mostly because the stories Niall told Ronan were usually about Ronan.  There were no good stories for boys like Declan, dutiful and careful and terrified.  Declan realized when he was young that he wasn’t made to be a hero.

The stories Niall told Declan were mostly about Ronan, too.

Sometimes, though, Niall cut to the chase.  That always somehow ended up worse.

When Declan was ten, Niall took Declan on a trip to Berlin.  It was Declan’s first time leaving the country.  He remembers being so nervous about it he felt like he was going to die, worried about whether it was legal to transport dreamstuff across borders, about whether the passport his father obtained for him was actually legitimate or whether it was a forgery.  He remembers sitting in the car driving away from the Barns and thinking for the first time that things would only get worse the older he got, and not better.

And then, Niall opened his mouth to give what was one of his most straightforward messages.

“Declan,” Niall said, “you’re growing up.  You’re the oldest, and you’re not a baby anymore.  As the oldest, it’s your job to pave the way for your brothers and to make their paths easier.  It’s your job to look out for them, even when they think they don’t need it.  Ronan’s going to be a handful, and he’s always going to need you.  When I’m not around, I expect you to take care of them.  You’re the man of the house when I’m away.”

At the time, Declan had promised he would.  At the time, it had felt like he was being trusted with real responsibility.  At the time, it made him glow inside, that he got such an important job.

In hindsight, it makes Declan’s stomach curdle.

He still thinks about it, though, more often than he should.  He thought about it when he accepted the offer to attend Harvard.  He thought about it when he stayed in Cambridge instead of going back to the Barns for Thanksgiving.  He thought about it most days in between, worrying himself sick about whether he’s being irresponsible by chasing after things he wants and leaving his brothers behind with only Aurora to protect them.

He thinks about it now, as he drives back from Henrietta to Singer’s Falls at dusk, following the speed limit as he navigates the winding roads with no shoulders.  He thinks about what Niall would say if he saw him at Harvard.  He thinks about what Niall would say if he saw him trying to carve out a life for himself that isn’t centered on dreaming.

You’re still living a life of lies, Declan thinks.  You’re still living a life made for someone else.

The problem with Niall is that he only cared about a life for himself and a life for Ronan.  So maybe, Declan thinks, he should try caring just a little bit less what Niall would say.

“Your brother’s on the roof of one of the sheds.  Can you go tell him dinner’s almost ready?”

Aurora has her favorite record on in the background and an apron tied around her waist.  She looks just the same as the day Niall died, her eyes bright and her hair a blonde halo around her head.  She wraps her arms around Declan when he comes in, tells him she’s happy to see him with her gentle, earnest voice.

Declan lets her hug him, but he doesn’t know what else to say.  It’s hard to understand the reality of a dream made by and for his father when his father is long dead.

“I’ll let him know,” Declan says, grateful for an excuse to put some space between them.  He puts his coat back on and heads outside, a lantern in hand, the crisp December air making him feel more alert.

Ronan is, as promised, on the roof of one of the equipment sheds.  It doesn’t take Declan long to find him — when they were little, before things were tense, before fistfights in parking lots and you always hated Dad anyway, of course you don’t miss him, they would sometimes drag a ladder over and climb up together to watch the cows graze and the sun set.

“I’m coming up,” Declan warns him, and Ronan moves to let Declan climb up, the metal groaning under their combined weight.  Declan sets the lantern down between them, an easy kind of buffer, but Ronan reaches out and moves it to the other side of him.

The metal roof is cold underneath Declan, but he doesn’t dare mention it out loud.

“You came home,” Ronan says.  “I wasn’t sure you would.”

He looks the same as Declan remembered.  It feels weird to think that it’s only been a few months, to remember that Ronan didn’t physically change much within that time.  His hair is still shaved, his expression still sharp.  Declan wonders if it softens around Aurora these days like it used to before, and this particular ire is reserved just for him.

“I wanted to at Thanksgiving, but some Dad shit came up,” Declan replies.  Ronan tenses at the mention of their father, and Declan rushes to try to defuse things before this precarious balance tips in favor of fighting.  “There’s a reason I tell you to be careful, it’s just.  Some of his old coworkers weren’t good people.  I try to keep that away from the Barns.”

“And that’s your job?” Ronan asks.

Under normal circumstances, Declan might take offense to that.  Of course it’s his job.  It’s been his job for longer than Ronan has understood what their father did.  But Declan gives him the benefit of the doubt, because Ronan’s brows are furrowed like he’s trying to understand, and his words aren’t laced with venom.

“Always has been.  There were things Dad didn’t tell you that he should have.  That kind of stuff fell to me.”

There was a time when Declan would have sounded more bitter about that.  But he’s working on not holding Niall’s failings against Ronan.

“It was fucked up, you know,” Ronan starts.  Declan tenses up, waiting for the sharpness to be aimed in his direction.  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, with Mom back.  I didn’t ever think about what happened to my dreams when I died.  I didn’t know….”

He trails off.  Declan knows Ronan won’t connect the dots, won’t say ‘it was fucked up that my Dad didn’t tell me that me dying would put Matthew to sleep’.  But Ronan still looks bothered.  Ronan looks more thoughtful about it than Declan can remember seeing him in a long time.

Declan starts to wonder how much has changed with some physical space between them.  With Ronan having a parent alive to actually parent in his absence.

“It would have given you a reason to live more carefully,” Declan says quietly.

Ronan doesn’t say anything for a moment.  He stares up at the sky, the lantern casting shadows on the side of him closest to Declan.  

“I was trying,” he says finally.  “It wasn’t like I wasn’t fucking trying.  It’s just easier when you haven’t lost everything.”

“You didn’t lose me.”

“Nah, that’s bullshit,” Ronan says easily, without heat.  “I lost you, too.  You weren’t ever really just my brother, but you thought it was your job to replace Dad.  I could’ve used an older brother back then, not a wannabe parent.”

Declan doesn’t say how unfair he thinks that is.  He doesn’t say that being just a brother wasn’t something he had the space to be.  Not when Ronan was chasing down death like it was his job.  But it wasn’t a situation any of them ever could have been prepared for, and Declan isn’t in the mood to start fights over things that are still too fresh for them not to hurt.

“It at least gave you some practice with your right hook,” Declan says mildly, and Ronan laughs, sharp and abrupt, the sound lingering in the open air.

They sit there for a while until Declan’s toes start to feel numb, until he remembers that he was sent to collect Ronan for dinner.  They climb down from the roof, and Declan thinks they’re done for the night, that the heart to heart is over and Ronan will resume being his usual prickly self.

But Ronan stops Declan before they go back into the house, sets the lantern down on the ground and loops an arm around Declan’s shoulder.

“I could still use an older brother, you know.  Kinda miss having one of those.”

“You have one,” Declan replies softly.  “You just have to respond to texts sometimes.”

The Lynch family Christmas tradition is to go to Midnight Mass at St. Agnes.  Aurora always loved the way the pastor’s voice boomed through candlelit glow as he read the Christmas proclamation, and as soon as they were old enough that Matthew wouldn’t sleep through most of it, she convinced Niall to let them go.  They would always stop at a diner afterwards in their nice Christmas clothes, and ketchup or chocolate would inevitably end up on someone’s sleeves.

This year, Declan drives his two brothers alone.  “You boys should go without me,” Aurora said breezily, and when Ronan tried to protest, she insisted she was feeling tired, and that it wouldn’t be better in the morning.

Mass drags on forever, and Declan struggles to keep his eyes open during the homily, but he realizes he missed this.  He hasn’t been going to Mass in Cambridge, because it isn’t the Mass itself he missed.  It’s having time for just him and his brothers.  

They walk out together and are heading back to the car when Declan catches a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye walking towards the church.  He takes a closer look and realizes that the person is familiar, that the person is not someone he knows from being a parishioner.

Adam Parrish walks towards the church in a thin winter coat.

“Go warm up the car, I’ll be right there,” Declan tells his brothers, and he hands Matthew the key.

“What are you doing here?” Declan asks Adam as he gets closer.  Adam looks cold, his hands stuffed into his pockets, the lights from the church making his red nose apparent.

“I’m here to go to church,” Adam says.  

Declan knows it can’t be true.  He knows for a fact that Adam isn’t Catholic.  He knows for a fact that Adam doesn’t usually go to Mass.  Adam had told him that himself.  And Adam is wearing jeans under his coat, which is not Christmas Mass attire.

It’s late, and Declan is tired.  Declan is tired of the lying and the scrutinizing.  Declan is tired of never knowing when he can take Adam at face value.  Declan is tired of the hypervigilance.  It’s gone on too long, and it’s wearing him down.

“When we drive back, we’re going to talk,” Declan tells him, and he means it.  “Think about what you want to say, but I want to know the truth.”

To his credit, Adam doesn’t disagree.  The more Declan looks at him, the more tired Adam seems, too.  He doesn’t look like someone who’s on break.  He looks like someone who’s still barely treading water.

“You’d better go,” Adam says.  “Ronan and Matthew are waiting for you.”

They exchange a ‘Merry Christmas’, and Declan walks back to the car.  Ronan has claimed the driver’s seat, but Declan doesn’t protest it.

He’s too busy running Adam’s words through his head, trying not to panic.  

He never told Adam his brothers’ names.  Adam shouldn’t have a reason to know.

It’s Ronan, in the end, that answers his question without meaning to.  He starts up the engine and pulls out of the church parking lot before he asks, his tone carefully masking what Declan recognizes as shit-stirring nosiness, “What the fuck did you want with Adam Parrish?”

“You know him?” Declan asks.

“You don’t?” Ronan asks.  “He was top of my class at Aglionby.”

+1.

“Twenty questions,” Adam says, unprompted, when he slides into the passenger seat of Declan’s car.  He looks better rested than he did when Declan saw him on Christmas, and his cheeks are pinked up from the cold.  

“Twenty questions?”

“That’s how I want to do this.”  Adam buckles his seatbelt and closes the door, and Declan pulls out of the parking lot of St. Agnes.  He filled up on gas before picking Adam up, so he turns towards the main strip to head back to the highway.  “It’s a prep school thing I never had enough friends to have to do.  And if we’re going to do this, I want it to be fair.  One question for you, then one for me, until we’re all out of questions.”

Declan never really played twenty questions in high school for that precise reason.  There weren’t a lot of questions about himself that he wanted to answer.

But it does suit their purposes.  As much as Declan wishes it weren’t the case, he knows they both owe each other some explanations.

“We can start when we get to the highway,” Declan agrees.  “But only as long as you promise to actually be honest this time.  If you don’t, it’s going to be a long drive.”

“I promise,” Adam says.  His face is serious, and his tone matches.  Declan wants so desperately to believe him, to not have to spend this entire drive questioning everything Adam says to try to find flecks of truth.

“Okay,” Declan says.  “Then I’ll ask first.  Whatever gets said in the car stays between the two of us.”

The first few questions on both sides are obvious questions.

Declan asks why Adam didn’t tell him he went to Aglionby.  Adam responds that he recognized Declan, but that Declan didn’t recognize him.  Adam responds that everyone at Aglionby knew that Adam was a scholarship student, and that Adam thought that if Declan knew, he might ask Ronan about it.  Adam says he didn’t want people to know he was lying about how much money he had, and that he wasn’t sure if he could trust Declan not to say something.

“Your brother was kind of obsessed with me, you know,” Adam says, casually.  “He used to watch me when he came up to Boyd’s with your dad.  I figured he was just hot for mechanics, but then you came along.  I think I’m just Lynch bait.”

“Please never say that again,” Declan says.  “If you tell me that story again, we’re never going to fuck again.”

Adam looks a little too smug for Declan to take his easy agreement seriously.

Adam asks Declan who Greenmantle is to him.  Declan hesitates for a long moment before he finally says that Greenmantle was a business associate of his dad, before he died.  He has to amend the statement, when he thinks about it more.  He says that Greenmantle was the one who had his father killed.  That it wasn’t an accident.  Declan says that his dad was involved in shady shit, that Declan knows more than someone his age should about black market dealings.  

He doesn’t want to explain the magic.  He doesn’t want to explain how this relates to Ronan, because there are some secrets, some lies, that are bigger than Declan.

“I talked to him before I blocked him,” Adam admits, “so I know he deals in magical artifacts.  We’re going to circle back around to that in my next question.”  

There wasn’t much that could fill Declan with a deeper sense of dread, but he doesn’t call off the game.

“How did you lose your hearing in your left ear?” gets confirmation of what Declan suspected all along.  

“My father hit me,” Adam says.  Declan can hear the familiar way Adam tries to sound matter of fact about it, to remove the sting by cutting off the emotion entirely.  “I fell and hit my head.  It wasn’t the first time he hurt me, but it was the worst.  He thought I was faking it, and I couldn’t afford the hospital trip.  I don’t know if anything could’ve been done even if I did go.”

“I’m sorry,” Declan says gently.  Adam tries to shake it off.

“No, I’m sorry,” Declan repeats.  “You have to live with that every day and know what caused it.  Your body is different, and your dad made it that way.  You can’t ever get away from it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you can, either,” Adam says.  Declan could point out that it’s different, but Adam doesn’t look like he wants to argue about it.

In a lot of ways, they both arrived at the same place, living under the shadow of their fathers’ choices.  So Declan lets it go, for now.

“Is magic real?” Adam asks.

“I don’t really know,” Declan replies, which is the truth.  Adam scowls at him and reminds him of the rules, so he sighs and elaborates.  “I don’t know about magic generally.  I don’t know anything about spells and witches and psychics and all that crap.  I don’t have magic.  I just know that my father could take things from his dreams, and that he was stupid about it.  He ran his mouth about some magical artifact that allowed him to do it, but that didn’t exist.  It wasn’t a thing that did it, it was him.  So even now that he’s dead, people are still threatening me to give it to them.  Most of them aren’t nice people.”

“I think,” Adam says slowly.  “That the size of your problems is a bit bigger than I thought.”

“You mean you aren’t dealing with murderers on a regular basis?” Declan asks.

Adam looks at Declan appraisingly, but there isn’t the distrust and disbelief in his eyes that Declan expected.  Adam looks intrigued, which should trouble Declan more.

The questions come more easily from there.

Adam talks about moving out of his trailer to the room above St. Agnes, how he found out about the apartment because there was a bulletin taped to his locker.  Declan talks about Ronan finding his father’s head bashed in on the driveway.  Adam talks about working three jobs and barely breaking even, about wanting desperately to get himself out of Henrietta and make something of himself, to avoid putting down roots that would tie him to the town.  Declan talks about road trips in the dead of night, about the creeping realization that he was nothing to his dad, and how he still isn’t sure how to be something with him gone.

It feels like barely brushing the surface of things, even as the words pour out of them.  Both of them have accumulated a lifetime full of lies and secrets, have cobbled together cleaner versions of themselves to hide the mess that is buried underneath.  

Declan pulls over to a rest stop so they can stretch their legs and use the restroom, and he finds himself watching as Adam finishes an answer, Adam’s face steeled and steady even as the story ends, once again, in fear.  Declan is reminded of the first night he saw Adam, at the orientation event, drinking in Adam’s features and trying to understand the shape of him.

He failed for a long time.  

But this drive is revealing.  It’s meant to be.  In some way, Declan thinks they were always careening towards this, both of them waiting to put their cards on the table until they were sure they weren’t the only one doing it.  He thinks it should feel reassuring, some sort of twisted mutually assured destruction situation.  He could blow up Adam’s carefully crafted image of himself, and Adam could blow up his.

It doesn’t feel that way, though.

It feels like listening to an Adam that is the album without the scratches, the bigger picture finally taking shape.  It feels like scraping away layers of paint to see canvas underneath.  It feels like he’s starting to understand Adam as a whole person.  As much of a whole person as Adam lets himself be.

That makes Adam’s scrutiny in return worth it.

After a while, they slide into other conversations.  They talk about classes for the next semester and compare notes on professors.  Declan feels like he’s finally able to catch his breath.

He should have known better than to let his guard down, though.  They’re driving over the Charles River when Adam asks his last question.

“There are strings attached now, aren’t there?”

Declan pauses for a second, not quite sure how to respond.  He isn’t sure if this is the same Adam who thought having roots was something to fear instead of want.

“You’re the one who said that nothing comes with no strings attached.”

The response doesn’t seem to bother Adam.  He shoots Declan a grin that’s so familiar to Declan that it reminds him that not all of the Adam he has seen is false.

“I’m asking if you want to be my boyfriend.  It’s not that hard to just say yes.”

“Oh,” Declan says.  He switches lanes to get away from a car that’s been tailgating him for three miles.  He stares straight ahead to try to focus on the road, to try to shove down the smile threatening to sneak onto his face.  “Then yes, I guess.  You have to be my boyfriend too, though.  If we’re going to do this, I want it to be fair.”

“You’re an asshole,” Adam says, and Declan loses the fight.  A smile, a real one, spreads across his face, and he laughs, the sound entirely too loud.  

It feels like purging something heavy from his body and accepting something warmer in its place.

Going back to daily life in Cambridge feels strange.  

The reality is that not much changes.  Declan is still himself.  There’s no secret version of him that is open and trusting and friendly.  There’s no shortcut key that changes the way he interacts with the world.  There’s still a rock with a neon bee sitting on his desk in his bedroom.  There’s a new voicemail following up on the price of the remaining magical items he has to offload.

There’s just Declan, in the shape Niall made him, in the shape he made himself, a liar and a secret keeper.  

It’s equally jarring seeing Adam slip just as easily back into sweater vests and flattened vowels and card games about poverty with people who don’t understand it.

But there are other things Declan can shape himself to be that are better.  He has a couple phone calls with Ronan that don’t end in him pulling out his hair.  Ashleigh texts him, and he tells her that he had fun, but that he’s seeing someone now.  Declan’s bedroom becomes a place where Adam looks at him like he’s something bigger than he imagined himself to be.

“We don’t lie here,” Declan told Adam the first time they found themselves in Declan’s bedroom after break.  “There has to be one place where we’re honest.  Can I trust you with that?”

“You can,” Adam says, and for once, Declan believes that Adam is telling the truth.