Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Adam Parrish didn’t get into Harvard; on the contrary, being wait-listed for an ivy league school alone was a feat in and of itself. It meant he was good enough that he was noticed, that they were interested, just not good enough to be immediately accepted. Which was fine, Adam could live with that. He could go to another school for his first year and then reapply to Harvard and MIT next year, and maybe by then he’d have the advantage of a collegiate academic record that would make him more noticeable and likely to actually get fucking accepted. It was fine, he’d worked it all out. He might not even have to wait that long, because they could take him off the waitlist and then he’d be going to Harvard.

A small part of him laughed cruelly at that thought. ‘A Parrish going to Harvard- did you really think that was going to happen? Where does a story like that ever happen except fairytales? You were setting yourself up for failure.’ Adam quickly hit that part of himself with a mental baseball bat and shoved it to the back annals of his brain; it sounded a bit too much like his father, and he wasn’t keen on listening to anything that man had to say, in real life or in his head. 

That left the question of where Adam would go to college for his first year. On one hand, he needed to get as far from Henrietta as he could (while maintaining a reasonable driving distance for Ronan to visit, ideally). On the other, he needed a full ride if he wanted to save up for the potential of reapplication and eventual transfer. He kept this all in mind as acceptances came into St. Agnes, Virginia Tech and George Mason and Chapel Hill and Duke. He spent hours comparing their proposed financial aid plans, and if he was being honest with himself none of them were giving him what he needed.

Adam was thinking idly about cost effectiveness vs. distance vs. work-study supplements when he felt a hand on his left shoulder. He turned to see his coach, Mr. Pinter.

Some people (Ronan, Gansey, Blue) would question why Adam, with his two jobs and schoolwork and various magical entities that he juggled, would throw in a sport on top of all of that. But Adam was a creature of movement; at Boyd’s he was able to analyze and exercise in moderation, solving puzzles and straining muscles enough to put everything into place, sure, but he needed more. He needed to run, and dodge, and slam into people and hit shit. He needed to feel his muscles scream and lose his head to the quick pace and strategy of the court. That’s why he’d been so drawn to exy; not only was it a bastard sport, something that he felt a connection with, but it was also fast and violent, and despite everything Adam still knew he was a Parrish. He had to make sure to get every potential inside of him out in a way that was controlled, measured, and wouldn’t hurt anyone he actually gave a shit about. 

Some people would also question why the school guidance counselor would coach such a violent sport, to which Mr. Pinter would simply smile and shrug, saying some bullshit about how exercise and intense sport can be therapeutic and cathartic for anyone or something. Mr. Pinter was around the same height as Adam, with sunkissed skin and dark brown hair that he’d run his hands through during practice and Adam only sometimes stared at. 

“Parrish! Sorry, wrong side to talk on, I know-”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“Right, of course. Listen, Adam, are you free to chat after school today?” 

Adam checked the clock. It was almost the end of the day as it was, and a Friday. Adam had no other plans but Gansey giving him a ride to Nino’s, and Gansey could wait a couple minutes.

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Is everything alright?” Mr. Pinter smiled his guidance counselor smile.

“Of course, Adam. There’s just someone I’d like you to meet. Come to my office after class, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Now go on, don’t be late on my account!”

When Adam entered the guidance counselor’s office, the tattoos on the other man in the room’s forearms immediately caught his attention. They were black flame licking up the man’s toned arms. The man’s face was set into a frown, grave in a way that seemed natural and instinctual to him. Adam could appreciate that in a person, choosing to not hide your exhaustion and anger at the world and leaving it up for everyone to see. It reminded him of Blue. Mr. Pinter greeted him.

“Parrish! I’d like to introduce you to Coach David Wymack, coach of the Palmetto State University Foxes. Coach Wymack, this is Adam Parrish.” 

“Just call me Wymack.”

Adam shook his hand and took the seat Mr. Pinter gestured to. Mr. Pinter sat across from him and clasped his hands together, pausing for a moment to choose his words.

“Parrish, I have to be honest with you: you’re easily one of my best players. You have an intensity on the field that the other boys are hard-pressed to match, and I see how you pull your checks. You have a lot of power. I’m thankful you switched to backliner for the latter half of the season, it improved our game immensely. I think you have a lot of potential to be an even greater player, if you wanted to pursue the sport professionally. So, I sent a cut of you playing to Coach Wymack to nominate you for his team.” Something in Mr. Pinter’s eyes told Adam there was something else, another reason surrounding his nomination, but he couldn’t quite place it. Maybe he didn’t want to.

“He’s right about your power,” Wymack cut in, “and about your potential. You’re fast and have a lot of force behind your swings. With the right kind of training you could be a decent striker. College exy is different from high school, though; there’s no pulling punches. You check someone, you fucking go for it, because the other person’s going in just as hard, if not harder. It gets bloody on my court. If you think you can handle that, then I’ve got a contract right here for a 5-year ride on my team.”

Adam stared at the papers Wymack placed on the desk. A million questions raced through his head: Was it a full ride? What was the housing for the athletes? Did they get stipends? Why did he pick Adam? Surely there were better players from better schools, with better backgrounds.

“What’s the tuition?”

“Full ride, if you’d like. Housing is on campus, fully furnished athletes dorms, meal plan included, equipment included, the whole deal. I need a new striker, Adam.”

“I’m still waiting to hear back from Harvard.” It was a lie, but Adam needed to let this man know that he had options. Wymack was going for a hard sell and it made Adam suspicious. The coach simply raised an eyebrow.

“Well damn, princess, didn’t realize the competition I had here. Tell you what, I’m in town for the weekend, staying at the Super8 across from the gas station. Take my number, take the weekend to think about your options, and give me a call.”

He handed Adam a card and stood up. Adam looked in his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Wymack knew he was lying; he was playing with him, playing along. He saw Adam’s hunger and pride fighting each other, immobilizing him. He had cornered Adam with an offer, then immediately restructured the situation so Adam had all the control again. Adam would’ve been impressed if he weren’t so on edge. He simply took the card and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Great. I look forward to hearing from you. Pinter, Parrish.” He nodded to Mr. Pinter and Adam and took his leave. Mr. Pinter waved him out. Adam stared at Pinter’s desk; Wymack had left the contract behind. It sat there, the dotted line staring at him, almost mocking him. It sang, ‘Here I am, Adam. Here’s your escape. All you have to do is sign me, and you’re free. You’ve sold yourself to bigger entities before, you’re used to being bound, this is nothing. Easy peasy. Just pick up the pen, Adam. Sign your life away, just like you always do.’

It was a full ride. It was about a five hour drive away. It was too good. Adam snatched up the contract and marched out of the office and into the parking lot. 

There he saw Gansey sitting against the Pig with Henry, both entirely engrossed in the other. Across from them was another car, clearly a rental, where Wymack and two other men stood. Both were much shorter than him, one blond and in all black with an aura reminiscent of Ronan, which really shouldn’t have put Adam at ease, and the other ginger and slightly taller than the other, with some intense scarring on his face. The blond clocked him immediately but said nothing to his companions as Adam marched up and smacked the contract down on the roof of the car. The ginger raised his eyebrows, and Wymack graced him with a single brow raise. He looked at Adam expectantly.

“Why me.” He grit out.

“Because you’re good. What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“There’ve got to be better players,” Adam couldn’t stop himself, hating every moment he spoke but unable to prevent the words from leaving his mouth, “ones with better training, better backgrounds. Why me?” 

“I don’t want those players. Better training, better backgrounds, that’s not what the foxes are about.”

“Then what are they about?”

“Second chances.” The ginger said. He was leaning against the car, and when he turned to face Adam, his pale blue eyes were striking. Adam felt like they could see into his very soul. “They’re about being able to make something of yourself on your terms. You don’t have to be the person you were before, if you don’t want to be. As long as you’re a fox, you can try again, and make someone new, even when everyone else has already given up on you.”

Adam inhaled sharply. He was Adam Parrish: trailer trash. Adam Parrish: working three jobs and living in a sorry excuse for an apartment above the local catholic church. Adam Parrish: Henrietta’s forgotten son. Adam Parrish: ambitious bastard.

What would a new Adam Parrish look like, if he had the chance to remake him in his own design?

Adam looked into the ice-blue eyes of the short man in front of him, and saw a hard determination behind them. It was in the loose set of his shoulders but the even set of his mouth; the scars on his face that looked like they hadn’t seen a year yet, but were worn with such casualness it made Adam’s skin ache in certain spots under his shirt. Whatever this man had been through, he’d gotten his second chance through the foxes. He was extending that chance to Adam now.

‘What do you want, Adam?’

“Do you have a pen?”

Chapter Text

It had taken a lot of convincing to get his friends to let Adam drive down to South Carolina on his own. He and Gansey had argued at length, but Adam wouldn’t budge. It felt like a rite of passage of sorts; he was loading up everything he had left in the apartment above St. Agnes and leaving Henrietta to start his second life. It only seemed right to him that he take this time to truly experience being on his own, just him and the highways and shitty little gas stations. 

Ronan wasn’t exactly thrilled about not going with him, but he understood that Adam needed this. It wasn’t as if Adam was leaving forever; the clothing he’d left in his drawer in Ronan’s dresser was staying right where it was, waiting to be worn whenever Adam came home. What Adam didn’t say was that he didn’t want Ronan going down with him because he didn’t know if he could handle watching Ronan drive away from him. Adam driving away from Ronan was one thing, because Adam knew he was coming back and part of him lived in the Barns; his clothing and his books and his love. But Adam didn’t have a drawer of Ronan to keep with him at college. He had his phone, which Ronan was begrudgingly answering more often, and he had a stolen black hoodie, and he had his memories to keep him company. If he had to watch Ronan leave while he stayed behind for once…. Adam felt like his chest might cave in.

So he’d hit the road the first week of June. It felt surprisingly bittersweet. So many times, Adam had imagined leaving Henrietta as a celebration, finally earning his freedom and being able to breathe without the dust of his home and his past weighing down his lungs. But as he pulled out of the Barns, Adam saw Ronan standing on the porch through his rearview mirror, and he ached . He wanted to turn around and run right back into Ronan’s arms, hold him so tight he could crawl into his skin so they would never have to be apart. It was tempting. Adam took a deep, measured breath, and drove on anyways.

The Hondayota made a valiant effort. He’d made it out of Virginia and all the way through North Carolina before the jitters started. Adam cursed and pulled to the side of the highway. He wasn’t even 25 miles from Palmetto State; surely the shitbox could hold it together for the last leg of the trip. He popped the hood and was immediately faced with a plume of smoke. He coughed and took a step back, waving it away from him. It’d been a nice dream, anyway, thinking that he’d be able to at least make it to the university before having his car succumb to shitbox disease again. But Adam wasn’t a dreamer; that was a title belonging to someone who was 275 miles too far away to help him now. Adam sighed and dialed Wymack.

“Parrish. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Wymack. My car broke down.”

“Goddamn it. Alright, where are you?”

“On the side of I-85, just past the exit for Greenville.”

“Stay there. I’m sending...fuck, I’m sending Andrew and Neil to get you. I’d say I’m sorry in advance, but you’re a fox now. You’re gonna have to deal with them eventually.”

“...Right. Thanks, coach.”

“Be on the lookout for a black maserati going way too fast.” Wymack abruptly hung up.

It was only a 15 minute wait in the South Carolina afternoon heat before a sleek black car slid behind the Hondayota on the side of the highway, which was surprising to Adam seeing as PSU was easily a 30 minute drive from here. Neil smiled good-naturedly at Adam as he exited the car, and helped him move his backpack and 3 boxes into the maserati’s trunk. Andrew got out of the car, but only watched them silently.

“Is that everything?” Neil asked.

“Yeah.” Adam said. “I’ll need to call a towing service when we get into town, but other than that we’re done here.”

“Leave it.” Andrew said. It was the first time Adam had heard him speak. His voice was deeper than he’d expected it to be, and flat. There was an authority about him, both fearless and bored at the same time. Adam thought this guy could be commanding an army and still sound like he was reading from the phonebook. 

“What?”

“I don’t repeat myself.”

“I’m not just abandoning my car on the side of the road. I need it.”

“Calling that a car would be generous.” Adam bristled. Yes, his car was a piece of shit, but it was his piece of shit, and he hadn’t poured his blood sweat and tears into keeping it running just to leave it on the side of the road in South Carolina.

“It’s my car. How the hell am I supposed to get around if I just leave it?”

“Andrew and I could drive you.” Neil piped in. Both men looked sharply at him. Neil had a mild look on his face, feigning casualness, but the hint of a dangerous smirk danced up the edge of his lips. Adam glanced at Andrew, whose face remained impassive, but Adam swore he saw his eyes narrow slightly. It seemed like the two men were having an entire conversation in their held stares, and Adam felt a sudden pang of homesickness for Ronan. Finally, Andrew huffed and shook his head.

“You’re driving him. I’m not playing chauffeur.” Adam frowned. He didn’t like being talked about like he wasn’t there.

“I didn’t say I’d need you guys to drive me anywhere.” He said decisively. “I have a car. I appreciate the offer, but it’s fine. I can fix it up when it gets to campus. I’d really just like a ride to the dorm now.”

All eyes turned to him, and Adam could tell he was being dissected. Andrew’s stare was a needle, prodding him, searching for an entry point where he could dive in and figure out all his secrets. Adam rolled his shoulders back and held Andrew’s stare, envisioning a protective bubble around himself to keep him out of his head. Adam didn’t need anyone trying to figure him out here; he was known enough back home. Andrew drummed his fingers on the roof of the maserati and cocked his head slightly to the side.

“Interesting.” He said, and swung himself back into the car. Adam’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure what Andrew was calling interesting, but he had the sinking feeling it wasn’t anything he wanted someone to be interested in. 

“Adam.” Adam jumped slightly. Neil was halfway into the passenger seat; Adam had gotten lost in his thoughts. Neil nodded his head into the car. “Let’s go.”

Adam got in the car.

One of Adam’s roommates was already in their dorm, and Adam nearly did a double take. He looked exactly like Andrew, save for his clothing, which actually contained colors other than black, and his face, which seemed to openly display emotion. For example, Adam could see open confusion on his face at the moment. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The man asked. Adam was confused, too. Had this guy not been told he would be moving in?

“Adam Parrish. I’m your new roommate.” The other man raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was about to say something before Neil came in behind Adam with his last boxes. Adam watched as the Andrew clone’s eyes shifted to Neil and hardened, his face contorting with disdain. Adam glanced behind him to see Neil with that mild look on his face again, only this time the danger behind it wasn’t playful in the slightest.

“Aaron.” Neil said.

“Josten.” Aaron sneered. Neil turned his attention fully towards Adam.

“Where do you want these?”

“Bottom bunk is mine.” Aaron called as Adam and Neil brought his things into the bedroom. Adam decided the top bunk was fine, and also that he didn’t want to know whatever Neil and Aaron’s deal was.

Once he was unpacked, Adam sent Ronan off a message.

Made it in. The shitbox died. I’m exhausted.

   shit. how did u get there?

A couple of teammates picked me up. It’s getting towed into town. They tried to convince me to just abandon it.

   not a bad idea

Fuck you

   bit 2 far away 4 that rn

Fuck off. I don’t know why I miss you already.

   ur guess is as good as mine

   i miss u too

I need to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow. Tamquam

   alter idem

Chapter Text

By June 9th, all the returning players as well as five other freshmen moved into Fox Tower. Adam met his other roommate, a tall man named Matt with spiked hair reminiscent of Henry Cheng, when he was sent to collect him for some “team-building exercises.” Matt smiled weakly yet fondly at the words, and explained further as he and Adam walked down to the tower’s basement.

“It’s not that I don’t trust her judgement,” Matt began, “because Dan is brilliant. I know she knows what she’s doing. But we’ve got a lot of rookies this year, and the old crowd...doesn’t always mesh well, y’know?”

Adam nodded when Matt looked over to him. He got it just fine; he wasn’t exactly the type to “mesh well,” either. 

The basement was mostly barren, with cold cement and brick walls. Folding chairs were stacked along the sides, though 15 chairs were set up in a wide circle. Adam spotted Neil and Andrew sitting down, a guy with a tattoo on his face on Andrew’s other side who Adam recognized as Kevin Day, then Aaron and some very excited guy talking animatedly to a tall blonde girl. She was mesmerizing in the way supermodels were, or giant venomous snakes. Next to her was a shorter woman with platinum blonde hair, rainbow dipped on the ends. Matt went ahead to sit a seat away from her, supposedly saving the spot for someone. Adam slid into the chair on the other side of Neil, and immediately felt eyes on him. He looked at Neil, who’d only quirked an amused eyebrow at him.

“This seat taken?” Adam asked.

“No. Don’t worry about it.” Neil said, his mouth curling into a smirk. Adam watched as Matt and Neil made eye contact from across the circle; Matt’s eyes darted to Adam and back to Neil and he raised his hands in the universal gesture of, ’What the fuck is he doing?’, to which Neil responded with a shrug, which Adam took to mean, ‘ Don’t worry about it.’ Kevin leaned forward from the other side of Andrew and looked like he was about to say something to Adam when a strong voice cut in. Adam had never been more thankful for the interruption of what was sure to be some truly soul-crushing small talk. Now that Adam could see him more clearly, Kevin Day seemed handsome in a way similar to Gansey, meaning that Adam felt an underlying urge to punch him in the face.

“ALRIGHT FOXES! ASSES IN CHAIRS!” A woman said. She was of average height, dark skinned with hair buzzed almost as short as Ronan’s. She stood in front of the chair Matt had saved and clapped her hands.

“Listen up, gang. First, I wanna welcome the rookies to the team. Six…is a lot, but new ERC rules meant we had a lot of spots to fill. I’m your captain, Dan Wilds, and your vice captain is Neil Josten over there.” Dan pointed to Neil, an affectionate look taking over her face as she said the words ‘vice captain’. Neil gave an awkward smile and a short wave, obviously not expecting to be called out. “It’s gonna be one hell of an adjustment period as we all learn to play with each other. But as soon as you signed that dotted line, you became a Fox, which means we’re a team now. We work together. We talk things out. We save our personal issues for when we’re outside the court, and use whatever aggression those issues cause to wipe the floor with our opponents. Right?”

A few people whooped and cheered at the promise of violence. Adam could see why Dan was the captain. Her presence was commanding, and she spoke with a conviction that things would work out. Adam was half tempted to believe her. 

For the icebreaker, the rookies had to say their name, their home state, and their sign. Adam fought to not roll his eyes; he may be a psychic, but he wouldn’t give any credence to astrology.

Adam only half paid attention. There was Fletcher from Florida, a blond bro-type who was a Libra (“Me too!” waved Rainbow Dip-Dye Girl); Jack from Massachusetts, who looked like he was trying so hard not to say a slur that he might get a hernia (and was an Aries); Benjamin (“Call me Benjy!”) from Montana, both taller and darker than Matt and looked like he’d apologize to a chair for bumping into it (a Taurus, apparently); Eliot from New York, a nonbinary Sagittarius with dark blue hair and a pleasant smile (“They/Them pronouns, please and thanks!”); and Gillian from Indiana, sitting on the other side of Adam. Her scowl had not wavered in all the time they were down here.

“I don’t know what my fucking sign is.” She said. It didn’t sound much like she cared, either. The supermodel across the circle sat up.

“When’s your birthday?” She asked. 

“July 25th.”

“Leo.” The supermodel slumped back into her chair. Matt spoke up, seemingly trying to plug some energy into the quickly lagging meet-and-greet.

“Hey, me too! Leo twins!” He smiled widely at Gillian, but the efficiency with which she iced him out was impressive, if Adam was being honest. Adam wasn’t going to just leave Matt burnt like that, though.

“Adam Parrish, Virginia. I’m a Cancer.” 

“Further proof that all Cancers are hot.” The supermodel said as she winked at him. Adam felt the tips of his ears heat up. 

It was still strange to think of himself as being desirable at all. Sometimes it felt like Ronan was a fluke; just a strange enough person himself to find the strangeness of Adam attractive. Adam was ruddy, blond only by technicality and tan by necessity of working in the sun. He still struggled to look in the mirror and see more than dust and dirt in his freckles, more than the crook of his nose where it had been broken on more than one occasion. Underneath Ronan’s fingertips, though, he’d begun to appreciate the bumps and blemishes of his body. He appreciated that Ronan appreciated them, at least. 

Neil spoke next, prompted by Dan to start the upperclassmen introductions. He squirmed slightly in his spot next to Adam. That awkward smile was back. Adam wondered why he was vice captain, if he seemed to hate speaking to everyone so much.

“Uh, I’m Neil. I’m from Arizona. Allison, what did you say my sign was?” The supermodel- Allison, Adam told himself -made to speak before someone interrupted.

“I thought you were from Baltimore. Isn’t that in Maryland?”

Adam felt all the air leave the room. Neil froze beside him, and Adam followed his gaze across the circle to Jack. Jack had a square jaw, close cropped dark hair, and eyes that were more grey than blue. He slouched in his chair, arms folded, and was looking at Neil with a mix of malice and amusement that made Adam’s stomach turn.

Adam wasn’t stupid. As soon as he’d accepted the position, he and Gansey had spent an evening researching everything they could about the Palmetto State Exy Team. At first, he was furious with the team’s recruitment requirements; he wasn’t broken, some kind of addict or basket case that needed a halfway house. All he needed was an impressive college degree, a nice suit, and a fresh start in a place where nobody knew what a Parrish was. Adam hadn’t been unknowable for a while now, but he still at least wanted to be known on his own terms.

It wasn’t long till they’d found all the articles about the rookie striker’s troubled past. Gansey’d had to take a walk around the Barns when they’d looked up just what exactly the Butcher of Baltimore was known for. It had certainly put Neil’s words to him in the parking lot in a new light. ‘You don’t have to be the person you were before, if you don’t want to be. As long as you’re a fox, you can try again, and make someone new.’ Neil had clawed his way out of his father’s shadow and the grave that had been seemingly dug for him at birth, and was now free to live his life as the person he chose. As exceedingly fucked up as the whole situation was, Adam admired Neil’s determination to live. It felt familiar, and it made something in Adam's chest settle.

“I said I was from Arizona.” Neil’s voice was deceptively even, but Adam heard the warning in his low tone. Jack, evidently, did not.

“See, that’s not what I read. You’re our vice captain, right? What kind of example does it set for the rest of us when you lie to our faces?”

It happened almost too fast for Adam to see. One moment there was complete silence as the rest of the foxes marveled in horror at the audacity of this bitch; the next, Andrew was in the middle of the circle being held back by three people with surprising difficulty, considering how small he was. Adam noticed a flash of light in Andrew’s hand and felt his blood run cold. A couple thoughts crossed his mind all at once.

Andrew has a knife.

Andrew would use that knife on a teammate.

Andrew would use that knife for Neil.

It went like this: Andrew left the meeting, followed by Neil and Kevin, and Aaron and Nicky, the twins' cousin, soon after. The supermodel’s name was Allison, and she said the words as though they could fly from her mouth and slit Jack’s throat if only she could fit enough disdain into them. Rainbow Dip-Dye was named Renee, and after Dan wearily informed the freshmen of a mandatory cookout at the team nurse Abby’s house and released them, she made a beeline for Adam. She had a calm, light air about her, and the way she walked reminded Adam of Persephone. A silver chain shined around her neck, ending in a cross

“So, Adam, how are you settling in? You’re rooming with Matt and Aaron next door to me, correct?”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, “It’s been alright? I’m unpacked, just slept the rest of the day after the drive down.”

“Oh, was it a long one?”

“About five hours, so not great. My car gave out a couple miles from town, so Neil and Andrew actually drove me the rest of the way.” As soon as he mentioned the other men, Adam saw the benign look of friendliness on her face sharpen. So, Adam thought, this wasn’t just a courtesy call. 

“That was kind of them. Did you all talk much?”

“Not really. I’d already met them when Wymack came to recruit me, so we were at least familiar with each other.”

“I see. What do you think of them?” There was the prying. Adam wasn’t sure what she wanted, so he wasn’t sure what to give to her. He chose his words carefully.

“They’re alright. Neil’s friendly enough. Andrew tried to convince me to abandon my car and said calling it a car would be generous, so there’s that.” Renee nodded.

“Hm.”

“He’s not exactly wrong about it,” Adam added, “But it’s still my car, so I told him to drop it.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t say anything else?” The way she asked it was casual enough, but Adam knew she was looking for something. He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. 

“He just called me interesting and got in his car. We didn’t talk on the drive back.” 

A small smile grew on Renee’s face, and Adam suddenly felt like he’d both given away too much and passed some sort of test.

“Andrew’s a fast driver, I’m sure it didn’t take you long to get into town. I’m glad he and Neil were there for you.”

Something about that sentence seemed loaded, but Adam couldn’t place it. Renee was a hard read, all peaceful gazes and breezy statements. 

“Sure.” He said, and stood up to leave. Renee took a step back to allow him the movement.

“Well, you know where I am if you ever need anything or just want to talk. Feel free to stop by any time.”

“Sure.” He repeated. She smiled and gave him a slight nod before turning away. That conversation was over. Adam made to leave, another caught his attention.

“So, like, what’s your deal, anyway?” That was Fletcher. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“Hm, see, I’m not quite a boy or a girl, but more like a graffiti covered car abandoned on the side of the road that people think is indicative of society’s collapse, but if that car was put on a stage in front of a bunch of rich people they'd probably consider it high art.” That was Eliot.

“...What?” 

“You can just call me a faggot, if that’d be easier for you.” Eliot suggested. Adam snorted softly as Fletcher spluttered and tripped over himself to try and explain how he would never use that word, he was an ally .

“Eliot, Gillian,” Dan called, “I wanted to check in with you guys real quick. Are you both okay with your rooming assignment?”

“How do you mean?” Eliot asked.

“Just, I know you’re nonbinary, and you’re rooming with a girl, so if there’s an issue with that or any worries-”

“I’m not worried about rooming with Eliot.” Gillian bit back. “I’m a fucking lesbian. If anything, this is less distracting. I’m into girls, not...whatever the hell it is they have going on.”

“I feel like you just called me a slur but, like, in the best way possible.” Eliot said gleefully. “Wanna go do a face mask?”

Adam shook his head and exited the basement. This was going to be a long year, he could already tell. He walked out of the building for some fresh air and called Ronan.

Chapter Text

Abby Winfield, Adam soon found, was a force to be reckoned with. Her house was only one story and at 7pm became packed to the gills with Foxes. It was a bit much for Adam; he’d never been a fan of parties, or talking, or alcohol, and there seemed to be not much else to do here besides that. There was, however, a large meal being prepared in the kitchen, and Adam assigned himself to sous-chef duty at first chance. He wasn’t expecting it to be easy, but once Abby saw he wasn’t about to budge and rejoin the party, she set him to work: chop this, mix that, no don’t touch that it needs to set, no don’t throw that spice in there, what are you, a philistine? The ‘yes, ma’am’s streamed naturally from him, and Adam smiled as he thought of Maura Sargent and Calla Johnson, co-commanders of the war on dinner waged every night at 300 Fox Way. It doesn’t escape his notice, the name of the street and the name of his new team, but he doesn’t think too hard on it. He’s known there’s no such thing as a pure coincidence for a while now; he’d call Maura about it later.

 Not long after Adam gets to work, Renee, Andrew, and Neil join him in the kitchen. Maybe it’s more of an ‘Andrew and Neil’ than an ‘Andrew, and Neil’ situation, he thought. It’d only been a few days, but he’d been hard pressed to catch a glimpse of one of the two men without the other. Renee smiled warmly at Abby.

“Anything we can do to help in here, Abby?” Renee asked.

“In a surprising change of pace, there is not! If Adam here plays as efficiently as he cooks, I’m looking forward to the season.” Abby smiled over her shoulder from where she was whisking something that needs to be diligently whisked, and Adam felt his ears heat up.

“It’s nothing, really,” He demurred, “I’m just good at following instructions.”

“Have you had something to drink yet, Adam?” Renee asked. “There’s a few different types of beer in the fridge.”

Adam shook his head, eyes trained on the knife in his hand and the pile of carrots on the cutting board in front of him. “No thanks. I don’t drink. A water would be nice, though, if you’re offering.”

“Conscientious objector, or did your daddy have one too many in the evenings?” The monotone cut through him like ice, and Adam nearly chopped the tip of his finger off with the force he threw down the knife. The inquiry had caught him off guard. He fought to keep his face even as his blood rushed in his ear. He heard Abby scold Andrew behind him.

“Andrew, that’s none-”

“It’s fine, Abby.” Adam said as turned right to face where Andrew was leaning languidly against the fridge, staring at him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Neil purse his lips. Adam met Andrew’s stare, picturing a bubble around himself to protect his energy and his nerve. “It’s none of your business why I don’t drink. I just don’t.”

“No.” Andrew said simply.

“What?”

“I said what I said. You think it is none of my business. You are wrong.”

“I’m not, actually. But thanks for the concern. I’m really feeling that big fox welcome.” Adam decided to press his luck and take his eyes off of Andrew, turning his attention to Renee, who was watching them intently with a cold water bottle in her hand. Something in Adam’s body screamed that this was a terrible idea, but he shoved that down. He wasn’t going to let Andrew think he was afraid of him. Adam had once been possessed by an eldritch demon from the dawn of time that tried to make him kill his boyfriend, a boyfriend whom he regularly slept next to and would sometimes bring violent creatures out of his dreams and into their bed, which was always an invigorating way to wake up. A five foot blond kid with some chip on his shoulder was the least of his concerns. 

This was a mistake.

All at once Adam was yanked by his shirt collar until he had no choice but to be face to face with Andrew. The other man’s brown eyes were nearly black in the shadow of the fluorescent kitchen lighting, and Adam suddenly felt very small again.

“Don’t mistake this for concern.” Andrew lowed. “This is just the case review.” He released Adam’s collar.

Adam stumbled backwards. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus; the lights were too bright, the walls were too yellow, his heartbeat too fast. He swiftly turned and made his way down the hall to the front door, and stepped onto the porch. Adam leaned his forearms onto the railing and bowed his head. His legs were shaky, but he didn’t want to sit down. He could barely think. A hand on his left shoulder startled him enough that he jumped violently; he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Nicky stood stock still, hands up in front of him.

“Whoa, easy, it’s just me, I thought I made enough noise-”

“No it’s- I’m deaf. On my left side.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll, uh, make sure I come from the right next time?” Nicky said meekly. Adam just stared at him. Nicky sighed.

“I was sent to check on you. You kind of busted ass out of there.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nicky’s face screwed up. “What are you sorry for?”

I’m sorry I talked back.

I’m sorry I broke eye contact.

I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to stand back up without someone else’s help.

Adam lost track of where Andrew’s hand ended and his father’s fist began.

“Oooookay, okay, we’re sitting down now, easy, there ya go, that’s it, Adam, okay look at me, can you look at me Adam?”

Adam felt like he was floating, but allowed his eyes to follow Nicky’s voice. He had big, warm brown eyes, and smiled widely at him.

“Good, okay, now, um, oh shit, what order does he go in? Oh! Okay Adam, can you name five things you can see right now?” Adam’s eyes pulled away from Nicky, drifting a little unsteadily.

“...The wall. The door. The rocking chair. The windchimes. Trees.”

“Okay, great, awesome. Now name four things you can feel.” Adam took a deep breath.

“The wind, on my ear. The wood. My jeans. The fabric of my shirt.”

“Good. What about three things you can hear?” Adam closed his eyes.

“The windchimes again. There are birds somewhere to the right. People are laughing inside.”

“Yeah. Can you give me two things you can smell?” Adam inhaled slowly.

“The gravy in Abby’s kitchen, and ozone. I think it’s gonna rain soon.”

“And one thing you can taste?” Adam furrowed his eyebrows.

“...My spit?” Nicky laughed, and Adam opened his eyes. He didn’t know when his breathing evened out, but the world felt stable again. He still felt winded, though, and leaned his head back onto the porch railing. He didn’t remember when they’d sat down.

Nicky sat with him on the front porch in silence for only a few seconds before words burst out of him.

“I used to get them a lot.” He said. “Panic attacks, I mean. I got them all the time when I first moved to Germany, but my- but my boyfriend helped me through them.” He seemed almost nervous, like he was trying to play it casual but also remaining vigilant for Adam’s reaction. Adam simply looked at him and nodded.

“Have you had panic attacks before?” Probably , Adam thought.

“No,” Adam said, “But my boyfriend gets them, sometimes. We just, we do something different, to bring him out of it. Thanks.” Nicky’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” There was a split second of stillness before Nicky exploded and threw his arms around Adam.

“Oh. My. God! What’s his name? What’s he like? Is he handsome? You’ve gotta tell me everything, it’s basically the law.” Adam huffed a laugh and patted Nicky’s arm.

“His name is Ronan. We went to high school together. He dropped out and became a farmer. He has a buzzcut, a giant back tattoo and only wears black. He’s kind of an asshole.” Adam couldn’t help but smile ruefully at the end. Being held by Nicky, as unexpected as it was, was nice right now, but he could imagine how Ronan’s arms felt around him, and he found he’d much prefer that any day of the week. Nicky blinked at him a few times.

“...Okay, so are you gonna actually tell me about him, or…?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Did I mention he’s 6’2 and has a pet raven?” 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I sincerely wish I was.” Adam’s grin was lopsided and sunny. “He’s impossible.”

“Holy shit. This is amazing. I want to know everything about this gay, goth farmer with a bird. I want to read books about him. A trilogy, even. Did you say 6’2?”

Before Adam could respond, the porch door opened. 

“Nicky, dinner’s- Jesus Christ, get off the new kid, for fuck’s sake, Nicky.” Aaron snapped.

“I’m hugging him! It’s a hug, we’re friends , Aaron, we have an inseparable bond!” Nicky defended himself. Aaron looked less than impressed.

“You literally met him today.”

“And if anything were to happen to him I would kill everyone on this team and then myself.” Aaron rolled his eyes and slipped back into the house.

“Don’t say memes out loud. It sounds stupid. I’m not saving you a seat.” He called back.

Nicky stood and extended his hand to Adam with a big smile.

“Ready to go back inside?”

Adam looked from Nicky’s face to his hand. He was perfectly capable of standing on his own. He clasped Nicky’s forearm and allowed himself the extra leverage to get up.

“Lead the way.” Adam said, dusting himself off.

As they closed the door behind them and slid into two open chairs beside Allison, a steady drizzle tap danced on the roof.

Chapter Text

Adam arrived at the court as early as he could due to his nerves, walking up to the doors at the same time Wymack was unlocking him. Wymack side eyed him, grunted, and directed him to the locker room. 

“You’re number thirteen. Orange uniforms are practice and home games, white are away. If you’re gonna come early, you’re gonna get the gear out for practice. Go.”

Adam was surprised to see his locker already had his uniforms in it. He held the orange jersey in his hands, feeling the cotton under his fingers. Parrish, 13. He changed quickly and helped Wymack take out the stick rack and balls while the rest of the team filtered in. 

The first practice was a shitshow. 

For one thing, Fletcher, an offensive dealer, couldn’t seem to make up his mind on who to pass the ball. He was strong, but not enough to make up for his poor aim. Gillian seemed more interested in checking people into the sideboards than actually playing defense. Benjy had a large presence that helped him cover his mark, but any complicated footwork had him tripping over his own feet. Jack seemed to be allergic to passing; he’d rather try a shot at goal from the other end of the court than send it down the line to someone who’d have a better chance at actually scoring. It was driving Kevin and Neil insane, but as much as they snapped at him to just pass the ball, Jack just got angrier and more selfish. Eliot was good in goal, but became eerily quiet and unresponsive as soon as they stepped on the court. 

It was all Adam could do to keep up with them all. He tried to keep an eye on the whole court and anticipate the plays, but the foxes’ style was so chaotic that he ended up feeling more and more lost. Andrew blocked shot after shot of his with what seemed like barely any effort, and after a particularly frustrating block Adam was shoved hard.

“What the fuck was that?” Kevin snapped. “I was telling you to pass to me. Are you fucking deaf?”

Adam stared blankly at him.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes,” Adam lowed, “I’m deaf, in my left ear. If you’re not loud enough that my right side can catch it, then I’m not going to hear you. Stay on my right if it matters so much.”

Kevin looked thoroughly stricken, and Adam could feel eyes on him from all over the court. They weighed on him. He wanted to curl in on himself and shuffle out of their gaze; he wanted to puff out his chest and dare anyone to ask the damned question, What happened? He didn’t need to though, as he watched Kevin roll his shoulders back and look him dead in the eyes. 

There was no pity there that Adam could find. No curiosity and no anger, either. Adam could read Kevin’s expression plainly: I don’t care. It wasn’t unfriendly, but simply said, It doesn’t matter what happened to you, what you can or can’t do. You’re here, and no one can question that. 

“Try to keep to the right side of the court, if you can.” Kevin ordered. “If I’m going to be making the effort to reach you, you’ve got to make the effort to hear me.”

Adam nodded. Kevin nodded back, then shouted down the court, “Reset the play!”

Adam could still feel the goalie’s eyes heavy on his back as he walked back to his starting position.

The cool of the locker room air conditioning was a blessed kiss on Adam’s skin. His legs felt like lead as they carried him to his locker. No one was particularly happy with the way practice had gone, and they were all feeling the exhaustion and relief at it being over. Sure, they’d do it all over again in a couple hours, but at least that would be the start of actual training instead of this fucked up gauging of their abilities. Adam took a deep breath and tore his jersey off over his head. He needed a shower ten minutes ago.

“Fuck, Parrish, what the hell is up with your back?” It was Jack. Adam froze. No one had made any comment on his scars at Aglionby, mostly because no one cared enough to look. An unspoken rule of an all-boys school: you don’t look at the other boys too long. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Not everyone was going to just look away.

Adam wasn’t covered in scars, but he knew where each of his were and could navigate them like the roads of Henrietta in his mind. Start at the right shoulder for cigarette burns, both sides because an ashtray was whatever was available to his father’s hand. Take a hard left down the back to run into the beer bottle of age 7, take a hop and a skip across the spine for the beer bottle of age 12, and make a right for the grand line of the beer bottle of age 16. Curve back around to the front, and there wasn’t much aside from a few more cigarette burns on his upper chest and some mottled skin where some broken ribs hadn’t healed right and had needed surgery to set right. Adam wasn’t ashamed of his scars. They were proof that he’d lived, he’d survived, and he’d gotten out. But that didn’t mean he wanted everyone to point them out and ask about them. 

“Jack,” Matt chastised, “You don’t just ask someone about their scars, man.”

“Just because you treat Josten with kid gloves doesn’t mean I have to do the same. Look, he’s going to change in the stalls. Hey, Parrish, come on, where’d you get those? In a fight?” Jack jeered. “Turn around, I bet your chest is even more fucked up.”

Adam heard something like cloth being thrown, and what sounded like Nicky gasp.

“ Neil… ”

Turning around, he took in the scene behind him. The guys were all frozen around the locker room. Jack was holding a jersey that had been thrown at him, and was blatantly staring across the locker room at Neil, who was shirtless and coldly staring back. Adam recognized the shape of an iron clear on his shoulder, and tried to focus on that rather than scan the plethora of cuts and burns up and down Neil’s torso.

Neil had total command of the room. He walked evenly to his locker, a few down from Adam. He met Adam’s eyes and nodded to him once, a hard resolute look that caused Adam to quickly close his mouth- he hadn’t realized his jaw had dropped. He nodded once back, and watched as Neil shucked off his shorts, threw them into his locker, and walked back to the showers. He had more scars on his legs, but Adam really tried not to check his vice captain out as he walked bare-ass out of the room. The silence was deafening.

“If that’s done,” Kevin forced out; he looked a little sick, “We still all need to shower and have a post-practice meeting. Get moving.”

The huddle was mostly Wymack going over their practice schedule for the summer and how it would change once classes started up. There was also the side note about mandatory therapy, which Adam was not aware was something he would have to be doing and was somewhat obviously less-than-thrilled about.

(“Wipe that look off your face, Parrish, I’m not asking you to tell her your life story. You don’t even have to say anything during your sessions, god knows half this team already doesn’t…”)

They were coordinating rides back to the tower when Adam’s phone began to obnoxiously ring, and Adam deeply regretted letting Ronan change it to the Murder Squash song. All eyes turned to him.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?” Allison said, disgusted. Renee was wincing as politely as she could beside her. 

“I think it’s...music?” Benjy supplied. He looked as though he was trying to place the words, the artist, the genre, anything , but coming up completely empty.

“What is this, fucking noisecore?” Aaron said, echoing Allison’s distaste.

“Answer your fucking phone, Parrish!” Kevin snapped. Adam was fumbling between it, his bag, and the door handle. Matt swooped over to open the door for him, glancing down to see the ‘Ro <3’ that took up the screen. Adam nodded his appreciation and swiftly walked down the hall, shifting his bag onto his shoulder and his phone to his ear.

“Hey Ro, sorry, practice just got out.”

“Make me wait six rings again and see where you sleep when you come back here, asshole.”

Adam laughed. “I’m sure Opal wouldn’t mind me crashing in Matthew’s room for a while, she barely uses it anyways.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you into the house.”

“You can’t lock the entire Barns down just because you’re mad at me.”

“Who said I was mad? Maybe I just think it’d be funny.”

Adam sighed. “How was your morning?”

“Same old, picking dream eggs out from dream chickens dream asses, tossing out feed, making sure Opal didn’t chew through any of the fence posts yesterday.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, north-west corner. I’m gonna file her fucking teeth down, or dream up a mouth gaurd for her.”

“That might not be such a bad idea. I doubt you’d get it in her mouth unscathed, though.”

“If she bites me I’ll bite her back, we’ve already established this.”

“Please don’t bite each other. Tell her I said that.”

“If she decides to show up.She’s been throwing a fucking tantrum since you left. Yesterday was a lot of screaming.”

Adam’s heart began to ache. “I’m sorry. How’d you get her to stop?”

“Don’t fucking apologize, she’s the one being unreasonable. I took her for a drive so she could spend some time in Lindenmere, have some dream logic to distract her until she wants to be civilized again.”

“And you’re the leading expert on acting civilized.”

“You’re goddamn right, I am.”

Adam laughed again. God, he’d missed hearing Ronan’s voice.

“How was practice? This was the first, right?”

“Yeah. It was...eventful.”

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘awful’.”

“I missed a pass.”

“So?”

“Someone asked me if I was deaf.”

“I’ll fucking kill them.”

“It’s fine, Ro, it just...wasn’t exactly how I was planning on telling them.”

“And how the fuck were you going to tell them?”

“...It was a work in progress, but I knew I was gonna make a plan.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Fuck off. It’s just...weird. There’s all these people that are supposed to be my teammates, but half of them look like they’d rather die than talk to anyone, and at least two people hate me already.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, I just know, okay?”

“Would you tell me if you were in trouble?”

“Of course, Ronan. I’m fine, though, it’s probably harmless, or it’ll at least smooth over in, like, a week.” Adam didn’t like lying to Ronan, but he didn’t need him coming guns blazing down to Palmetto. Adam could handle whatever Andrew’s issue with him was. Plus, he had a good feeling about at least some of his teammates.

“Fine.” 

“Did I tell you one of my teammates is gay? He told me about his boyfriend, so I told him a little bit about you.”

“What did you say?”

“That you were a gay, goth farmer with a pet raven and a giant back tattoo. He didn’t believe me at first. He’s absolutely fascinated by your existence, it’s pretty funny.”

“That’s the shittiest description of me I’ve ever heard. You didn’t even mention my massive cock.”

“I’m not gonna lie to Nicky like that, he’s nice.”

“Fuck you, Parrish.”

“Gonna have to take a raincheck on that, Lynch.”

“...”

“...”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I’ll be home for the break in November.”

“That’s in five fucking months.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll see if I can drive up sometime sooner.”

“Shut up. I could go down there, you know.”

“I mean, you could, but you don’t have to-”

“Shut up. What the fuck was that. There’s no ‘have to’ about it, it’s not an obligation or a fucking chore to go down there and see you. I’ll pass the Declan seal of travel-approval and get the witches to watch Opal and Chainsaw. Just tell me when.”

“...”

“You’re not an inconvenience, Adam. You don’t have to be the only one driving.”

“I know.”

“You’re still full of shit.”

“I know.”

“...Do you have any more practice?”

“We have a couple hours break and then go again for a bit in the evening.”

“Get some rest before it.”

“I will. I’ve gotta see if anyone’s offering a ride back.”

“‘Kay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Tamquam.”

“Alter idem.”

Adam hung up. He leaned his forehead against the brick of the stadium, wishing to meld into the white-painted walls. He missed Ronan like a lung. He’d give anything to be able to fall into his arms when he got back to the dorm.

“Was that fucking latin?”

Adam whipped his head around. It seemed he’d had a crowd, for how long he didn’t know. Dan and Matt had the decency to look a little guilty at being caught eavesdropping, but Allison and Nicky held no such qualms. Aaron, who had asked the question, was looking at him like he was insane. Neil seemed mildly curious, but Andrew, Renee, and Kevin next to him didn’t look like they had any interest standing there by the door. Adam stared at them all.

“Well? Was it?” Matt asked.

“Was what what?” Adam replied.

“What you said at the end, was that latin?”

“How long have you guys been standing there?”

The team glanced quietly amongst themselves. Adam cursed internally; there was no way they were going to rat themselves out. He sighed.

“Yeah, it was latin.”

“What did it mean?” Nicky asked, eyes wide and enraptured.

“It’s Cicero. Look it up.” Adam wasn’t answering these fucking questions.

“That’s pretentious as hell.” Allison said.

“Thanks.” Said Adam.

“Was that him?” Nicky blurted out. Adam sighed again.

“Yeah, Nicky, that was my boyfriend.”

It was a strange wave that swept over the foxes. Matt and Allison both cursed and seemed to be passing money down to Renee, who was smiling warmly at him. Aaron’s face was kind of twisted up, and Adam couldn’t wait to find out why that was. If one of his roommates was homophobic, this was going to be a long year, and Adam was going to have as much un with it as possible. Kevin and Andrew stared at him in a way that was slightly uncomfortable, but the surprised yet fond look on Neil’s face was more than enough to make up for their expressions. As Nicky grinned at him, Dan stepped forward. 

“That’s great, Adam. Really. You should invite him down to a game when the season starts.”

Adam nodded awkwardly. “Right.”

“Some of us were going to go get lunch, do you want to hitch a ride in Matt’s truck? We’ve got space.”

Adam checked out the parking lot. There were only two cars, a black maserati and a powder blue truck. The maserati looked like sex on wheels. But Adam tore his eyes away; he could ask about the car’s owner later. Perhaps at lunch.

“Sure.” Adam said, and was ushered over to the truck by Dan. Nicky waved at him and said he’d see him later as he was corralled to the maserati. Renee mercifully took the middle seat and Adam squeezed into the edge of the backseat, closing the door as best he could.

As Matt drove them out of the parking lot, he cleared his throat.

“So, Adam, are you-”

“Going to tell us the name of your boyfriend?” Dan cut in, pinching Matt’s hand on the stick shift. Adam closed his eyes.

“His name is Ronan.”

“Matt,” Allison said, as though neither Dan nor Adam had spoken, “He’s obviously at least bi. There’s no way he could be gay when he was blushing at me like that yesterday.”

Adam felt a hand pat his leg. He opened his eyes to see Renee with the most sympathetic look on her face.

This was going to be a long ride.

Chapter Text

Lunch with the upperclassmen was pretty good, all things considered. Allison, Dan, and Matt all badgered him with questions about Ronan (“Where did you guys meet? What’s he look like? Holy shit, does he have any brothers?”), but at least they let him pay for himself without question. 

On their way up to their room in the Tower, Matt pulled Adam aside on the stairs. 

“So,” He started, chewing his lip a bit, “This is just a suggestion, but maybe try not to bring Ronan up around Aaron if you can?” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Adam asked. He’d noticed Aaron’s expression after practice. He also wasn’t in the business of hiding the fact that he was bisexual and had a boyfriend, so this had better be a good reason or Adam was liable to bring Ronan up expressly to make Aaron uncomfortable.

“He’s...not exactly…” Matt grimaced and considered his words. “I don’t know the details, you’d need to ask the rest of the monsters-”

“The what?”

“Oh, shit, sorry. It’s, like, a little nickname for Andrew’s whole group; him, Neil, Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Neil gets kind of upset when we call them that, and good for him, sticking up for his man and everything, but it’s kind of stuck now.”

“Right.” Adam said. He pointedly ignored the obvious outing of Neil; it was none of his business unless Neil wanted to tell him himself, though it did feel nice to know it wasn’t just him and Nicky.

“Yeah, so if you want to know more about it, go ask them. Their room is at the end of the hall. But, uh, be careful? Neil may have mellowed them out a little, but I still don’t trust Andrew as far as I can throw him, you know?” Adam gave Matt a quick once over; he was easily taller than Ronan, and had obviously been playing on a Class-1 NCAA team for the past 4 years. Adam considered it.

“Based on how short he is, I’d say that’s pretty far. I’ll keep it in mind.” Matt gave a sharp laugh and quickly checked around them.

“Holy shit, that was hilarious but do not let him or Aaron hear a height joke like that if you value your knees.” Matt gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You seem cool, Adam. I’m glad you’re here. Just be careful, yeah?”

“Sure.” Adam replied. He’d be careful. He was always careful. It was everyone else around him who decided to make poor decisions, obviously.

Matt nodded and they departed on their floor, Matt heading to their room and Adam going straight to the “monsters” door. It was ominous, certainly, but if Neil and Nicky were included under the moniker then it felt a little overdramatic. Of course, Adam reminded himself, he’d only just met them. For all he knew, they could be serial killers masquerading as exy players. Wouldn’t that be a story.

Adam knocked on the door. It swung part way open, Andrew’s body trying to fill the frame.

They stared at each other. Neither had spoken to the other since the cookout. 

“What.” Andrew said. Adam decided to cut the bullshit. He had the sudden feeling that Andrew wouldn’t respond well to politeness, and he’d like some actual answers.

“Why did Matt just tell me not to talk about my boyfriend around your brother?” He said. Andrew looked him up and down for a moment, then stepped back and opened the door more. Adam stepped in. The living area was sparsely decorated, just two beanbags and a large flatscreen dominating most of it. Two writing desks were shoved under the windows, their chairs nowhere to be found. Neil and Nicky were sat in the beanbags, controllers in their hands.

“Nicky,” Andrew called, closing the door behind Adam, “Tell him why Aaron looked constipated when he found out about Adam’s boyfriend.”

Neil snorted and leaned back in his beanbag. He looked like he was settling in for a fun story. Nicky’s face twisted up.

“He’s…” Nicky started, then drifted off, unable to find the words. 

“A dick?” Neil supplied.

“Who’s a dick?” Kevin asked, walking out of the bathroom. 

“Aaron.” Neil said.

“Oh.” said Kevin. He paused like he was thinking about it, then nodded. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” Neil grinned, and continued to do so even when Kevin kicked him to try to get him to give up the beanbag. He was unsuccessful, and huffed as he sat on the floor between the bags.

“If the votes are all in,” Andrew said, bored, leaning back on the kitchen counter, “then there’s your answer: he’s a dick.”

“I really don’t think he’s actually homophobic,” Nicky objected, “He just has a lot of...complicated thoughts about it-”

“Complicated thoughts about men who like men? Sounds kind of gay of him, Nicky.” Neil snarked. Nicky stifled a laugh.

“You’re the worst . It’s like you want him to hate you.” Nicky’s tone was scolding, but he was all smiles at Neil as he said it. Neil shrugged.

“It’s not like he’s going to actually hit me.”

“Could you go a day without tempting fate?” Kevin pleaded, though he looked like he knew it was a losing battle. “Just one day without inviting someone to punch you in the face, that’s it.”

“He’s incapable.” Andrew said.

“I don’t invite anyone to punch me in the-” Neil objected, but Andrew interrupted him.

“You know,” Andrew said, staring at the ceiling as though reading off it, “I get it. Being raised a superstar must be really-”

“ Andrew .” Kevin groaned, putting his face in his hands. Nicky started to cackle.

“-really hard for you. Always a commodity, never a human being,” Andrew continued, “Not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court-” Neil’s face was beet red, but his smile at Andrew was fond, and Adam felt something slide into place in his head.

Good for him, sticking up for his man. Andrew was his man. That’s why he’d been ready to cut Jack open; he and Neil were together. All of Andrew’s glares were put into a new light in Adam’s brain as he compared them side-by-side with Ronan’s. They were both cutting with most anyone else, but the way Andrew looked at Neil, with both malice and fondness, seemed achingly familiar to Adam. He was a protective asshole who hated the world and everyone in it and wasn’t afraid to show it, except for the few people he unfortunately gave a shit about, just like Ronan. Adam suddenly had no doubt that Andrew was probably soft with children and animals. His thoughts were interrupted by Kevin’s loud groans.

“Cut that line out, I never asked to be a part of this.” He begged. Nicky laughed even harder.

“But that’s the best line! I quote that on the daily! It’s the intricate and endless daddy issues for me, bitch!” Nicky snapped his fingers and it sent Neil into a fit of giggles.

“Alright,” Neil admitted, face fully flushed and holding a hand up for Andrew to stop. “So maybe I sometimes say things that aren’t the wisest in the moment, but I stand by every word.”

“Wait.” Adam’s brain caught up. “You said that? Out loud, to a person?”

“It got worse.” Kevin mumbled. “That’s just the beginning of it.”

“Holy shit.” Adam said.

“He is a living safety hazard so long as he has the ability to speak.” Andrew said. He turned his gaze back to Adam. Smooth transition, Adam thought. Mention a safety hazard, then look at Adam. Now that Adam had figured out what dialect of asshole Andrew spoke, he was able to read him loud and clear: I don’t know you, so I don’t trust you. The people I care about seem to like you, and that pisses me off. I’d rather you fuck off right now, and am prepared to say something incredibly rude and/or threatening in order to accomplish this. 

“Well,” Adam said, “This has been enlightening. Aaron’s a homophobe because Neil’s a smartass. Is that about right?” Neil beamed at him. 

“Holy shit,” Nicky said, eyes sparkling at Adam, “He might be onto something!”

“The logic checks out.” Kevin added. He looked miserable.

“They’re like a snake eating its own tail of hating each other, what’s that call-”

“Ouroboros.” Andrew and Adam said simultaneously. They locked eyes. Adam smiled at him. Andrew narrowed his eyes at him.

“I’m going to go rest before practice, then.” Adam said. “See you all later.” He waved to the room and walked out without a second glance.

I’ve got you all figured out, Andrew Minyard, Adam thought.

Back in his room, Adam was surprised to see Aaron lounging on his bed. He thought he would’ve been trying to get some time in with his girlfriend, Kaitlyn. Adam had yet to actually meet her, but he’d heard about her from Matt. Apparently there was an intense bet riding on when the twins would figure out that they were both dating redheaded athletes, and a bet on which one of them would figure it out first, and a bet on which one would throw the first punch in the ensuing fight. Adam had learned a lot about the ongoing betting ring within the team during his lunch with the upperclassmen. He hadn’t put his money on anything yet, but it was intriguing. He wondered if his cards would give him an edge on what to bet on. It might be cheating, but it didn’t seem any worse than betting on your teammates’ lives.

Aaron looked up at him from the bottom bunk. Adam stared back from the doorway. They stayed like that for a moment before Aaron sighed.

“Look, I don’t know what they told you, but I don’t give a shit.” He said. It caught Adam off guard. He wasn’t sure how Aaron knew where he’d just come from. Maybe Matt told him, or maybe it was something on Adam’s face. Maybe Aaron just knew how much the team tended to talk and made an educated guess.

“Okay.” Adam said.

“I’m serious. I don’t care. Just let me know ahead of time before he comes over so I can leave. I don’t want to see any of that shit.” He had that constipated look on his face again. There were the complicated feelings Nicky had mentioned. Adam decided not to press him; he knew an olive branch when he saw one.

“No problem. For what it’s worth, he kind of reminds me of your brother.” Adam said as he walked over to the ladder. Aaron furrowed his brows.

“How?”

“They both have the whole ‘violent and emotionally stunted homosexual’ thing going on, I think.” Aaron snorted and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Adam saw the mirth in his eyes.

“Now I really don’t want to meet him.” He said from under his hand. Adam grinned and climbed up into his bed. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

Over the next few weeks, an order was established among the Foxes. Adam would get lunches with the upperclassmen when they went out to eat, and Nicky would pull him to sit with the monsters when they went to the athletes’ cafeteria. Since the Vixen training camp started, Aaron and Fletcher were rarely around the dorms; Fletcher had found himself very popular very quickly among the cheerleaders. Adam didn’t question it. Fletcher reminded him of every generic boy he’d seen fall asleep in class at Aglionby, the only thing he was missing was boat shoes and a sports car. But Fletcher didn’t have boat shoes or a sports car; he ran at the world in worn yet designer clothing and a dazzling smile. 

Matt invited Adam to the older girls’ room for movies on Friday nights when Andrew and Neil and their crew would leave for the weekend. Allison and Eliot were having a movie war, pulling a film from their personal collections and seeing which one the rest of them liked better. Gillian didn’t seem to like anything, and made it loudly known, much to Adam’s delight. She was a terror of a human being. He thought Blue and Ronan would love her.

Jack had stopped outright instigating arguments and was giving Neil a wide berth since the locker room incident, but he still had major issues with following Dan and Kevin’s lead on the court. His sneers and sparkling personality had led to the rest of the team leaving him alone for the most part, except for Fletcher and Benjy, who were his roommates and had to interact with him. Poor Benjy, who easily had half a foot on Jack, had decided it was his duty on the team to try and act as an intermediary. Jack would start in on the easiest target after practice, and Benjy would put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and remind him that they hadn’t done anything to him, and Jack would shrug him off and storm off the showers. Matt had suggested buying Benjy a giftcard of some kind to thank him for his labor- one month in, and somehow there hadn’t been any physical altercations between Jack and another player. 

Of course, July never brought anything good. 

The peace ended on the first. Gillian was riding Jack’s ass while they were going over a play. He couldn’t take a step without her covering him, and as soon as he got the ball she checked him into the wall with as much force as she could. Jack lost his shit the third time she slammed him into the boards.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” He yelled at her, pushing her away from him. “This is practice, not the fucking WWE!”

“Maybe if you were faster, you wouldn’t get railed so hard!” She snapped, dropping her stick and pushing him back.

“If you really wanted to rail me, all you had to do was ask.” Jack leered. Gillian grabbed his helmet by the face mask, pulled him down towards her, and punched him in the throat. Jack made a choked-off noise and crumpled to the ground. Even with the neck guard, a direct hit like that was brutal. She made to follow him down, her fist pulled back, when Matt stepped up and grabbed her arm.

“Whoa, that’s enough-” The words had barely left his mouth before Gillian had swung around and swept Matt’s legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Her shout reverberated around the court. The rest of the team stood stock still. Wymack burst into the court.

“What in the fuck was that?” He yelled. “Bacay, take a fucking lap. Boyd, you good?”

“Yeah coach, just landed on my ass.”

“Good. Take Rudawski to Abby. Jesus Christ, kid, a throat punch?” Coach said as Gillian stormed past him. She threw her helmet off onto the bench, and the last Adam caught of her face it was wide-eyed and wild. 

“Show’s over, folks!” Coach clapped his hands together. “I want to have to say this only once this year: keep your personal shit off my goddamn court. When you’re in here, you’re a team. Save the fight for the game, got it?”

“Yes coach.” The Foxes called back. 

“Good. Let’s get into some footwork drills.” 

As Adam lined up, he caught the goalies standing off to the side. Renee leaned over to Eliot and said something. Eliot smiled in return, a rare look from them on the court. 

Andrew was still next to them as he watched Gillian run.

Chapter Text

Thursday came with a sinking feeling in Adam’s gut. He hadn’t told anyone on the team about his birthday being tomorrow, and he wasn’t planning to. Ronan would call, and Gansey and Blue and Henry, and maybe even the ladies at Fox Way, and they would wish him happy birthday, and they’d move on. Adam didn’t need a big deal; there was a time when he used to dread his birthday as just another reminder of his wretched origins, a life he’d never asked for. At this point, he simply had no feeling towards it. He was just going to be another year older, another year closer to achieving the goals he thought he should strive for. 

Adam had gotten his car back from the garage last week, and had dropped off his resume while he was at it. Hopefully he could get some part time work during the school year. The student athletes’ stipend was nice, but if he wanted to reapply to Harvard in the spring or summer he’d need to make sure to have the funds on hand for the application fee. Having extra money for gas so he could drive up to see Ronan sometimes wouldn’t be so bad either.

Since the return of the hondayota, Adam had been ferrying Gillian and Eliot back and forth from practice. Eliot had, unfortunately, called shotgun and found Ronan’s mixtape, filling their mornings with murder squash. It certainly made sure they were awake by the time they arrived at the Foxhole Court, at the very least.

Practice went without incident, and Adam and the other two freshmen went for lunch at the athletes’ cafeteria, and then slept and went back to the court in the evening. It was a familiar, steady routine by this point. Adam would call Ronan most evenings, or text if he didn’t have the energy. He was texting more than he ever had now, between Blue, Gansey, and Henry all sending him updates and pictures and articles during their trip. Adam was happy for them, going off and continuing their adventures, especially for Blue; like him, she had never gone too far from Henrietta her whole life. Blue was brave, though. She sought out the adventure, while Adam remained grounded by his anxiety and intense mistrust of airplanes. He wondered what they’d found out there, the three of them. Between Blue’s courage, Gansey’s tenacity, and Henry’s raw charisma, Adam wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up tomorrow and found out they’d taken over the world.

He was rereading their conversations on Matt’s couch after that evening’s practice when Aaron came in. He stood in the doorway and stared at Adam with a pinched expression. Adam nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“Andrew wants you to come over to their dorm.” He said. He sounded vaguely pissed off.

“Okay.” Adam said. He looked back down at his phone.

“Now.”

Adam looked up again. Aaron wasn’t just leaning in the doorway- he was waiting for him.

“Did he say why?” Adam asked. Aaron scoffed.

“I stopped questioning why Andrew does things a long time ago.” He said. “It’ll just give you a migraine. Come on.”

Adam followed Aaron to the monsters’ dorm, where they found Gillian leaning on the kitchen counter. She stood with her arms crossed, watching Kevin and Neil playing some video game that Kevin was obviously losing, based on the curses he was raining on Neil’s smug face. Andrew was sitting on a desk by a window that was partially cracked open, blowing cigarette smoke out into the muggy South Carolina night. He turned a lazy gaze to the door when Aaron and Adam stepped in. 

“Mission success.” He announced blandly. “The guests of honor have all arrived.” He took one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out and hopping off the desk. He pointed to Adam and Gillian from his spot across the room.

“You two,” Andrew said, “are coming with us to Columbia tomorrow night.”

Adam stared at him.

“Why the fuck would we do that?” Gillian snapped.

“Because,” Andrew said, walking lazily over to the two freshmen, “You’re going to.” He said it like it was fact, like there was no way anything else could happen. There were facts of life, and Adam and Gillian going to Columbia was suddenly one of them.

“What’s in Columbia?” Adam asked.

“There’s a club we go to!” Nicky piped in from his spot on the floor. “We used to work there, it’s hot as hell. All black, bodies packed and grinding, colorful lights; it’s gonna be great. You’re gonna love it.”

Adam frowned. It did not sound like something he would love at all. Adam Parrish was a simple creature. He preferred the outdoors, wide rolling fields and a couple of friends, and a glass bottle of coke if he felt like a treat. Imagining being packed into a dark building full of writhing, drunk strangers and flashing lights was not his idea of a good time. Gillian seemed to share his thoughts.

“I don’t club.”

“Me neither. It’s not really my thing. Thanks for the invite, though.” Adam added. Gillian glanced at him, and an understanding passed between them.

I’m not going anywhere with them if you aren’t. I won’t go without you.

It was strange. They hadn’t actually talked to each other without Eliot around. But all of a sudden Adam felt a connection to this girl, who seemed to sense just as much as he did that this trip was more of a trap.

“That's cute. The whole ‘united front’ thing you are doing.” Andrew said. “Really shows team spirit. But it is pointless and unnecessary. We are leaving at 7 after practice. Expect a bag of clothes-”

“What part of ‘no’ did you not understand?” Gillian snapped. The energy in the room changed as Andrew stopped lazily pacing, freezing in place. “We said we’re not interested. So we’re not going. You can’t just talk over us like we said ‘yeah, sure, let’s fucking go.’ We said no, Adam said thanks because he’s a polite young man, and I’m saying fuck off because I’m not. If you can’t take no for an answer-”

“Get out.” Andrew cut her off. His voice sent a tendril of dread down Adam’s spine and right into his stomach. He started for the door, thankful when Andrew stayed where he was rather than trying to impede him, or worse. Adam knew what was in those armbands he was wearing, and he’d rather not be on the receiving end. He opened the door and looked back to make sure Gillian was following him. She looked furious, still standing and gaping at Andrew like it was taking every ounce of her self control to not pounce on him right there in front of anyone. Once again, the wild rawness of Gillian Bacay was on full display. As much as Adam wanted to see her throat punch Andrew Minyard, he also would rather she not risk getting stabbed in the process either.

“Gill.” He said. She turned her attention to him quickly. Eliot had given her the nickname, but Adam had never called her by it. “Come on. We’re out.”

Gillian looked almost surprised that he was standing there, waiting for her when he could’ve made his own escape already. Adam was a little surprised at himself, in all honesty. He wasn’t one to hesitate in leaving something behind. But, then, he thought about the Barns, and Ronan and Opal, and the quick way he’d learned that leaving behind something you care about can be one of the worst things in the world. He knew he was going back for them, though. Maybe he was already growing into his second chance, the Adam Parrish out of Henrietta. Maybe this Adam Parrish was the kind who went back. Maybe he always had been, though, and he’d just never had anything to consider going back for. 

Gillian Bacay’s deep brown eyes and clenched fists reminded him too much of Blue Sargent to consider leaving her behind, Adam realized. Her fire and fear were too similar to Ronan, her pride and raised head too like Gansey in his purest form. The haunted sadness that wafted off her in an aura of colors unknown to his mortal eye tugged at Adam’s mind in a way that murdered and remembered and whispered of a well known and well missed ghost.

Adam kept looking at her.

I’m not leaving you here with them. I won't go without you.

Adam stepped aside to let Gillian through and quickly closed the door. Behind them. He didn’t need to see whatever was about to go down in that room. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a monster, not like them at least, and he didn’t need Andrew Minyard’s approval, nor did he care about his anger, so long as he was clear of the fallout. He walked with Gillian down the hall to her dorm in silence. She stopped with her keys in her hand.

“Adam,” She said, throat full, “I don’t wanna deal with Eliot right now.” Adam thought for a moment.

“Follow me.” He walked further down the hall and into the stairwell, going up the flights till he reached the door to the roof. He crouched and inspected the lock and handle.

“Nicky told me that Andrew and Neil come up here sometimes. I’m sure they won’t mind sharing.” He said. Gillian snorted behind him.

“Right, I’m sure a guy like that has no problem with people touching his things.” She responded. Adam could hear her eye roll and smirked.

“Exactly. He’s so warm and friendly.” Adam drawled. He jiggled the door handle and pushed it forward until it opened. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Nah. There are worse things in life.” 

Adam held the door open for her, but she just raised an eyebrow in return. Chivalry was dead, it seemed. Adam shrugged and walked onto the roof.

The mugginess of the South Carolina night wrapped around him. Adam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could smell the dirt, the trees, the must of nature carried on the wind that danced and curled about his tee shirt. He leaned against the brick of the stairwell and just breathed. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw Gillian crouched by the edge. She was holding her knees and staring out into the sky.

“I don’t like men who can’t take no for an answer.” She said.

“I thought you didn’t much like men at all.”

“I don’t, asshole. You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“It’s the audacity, the fucking audacity that we’re just going to do what he says.”

“To be fair, he does have knives. Those can be pretty convincing.”

“A duck could figure out how to use a knife if it was dedicated enough. He’s not fucking special.” Gillian scoffed. Adam laughed. There was silence again.

“I’ve never actually had a girlfriend before.” Gillian said softly. “I’m only gay in theory, really.” Adam’s eyes shot up. He wasn’t sure where this came from.

“I didn’t realize I liked men until last year.” He offered. “I figured out my friend liked me, and after some thought I figured out I liked him too. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“Is it scary?” 

Adam thought for a moment.

“Yeah. But there are worse things.”

They stayed like that on the roof, in quiet understanding, until Adam turned 19.

Chapter Text

Adam didn’t get much sleep before practice. His mind wouldn’t quiet down enough. I’m nineteen, he thought. His last birthday had gone quiet and unnoticed surrounded by his friends- his family -at Fox Way. He’d enjoyed the surprising peace that being surrounded by a bunch of people you actually liked and cared about could bring. Now, though, now he was miles and states away from everyone he’d grown to love. He didn’t know when this new type of aching had started. Adam had been alone for so long, he hadn’t realized he’d accidentally found a family until they were scattered across the country. He’d never had something to miss like this. 

That morning’s practice was a joke. Many of the Foxes were keyed up, too busy discussing Fourth of July plans to give much of a shit. Kevin may have been furious, but Wymack was beyond irritated. The whole team got chewed out for slacking off, and Adam became intimately familiar with the topography of the wall behind his yelling coach. He knew this wasn’t directed at him, he’d actually been trying, but there was something about a grown man’s anger that would never cease to put him on edge.

As soon as Wymack was done tearing into them and promising intense cardio for that evening’s practice, Adam dashed out of the foyer. He reached for his phone to call Ronan, as had become routine after morning practice. It wasn’t in his pocket. It wasn’t in his bag, either. Adam cursed; it must have fallen out in his locker and he’d left it there. He turned around as his teammates filed past him towards food and fireworks and rest. When he entered the locker room, however, it wasn’t empty.

Neil was sitting, straddling a bench, with Adam’s phone in his hand. From the easy way Neil was looking at him, Adam quickly decided that he had not just forgotten his phone. He stared at Neil.

“Why won’t you come to Columbia?” He asked, hand idly fiddling with Adam’s phone. Adam kept his face carefully neutral.

“I don’t like clubs, and I don’t dance or drink enough to make it worthwhile. It’d just be a waste of time.” He said. Neil nodded.

“Yeah, me neither. I didn’t want to go the first time I was invited, either. Andrew hadn’t given me much of a choice, though. It was a shitshow.”

“What happened?”

“I had a busboy knock me out and then hitchhiked my way back to campus.” He shrugged, like he was talking about the weather or how he thought he did on an exam. Adam’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit .”

“Yeah. My second time was a lot better, although one of our teammates was murdered while we were gone, so that kind of put a damper on the whole night.”

“ Jesus .”

“No, Seth.”

“That’s not funny.” Adam felt exhausted more than anything. His mind was racing; why was Neil telling him this? Was it a threat to make him go with them? If anything, it was just driving Adam to be more on guard. But looking at Neil, his body language was completely relaxed. When Adam searched his eyes for something, anything to work on, he was struck with how icy they were. Normally the vice captain’s eyes were a light blue, like pool water on a bright summer day. Now they were sharp and menacing, and Adam felt in his bones that Neil was dangerous.

“Did you know your face does this thing when you’re assessing threats?” Neil asked. “I noticed it when we picked you up off the side of the road. You lose all expression, like not using your face muscles is going to make your brain work faster. Andrew thought you were some kind of fighter, but he didn’t find any criminal records attached to your name. Found that restraining order, though. Nice job on that, by the way, it seems way easier than just going on the run and praying he doesn’t find you and finally beat you to death. Very proactive.”

Adam clenched his hands and his jaw. He didn’t know what Neil’s game was, but he didn’t like that Andrew had run some kind of background check on him. Neil pointed to his fists.

“See, that’s what’s got Andrew so confused about you. You stood your ground with him on the side of the road, but you ran from him in Abby’s kitchen. You walked right into our dorm and looked at him like you knew something. You’re constantly analyzing everything and everyone’s intentions, but even with Andrew as an established threat, you pushed back. He thinks you have some kind of death wish, even with the restraining order and boyfriend. I think it’s something else, though.” Neil leaned back and smiled. “I don’t think you’re trying to control everything around you. I think you’re trying to control yourself.”

Adam swallowed, but his throat felt full of mud. Neil’s eyes held him in place. He wanted to leave, to run forward and push him back, tell him he didn’t know anything about Adam. He was a mess of contradictions in the shape of a boy, and Neil was trying to dig into him and see it all. Neil waited to see if Adam could respond, but he couldn’t find the right words. He couldn’t think with Neil looking at him like that. Adam Parrish couldn’t think.

“You’re choking yourself,” Neil said, “On and off the court. You know every play, but you won’t let yourself move until you’ve weighed the pros and cons of each action. It makes you slow.” 

Adam let out a strangled laugh. “Is this all just about my exy game?” Neil shrugged.

“Partially. I need the team to do well, and for that to happen I think you need to lose control. Try it for an evening, test it out. Andrew will make sure you don’t hurt anyone, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to knock yourself out and hitchhike home. Let go for a night. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I could kill someone, Adam’s mind supplied. He thought of the last time he lost control of his body, of his hands around Ronan’s neck, squeezing the life out of him. Adam would rather choke himself than risk hurting the people he loved. Love was something to be careful with, to hold gently and close. Adam was only just learning how capable he was of gentleness; he didn’t want to drop it all now. 

But Ronan wasn’t here- in fact, none of the people Adam cared about were. It would be Neil and Andrew who had to deal with the fallout of Adam Parrish, and he felt a sort of bitter justification to the whole thing. They were literally asking for it. Let them make their bed, Adam decided. Whatever happened, Adam wouldn’t be responsible. 

“Fine.” Adam said. He watched as Neil’s entire face changed, the menacing power subsiding in exchange for a relaxed smile. Neil stood and walked over to Adam, handing him his phone. 

“See you tonight.” He said. Adam took his phone and left the room, left the building as evenly as he could. 

In the parking lot, Eliot was leaning on the hondayota, staring at their phone. They looked up when Adam approached.

“There you are. Can you start the car?” They asked. “It’s like Satan’s balls out here.” 

Adam unlocked the car and looked around.

“Where’s Gillian?” He asked. He had a sinking feeling he already knew. Eliot just shrugged and climbed into the front seat.

“Renee caught her and asked to talk to her inside. I doubt they’ll take much longer, just start the car already. Your shitbox AC is better than nothing.”

Sure enough, Adam looked up and Gillian was walking out of the Foxhole Court. She seemed deflated, and as she walked closer he could see her deep-seated frown. She met Adam’s eyes, thought, and he saw the anger there still, a force in the deep brown like an oncoming landslide. He nodded to her, in understanding and camaraderie.

They were going to Columbia that night.

Adam sat on skype during the break. He hadn’t felt very hungry. He just wanted to talk to his friends and forget about his life for a little bit. He wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea anymore, however.

“The Amish are such a fascinating community! The bonds that they’ve stuck to, even in the face of all the modernization they’re surrounded by- that they’ve managed to preserve their traditions for so long is incredible!” Gansey said. He’d been waxing poetic about the Pennsylvania Amish town he, Blue, and Henry had visited the day before. He was thrilled when Adam texted and asked them if they all wanted to do a video call, immediately replying ‘Yes!!!’ Blue was squeezed in next to Gansey on the left side of the frame, Henry on the right. 

“He refused to let us take pictures.” She cut in, looking simultaneously annoyed and amused. “He thought it would ‘contaminate the integrity of their mission.’”

“Hey, your Dick 3 impression is really improving!” Henry laughed and nudged his shoulder into Gansey, making him sway to the side and shove into Blue. She grinned and shouldered Gansey right back into him. Gansey spluttered as he was rocked back and forth.

“That is not what I said! I said it seemed disrespectful to the integrity of their community if we flaunted our technology!”

“That is literally exactly what Lavender said, I don’t know what you’re trying to correct here.” Henry teased.

“The integrity of his statement, perhaps?” Blue replied, deepening her voice and straightening her posture to mimic Gansey’s. Adam’s lips twitched up. God, he missed them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Ronan said. Even through the screen, Adam could tell he was looking directly at him.

“What?” Adam asked.

“They’re roasting Gansey-”

“-And you’ve barely touched your plate, Parrish!” Henry cut in. “Did something happen at school? Were the other kids being mean to you?” 

“Henry.” Gansey said. Henry’s eyebrows jumped up, but he stopped his teasing, and Adam was suddenly reminded of the power behind his best friend’s voice. Gansey turned to the camera.

“Adam,” He asked, face stern and searching, “Is something wrong?”

Adam grimaced. He didn’t like that they were all waiting on him, but he also knew better than to try to hide it. These were his friends, and unfortunately they already knew all his tells. He didn’t want to tell them about Neil’s condition, so he’d need to keep whatever he said as close to the truth as possible. Adam shrugged.

“Some of my teammates found out about my birthday. They’re taking me to a club tonight. I’ve never been before.”

“You?” Blue asked, surprised. “At a nightclub?” Adam sighed and looked up at the ceiling. 

“It wasn’t my idea.” He said.

“Have you tried telling them to fuck off?” Ronan asked. He was very obviously pissed off. 

“They were very persuasive.”

“Do you even own any nightclub-worthy attire?” Henry asked.

“They’re bringing me clothing.”

“Do you trust them?” 

Adam looked at Gansey. He had his leader face on. It made something in Adam’s heart stop, just seeing how resolute and steady Gansey looked.

“I’m not sure yet.” Adam answered honestly. Gansey nodded.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” Gansey mused. Adam breathed. Something about Gansey accepting this rather than lecturing Adam on safety and choices….Adam quietly hated himself for still feeling the effects of Richard Campbell Gansey III’s approval, miles and miles away. 

There was a sudden slam of a door from Ronan’s mic.

“Kerah!” said a little voice offscreen. “Cur iratus?”

“Non sum.” Ronan snapped. “Speak fucking English.” A large raven flew onto his shoulder and pecked his head. Ronan cursed. “Don’t fucking- I told you to stay out of here!”

“You should listen to your father, Opal.” Blue said very seriously. Adam could see her struggling not to smile. Ronan sneered.

“I’m not her fucking father.” He said. Henry tapped his chin.

“Well, hold on now,” He said, “Let’s think about this. What is a father? Can any of us truly answer such a philosophical question?”

“Shut up, Cheng.” Ronan said. Adam smiled and shook his head. He sure as fuck didn’t know what a real father was.

“I was raised by women. I’ve never met a man in my life.” Blue said. Gansey glared at her. 

“Nor have I, Lilac, nor have I.” Henry replied. “That leaves Ganseyboy here. Tell us, Mister The Third: what is a father?” Gansey let out a very put-upon sigh.

“I really don’t think I should be the authority on this. I was raised by nannies.” He said. Blue tapped her chin.

“Well…” She drawled. “There is Mr. Gray.” Ronan made a face. 

“Sure,” Adam snorted, “Let’s use the former hitman as the standard for fatherhood.” There was a large gasp offscreen, and suddenly Opal was climbing into Ronan’s lap.

“Adam!” She said his name like ‘atom’, and he felt his heart swell, even as Ronan cursed at her grabby hands and sharp hooves crawling on him.

“My little cousins like him.” Blue shrugged. “He helps mom cook, reads them stories, plays with them. He even helped Orla teach Andy how to swim last week. That seems pretty dad-like to me.”

“So, Opal, tell us,” Henry said, “Who cooks, reads, plays with you, and teaches you how to swim? Who is, in fact, your daddy?”

“Ew, just say dad like a normal person.” Blue said, absolutely disgusted by his word choice.

Opal thought for a moment before answering.

“Adam taught me how to swim.” She said simply. “He sounds nicer than Kerah when he reads. He doesn’t make me eat with metals.” She nodded resolutely, as though coming to a conclusion. “I like Adam. He can be dad. When are you coming home?”

The call was silent. The door to Adam’s room shut; he hadn’t noticed it open. 

“Shit.” He said, and scrambled down from his bunk.

Aaron was standing at the front door, a plastic bag in his hands. He looked like he was about to leave before Adam rushed out of the bedroom. They locked eyes.

“She’s not mine.” Adam said dumbly. He wasn’t sure how much of that Aaron had heard. Aaron just stared at him, wide eyed and stock still.

“She’s my boyfriend’s.” He tried again.

“She called you ‘dad.’” Aaron said evenly.

“I don’t- she’s never done that before.”

“She asked when you were coming home.”

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“...Four. Her name is Opal.” 

Aaron’s expression tensed. His grip on the doorknob tightened.

“What the fuck did Andrew say to you?” He was talking about why Adam had suddenly changed his mind about going to Columbia.

“It was Neil, actually.” Aaron’s face twisted into a sneer.

“Whatever they try tonight, they’re on their fucking own. I’m not helping with this.” Aaron said. He threw the bag on the ground and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. Adam picked up the bag and returned to his bed. The call was quietly waiting for him.

“Adam?” Blue said.

“We need a story for Opal.” Adam said numbly. “My roommate thinks she’s Ronan’s actual daughter.”

Chapter Text

Adam was 90% sure these pants shouldn’t be as tight as they were. It was like wearing some kind of wetsuit, all black and shiny and clinging to his legs. If getting them on was like this, he wasn’t looking forward to getting them off later. He threw on the black tee from the bag he’d been given by Aaron (courtesy of Andrew), and looked in the mirror. He frowned. It was a deep v-cut and hugged his biceps in a way that he thought would make Ronan drool. Adam felt acutely uncomfortable; he still found it strange that he was desirable. It felt as though he’d gone to sleep a scrawny, dust-covered teenager and woken up...this. He couldn’t place when it had happened. He snapped a picture of himself and sent it to Ronan.

What do you think?

The response was a phone call.

“Hello?” 

“Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack?”

Adam grinned and started putting on his old work boots. They were black, so he figured it wouldn’t violate the dress code too badly. There was no way in hell he was wearing whatever outrageously expensive sneakers were in that bag.

“I’m guessing it looks fine then?”

“I’m trying to cook, you shitstain.”

“Then why did you call me? You shouldn’t be distracted around hot stoves.”

“Fuck you, I wasn’t distracted until you sent that fucking…”

“...Yeah?” Adam raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t often Ronan Lynch couldn’t find a word to say. 

“Shut up. Are those fucking pleather?”

“Maybe? They’re really tight. I feel like I’m gonna tear them if I try to move too much.”

“With your ass, I’m surprised you could get into them in the first place.” Adam laughed, his cheeks flushing.

“Shut up, or I’ll just throw them away after tonight.”

“And I’ll dream you five more pairs.”

“Five?”

“Back ups. I’m thinking one of them could be waterproof.”

“Why in the hell would they ever need to be waterproof?” Adam checked his watch. Quarter to 7, he had to head over to the Monster’s dorm. He understood their name now. 

“I don’t fucking know, it could be handy.”

“‘Handy’, right. I’ve gotta go, we’re supposed to leave in fifteen.”

“...Be safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not much of a limit.”

“Fuck you, die then.”

Adam’s smile grew. He slung his jean jacket over his shoulder.

“I love you too. I’ll be safe, promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Good. Tamquam.”

“Alter idem.” Adam hung up his phone and slid it into his back pocket. When he opened his door he saw Gillian leaning beside it, arms crossed. She was in similar attire to Adam; a tank and off-shoulder sweater and ripped up jeans, all the same shade of black. She looked Adam up and down.

“Is that pleather?” She asked.

“I think so.”

“Walk ahead of me.” She ordered. Adam raised an eyebrow and started down the hall. He heard Gillian curse behind him.

“Those fuckers!”

“What?” Adam asked, stopping to look back at her. She was smiling and shaking her head.

“They dressed you with a fucking purpose, man.” She said. Adam flushed again.

“Quit objectifying me, we’re supposed to be walking to our doom.” Gillian rolled her eyes but fell in step with him.

“Oh no, the big bad lesbian is objectifying the gay man’s ass. I’m not hitting on you, I’m appreciating fine art. I’m a tit person, and I can still see that those pants were a choice on your behalf.”

“I’m bi, but point taken.”

“They even have you in a slutty little v-neck. Wait, stop, hold on.” She said. Adam narrowed his eyes at her but stopped. Gillian kneeled down and cuffed his pants. She stood and smirked.

“Alright, now we’re good to go to our doom.”

They paused in front of the door. As fun as teasing each other was, it sunk in again just what was about to happen. They were going to a nightclub they hadn’t even wanted to go to in the first place in a city almost two hours away, with people they barely knew, barely trusted, and had all but blackmailed them into agreeing to come. They had no idea what was awaiting them. All they had was the barest comfort that they weren’t alone. 

The door to the lion’s den opened before either of them could knock.

Andrew looked them both up and down, and, presumably finding them acceptable, spoke.

“Parrish, you are driving Nicky and Neil. You are going to follow my car, though failing that simple task, they can give you directions. Bacay, with me.” He walked into the hall and started for the stairwell. Adam grit his teeth. Andrew was separating them on purpose. Aaron and Kevin walked out soon after them. Aaron spared Adam a glance, frowned, and continued on. 

“Oh, hot damn, I am writing Andrew a thank you letter.” Nicky said as he walked out, very obviously checking Adam out. Neil came out behind him and locked the door, raising his eyebrow at Nicky before turning to Adam. 

“I’m gonna write him a cease and desist order.” Adam said, feeling entirely too conscious of his body. If this was what was in store for his whole night, he was already done with it all. “I feel like a piece of meat.”

“Honey, you are a well done steak. If your boyfriend wasn’t 6’2 and I weren’t engaged, oh , the things I would do to you right now.” Nicky drawled. Neil rolled his eyes and shoved Nicky towards the stairwell. Adam grimaced and made the conscious decision to not walk in front of Nicky tonight, if he could help it.

Andrew Minyard, Adam decided, drove like a mad man. The hondayota shook with the effort it took to try and keep pace with the maserati, which was a ridiculous concept to begin with. His shitbox was not made for weaving down highways at 80 miles an hour. He lost the maserati a few times, but Neil was a surprisingly good shotgun and pointed the car out to him each time. 

They stopped for dinner at a place about an hour out, a packed diner called Sweetie’s. Nicky had apparently worked there for a period of time and was friends with most of the wait staff. Adam stared at the menu. The first student athlete stipend wouldn’t come in until school started, so he was still working off of what he’d saved in Henrietta. He wanted to go shopping at some point next week, and knew he was going to need enough for a new tank after tonight’s drive, so he should probably keep his meal under ten dollars at the most. Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face.

“You are thinking too loudly.” Andrew said. “Get whatever you want. Neil is paying.” 

“I can pay for myself.” Adam said.

“Congratulations.” Andrew pulled out his wallet and took a card out. “Neil is paying.”

“Just let it happen.” Nicky said, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “We all get to reap the benefits of Andrew’s sugar daddy.”

Aaron made a face across the table. “I will literally pay you to never say that again.”

“Why do you have Neil’s credit card in your wallet?” Gillian asked.

“Because Neil would probably lose it otherwise.” Kevin said. Neil shrugged.

“What am I going to do with it? Andrew buys better stuff anyways.” He said. Andrew side eyed him, but Adam could sense an aura of smugness coming off of him. It dug under his skin.

“Thanks for the offer. I don’t need you to pay for me, though. I can cover myself.” He stared into Andrew’s eyes, a challenge. Andrew simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“Pride in a Parrish. Isn’t that a sin in the house of god?” He said.

“I’ve done worse on church property.” Adam said.

“Hold on,” Nicky cut in, “Can we get some elaboration on that? What exactly have you done on church property?”

All eyes were on Adam. He deeply regretted ever speaking. His ears burned. There was a beat of silence as they waited for him to speak, before Nicky gasped.

“ Adam Parrish, have you gotten dicked down in a church!?” 

“ No. ” Adam felt nauseous. 

“Wrong question, Nicky.” Andrew said. “He said ‘church property.’ That does not mean he was in the church itself.” 

Adam stared at the menu. The breakfast for dinner specials were suddenly very interesting.

“Adam!” Nicky exclaimed, shaking his shoulder. “You whore!”

“What kind of church? What denomination?” Gillian asked, eyes wide and serious.

“...Catholic.” Adam mumbled. Nicky exploded with laughter.

“Oh my- holy shit! What the fuck! Was it during mass? Were you getting your dick sucked to the sound of hymns?” He asked. Adam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and suddenly an incredible idea popped into his head. He smirked.

“Not possible, seeing as Ronan would be there for mass.” He said. Kevin immediately choked on his water. Neil started cackling, and the table was in minor uproar.

“Your boyfriend’s church?! Your boyfriend’s catholic church?! You did the dirty in your boyfriend’s catholic church?!” Nicky was practically vibrating.

“How the fuck can you be gay and catholic?” Aaron asked, looking only mildly horrified. Adam shrugged.

“He’s not exactly what you’d call ‘well adjusted.’” He said. Andrew snorted. Gillian was looking at Adam like he’d hung the moon. 

“Adam Parrish,” Nicky said, “You are my hero. You’re a legend. An Icon. We’re splitting the ice cream special. I am in love with you.” 

Adam shook his head, a small smile tugging on his lips against his better judgement. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

It was bad. Eden’s Twilight was far too loud, and Adam was deaf in one ear. He could feel the bass shooting through his bones like waves. The lights flashed in blues and pinks, and Gillian pressed close to his side as they followed the others through the crowds of leather-clad dancers and drunks. Andrew met them at a circular booth, carrying two trays full of drinks in an impressive display of balance. He put two shots in front of Gillian.

“Drink these. Aaron and Nicky are taking you dancing.” He said. Gillian paled and glanced at the writhing sea of bodies in the dance pit. She opened her mouth to object, but Andrew cut her off.

“Or you can hide for the rest of your life, and Renee and I will do our sparring sessions without you. Your choice.”

“We’ll stay with you the whole time, Gillian.” Nicky said, patting her arm. Aaron said nothing but stared hard at his twin, arms crossed. Gillian was quiet for a moment, face unreadable, before she threw back the shots. Nicky cheered.

“Alright! Let’s fucking go!” He said, and downed his own shots. He took Gillian by the arm and led her to the dance floor. Aaron was still seated. He and Andrew locked eyes for a long minute, having an entire conversation that only they could understand. Aaron sneered and tossed his drinks back, standing up gruffly and walking after Nicky and Gillian. Andrew made no expression, but moved a tray full of drinks in between Kevin and Adam.

“You,” Andrew said, pointing at Adam, “are going to match Kevin drink for drink.”

Adam side eyed Kevin, three empty shot glasses already in front of him and a glass of something orange in his hand. 

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.” Adam said.

“It does sound like a recipe for alcohol poisoning.” Neil said. “He’s not used to drinking. He’s probably about 160 pounds, though, so three strong drinks would probably do him in.”

Andrew turned to Neil and blinked. Neil raised an eyebrow. Adam held his breath. This was the crux of his night; whoever won their silent war would decide if Adam was throwing up later. It made Adam itch, watching his fate be decided in front of him, like he wasn’t there. Bass pulsed through his skin, lights flashed, and Adam Parrish was suddenly a caged animal inside of it all. He’d let this happen to himself, let someone take him and tell him what to do. For all that Adam had done his whole life to run towards freedom and a real future, he always seemed to find himself in a new trap. Andrew was trying to lock him in, turn him into a fixed variable; Neil, on the other hand, wanted to unlock him entirely and see what would happen. Only one of them could turn the key.

Neil, maintaining eye contact with Andrew, moved a shot and two smaller glasses in front of Adam. 

“500%.” Andrew snapped. Neil’s eyebrows shot up.

"That’s a jump.”

“Move over.” Neil moved further in the booth next to Adam, and Andrew slid in next to him. He picked a small glass from the drink tray and crossed his arms, refusing to look at Neil, who was watching him with amused fondness. Adam looked at the drinks in front of him.

“What’s in these?” Adam asked.

“Alcohol.” Andrew said. 

“Thanks, genius. What kind?”

“The shot is whipped cream vodka, middle is a double of whiskey, end is a fuzzy navel. It is peach schnapps, orange juice, and vodka.” Andrew rattled off. “Start with the shot, then the navel, finish with the whiskey.”

Adam stared at the drinks.

“Shut up and drink.” Andrew commanded.

“I didn’t say anything.” Adam said.

“You are thinking far too loudly. It is giving me a migraine just looking at you.”

“So look away?” Adam suggested. Andrew only stared at him in response, blinking owlishly. Neil leaned closer to him so he could be heard over the music. Adam turned his head so his hearing ear was closer to Neil.

“I held up my end of the bargain.” Neil said. “Andrew wont let you hurt anyone. Your turn.”

The words chilled Adam. Neil had the key; what happened when he opened the cage was anybody’s guess. If Adam was a bomb in waiting, a chip off the old Parrish block, then it was Neil’s fault entirely if he went off.

Adam took out his keys and phone, handed them to Neil, and began to drink.

Lights were funny things. They were just photons, reflections, and could be changed into whatever color or intensity the controller wanted. Staring into lights was a bad idea, it could blind a person, but Adam was entranced by the rhythmic flashing. The world was fuzzy, but the lights were constant and changing and beautiful. Someone snapped in front of his face.

“Drink.” Oh, a cup. Adam did feel thirsty. The drink was blue- Blue, he missed her. Would her hair reflect all the flashing, colorful lights? Would they bounce off her hair clips? Adam sipped the drink. It was very sweet, which was not like Blue at all. Adam snorted and felt some of the liquid dribble down his chin.

“Oh, fuck-” He started. A hand reached out to take the drink from him before he could spill it while reaching for a napkin. Adam’s arms felt...wiggly? He managed to wipe his chin off, though. He wasn’t an animal. Where did that sweet drink go?

The cup was placed back in front of him, and Adam followed the hand holding it up to the small blonde man sitting across from him. He had big eyes. The inky blackness of them reflected the lights and Adam could’ve watched them dance in his eyes for hours.

“Parrish.” The man said.

“Huh?” Adam replied.

“Tell me something. You were so convinced you would be a danger to yourself and others if you drank, and yet you have been rocking back and forth and watching everything for the past hour. What makes you think this is so dangerous? The lack of control? What are you trying to control? What have you done, Adam Parrish?”

Adam pondered the question- the only part of what the man said that actually processed in his brain. The rest was soup. 

What had he done?

“Can I get a definition?” He asked. The big eyes across from him rolled. Adam took another sip of his sweet blue drink. It was really very good.

“Alright. So you are a useless drunk. We have officially learned at least one thing about Adam Parrish. I will go more slowly for you. Have you ever physically harmed someone?”

Adam frowned. “Ronan….” Adam missed him intensely all of a sudden.

“Ronan? You’ve hurt your boyfriend?” Adam shook his head.

“It wasn’t- I couldn’t stop it. It made me.”

“What made you?”

“The thing. From the- Greenmantle. Her demon. Made me. Had to tie me up.” Adam slumped his head into his hand. He didn’t like thinking about the demon, about hurting Ronan and Gansey dying. He found that his focus lessened when he drank his blue drink, though, so he began to drink it in earnest.

“Who is Greenmantle?”

“A shitbag.”

“Try again.”

“Mm-nuh.”

“Have it your way. New question: have you ever killed someone?”

Adam furrowed his brows. Had he killed someone? Technically he could have stopped Whelk from being trampled, and a part of him knew he’d really wanted it to happen and felt like Cabeswater had responded to that desire...

“Can I phone a friend?” He asked. His mouth felt weird though. For some reason his tongue had become incapable of sitting right inside his mouth and it was very distracting. Maybe the blue drink would help his tongue find its place. If it couldn’t be in Ronan’s mouth right now, then it needed to settle right down. Fingers snapped in front of his face again.

“Wuh?”

“Andrew, he’s piss drunk. I really don’t think you’re going to get much else out of him.” Someone said. Adam couldn’t quite focus on where the voice was coming from. He couldn’t quite focus on much of anything. It was making him very dizzy.

“That was an ominous and completely bullshit answer to being asked if you have killed someone.”

“So follow up on it later. You said it yourself, he’s a useless drunk. I thought you didn’t do pointless things?”

“You are pointless.”

“Ah, I stand corrected.”

Adam closed his eyes.

Adam opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it.

Everything in his brain hurt. He was fairly certain the actual muscle of his brain was beating itself against his skull. He stretched, only to nearly fall off the bed. It was enough to jolt him into a little more consciousness.

First of all, he was not on a bed; Adam was lying on a couch in an unfamiliar house, wearing his clothes from the night before. He heard a light snore from the ground beside him. Gillian was in a sleeping bag, curled up next to the couch. 

The smell of coffee was the next thing to wake his senses. His stomach made a truly horrendous sound. Adam painstakingly sat up and got to his feet, careful to avoid stepping on Gillian and waking her. He stretched, feeling the sweet relief of his shoulders and neck popping. He turned to follow the scent of the coffee, and was met with Neil and Andrew’s stares from the kitchen.

“He lives.” Andrew said blandly.

“Morning.” Neil said. “Coffee?”

Adam made to nod, then decided against it. He didn’t think his brain would appreciate more rattling.

“Yes, please.” He said, wiping the crust from his eyes and walking to sit at the kitchen table. Standing was a lot of effort.

“Do not say that word.” Adam looked up and squinted at Andrew.

“What? Yes or please?”

“The second one. It is meaningless. Do not say it.” Andrew said. Adam sighed.

“Whatever. Where am I?”

“Columbia.” 

“This is the cousins’ house.” Neil said, handing Adam a cup of fresh coffee. He set it on the table in front of him.

“Thanks. When the fuck did we get here?” Adam asked.

“Around one in the morning. You and Kevin were both passed out, so it was better to make our retreat with people who could help carry you.” Neil said casually. Adam tensed and looked up at Neil.

“I passed out?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, shrugging, “You were pretty zoned out. Didn’t really make too much sense. Mostly you just rocked back and forth and looked around a lot.”

“...That’s it?” Adam asked carefully. 

“That’s it.” Neil grinned at him. “You stared at the lights, said...words, I assume. They were certainly words, at the very least. You and Kevin figured out some secret language only drunk people know because at one point I think you two were having a full conversation. Then you both passed out and we carried your asses to the cars. I drove yours, just so you know. It’s still in one piece.”

Adam looked down at his coffee. He felt...hollow was the closest word, perhaps. But in a good way. Like this expectation that had filled him up, choked him for so long with fear and loathing, and suddenly up and walked out. Adam Parrish was a zoned out, lazy, mumbly drunk. No one had gotten hurt, no one had died, no one was looking at him with fear or apprehension. He had relinquished control for a night, and he was still alive. 

Adam took a slow, deep breath. The smell of coffee flooded around him, and he welcomed the warmth. It soothed his aching body and quelled the thundering of his head. He breathed out and his tense muscles released their hold. He could let go a little bit, maybe. He’d lived.

Gazing into his coffee, Adam watched the little waves in the liquid reflect the morning sun. Swirls of discoloration curled in the dark brown sea, beckoning him, and he traced them with his eyes. His next inhale was a mix of coffee and salt, like the ocean was right there in his cup, deep and endless. It was intoxicating. He had let go; he was capable of letting go.

The waves tugged at him.

Adam let himself go.

Chapter Text

“I’m making eggs. You want any?” Neil asked. Andrew watched as he scooped a generous spoonful of butter into the frying pan. Andrew hummed in response. He saw the corner of Neil’s mouth tick up as he took out three more eggs for him. If there was one thing Andrew would admit to actually liking about this whole godawful situation he’d found himself in, it was that Josten was quick to pick up on his body language and nonverbal responses. Sometimes Andrew just didn’t feel like using any fucking words, and good luck and godspeed to anyone trying to communicate with him. But Neil heard him, always heard him. Always listening for Andrew.

“Adam,” Neil called back, “Eggs?”

Andrew glanced over at Parrish. He wasn’t the strangest character Andrew had ever encountered, but there was something about him that had itched at Andrew ever since he’d run in front of him at that prissy private school up in Dirt Hole, Virginia. The way he’d reacted to Neil’s little ‘second chances’ speech, for example. No one should relate to Neil’s earnestness over second chances, starting a new life. Neil meant it literally when he said it; if that had resonated with Parrish so much, there was obviously something deeply wrong with him. Andrew had spent the past month trying to figure out what that was. Unfortunately, not only was Andrew faced with contradiction after contradiction, but while he’d been investigating him the bastard had managed to charm not only Nicky but Neil and Aaron as well. That’d been a surprise. Nicky was easy and Neil was a sucker for kicked dogs, but Aaron had been unexpected. He hadn’t given Andrew a reason, just marched into his dorm and announced that he wasn’t going to participate in anything that would put Parrish in danger. Kevin had questioned when he’d started caring about other people, and Aaron had told him where to shove his exy racquet, and then he’d left. 

Needless to say, the rate at which the people around him were falling for Adam Parrish was alarming, and Andrew had needed to act fast. Getting the kid drunk was easy enough once he’d been worn down by the infuriating and oppressive force that was Neil Josten believing in you. What coherent information they got out of him, though, was strange. Adam said he’d been forced to hurt his boyfriend by something controlled by someone called Greenmantle. It could’ve been a metaphorical ‘it’, meaning a person who was so inhumane they barely registered as a human anymore. He’d called it a demon. It made sense. What didn’t make sense was Parrish’s hesitation to say whether or not he’d ever killed someone. That was a red fucking flag if Andrew had ever seen one, and he was going to dig into that sooner than later.

“Adam?” Neil was looking at Parrish now, brows furrowed. Parrish was still hunched over his coffee cup, looking down into it as he had been for the past 3 minutes. Andrew pushed off the counter and snapped in his face to drag him out of the dissociative state.

Parrish didn’t react. Andrew scowled.

“Parrish, you are being spoken to. Pause whatever is so fascinating in your coffee and respond.”

Parrish did not respond. He didn’t even twitch. A sick chill began to worm its way up Andrew’s spine. He grabbed Parrish by the hair and pulled his head back. Andrew’s breath died in his lungs.

Parrish’s eyes, normally a pitiful deep blue, were unfocused and partially clouded over. His jaw was slack. He didn’t look like he was breathing. Andrew quickly felt his neck for a pulse. Parrish couldn’t die. This wasn’t part of the plan. He’d let Andrew take him under his protection last night, and that extended to now, so Parrish could not die. 

“That’s not where you feel for a pulse.” Neil said, coming up behind Andrew. He put two fingers under the hinge of Parrish’s jaw and paused. Andrew waited.

“He’s alive,” Neil said, “It’s faint, but he’s alive. Adam? Adam.” Andrew took a step back and watched as Neil turned Parrish’s face left and right, inspecting his eyes, and then slapped him.

Nothing.

“What’s going on?” Bacay had woken now. She’d refused to leave Parrish’s side when they’d gotten home, said something about making sure he didn’t throw up in his sleep and choke and die. Andrew was fairly certain that was just an excuse so she could stay near the one man in this house she knew the best. He couldn’t fault her paranoia. He was going to need to get her some knives at some point, though.

Neil looked at Andrew. What do we say?

Andrew blinked at him. The truth.

“Adam was looking at his coffee and zoned out, possibly just dissociated, but we can’t wake him up.” Neil said evenly. It was a mild version of events, certainly. Andrew’s gaze kept tugging back to Parrish’s eyes. They weren’t whited out, just slightly clouded, like a thick fog in the spring. The deep blue of his eyes could just barely be made out behind it all. They were totally unseeing, unblinking- tears had started forming and trailing down the man’s cheeks in an effort to keep his eyes wet. He was frozen.

Bacay rushed forward to Parrish’s other side. She took his face in her hands and Andrew saw the goosebumps rise on her arms the moment she looked into his eyes.

“Adam, what the fuck? ” She whispered. Then, louder, “Adam! Adam, wake up! Come back, come on, wake up!”

“That is his deaf ear.” Andrew said. Bacay looked up at him with wild eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her. If she was going to try to yell him awake, the least she could do was scream into the ear that would actually hear it. 

The door to Nicky’s room opened. A small bead of dread that Andrew told himself was more annoyance than anything else found its way into his chest.

“What the fuck are y’all yelling about?” Aaron grumbled. He’d obviously just woken up; he never spoke like he was actually raised in South Carolina unless he was exhausted or piss drunk. 

“Something’s wrong with Adam!” Bacay said. The terror was starting to seep into her voice. This was exactly what Andrew did not need. The more anxious and scared someone got, the more prone they were to making some really stupid decisions. For example, Bacay had just told Aaron that something was wrong with Adam Parrish after he had been given a cup of coffee by Andrew and Neil. That was a stupid decision, because now his brother was looking at him with murder in his eyes. 

“What the fuck did you do?” He asked, which, to be fair, was a logical assumption to jump to. Andrew had been planning on having Roland drop the drugs in Parrish’s drinks last night. Neil had been adamantly against it, though, and unfortunately Andrew had a tendency to compromise around the idiot. It was a habit he was trying to break. Andrew leveled a stare at his brother.

“We didn’t do anything.” Neil snapped. “I gave him a cup of coffee, that’s it. I don’t think he even drank any of it. We just found him like this.” Aaron glared at him and pushed Bacay to the side, taking a close look at Parrish’s face. He held his eyelids further open, then jumped back like he’d been burned.

“What the fuck is that?” Aaron spat. He was looking at Parrish in horror, and that didn’t do anything helpful for Andrew. 

“What?” Andrew asked. 

“It, it,” Aaron stammered, “The film! It’s fucking moving!”

What?

“SQUASH ONE, SQUASH TWO-” Parrish’s obnoxious ringtone cut through the room. Andrew snatched it from it’s spot on the counter where he’d left it the night before. It was Parrish’s boyfriend, probably checking in to see if he was still alive after last night. This was as good a place to start as any; if anyone would know what was wrong with Parrish, if it had happened before, it would be this guy. Andrew answered the phone.

“Adam Parrish’s phone, he is currently disposed at the moment, can I take a message?”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“A teammate.”

“Where is Adam?”

“At my kitchen table, unresponsive and staring into nothing. You would not happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

“Fuck. Fuck! How long has he been under?”

Andrew glanced at the clock on the wall. It was shaped like a fish. Nicky thought it was cute. “About six minutes, nearing seven.” The other line was another slew of curses.

“He’s not responding? Have you tried slapping him?”

“We could always slap him again.” Andrew said, and nodded to Neil. Neil nodded back, and slapped Parrish again- backhanded. 

Nothing.

“Experiment number two is a failure. Next option.”

“Put me on speaker.”

Andrew put the phone on speaker and held it near Parrish’s right ear.

“Adam, listen to me. Wake up. Follow my voice. Come back. Come back, goddammit.”

The voice was commanding and clear, and not enough to draw even a twitch from the man. 

“He’s not waking up.” Neil said. Andrew caught the undercurrent of sadness already coating his words. His face was stone, eyes searching all over Parrish methodically for one movement, any proof he was coming back. Neil, it seemed, was preparing for Adam Parrish to not wake up again.

“Adam, you son of a bitch- cut him.”

“What?” Aaron cut in.

“Cut his arm. The pain should bring him back to his body. It’s got to.”

Andrew didn’t have to be told twice.

Neil immediately took the phone from Andrew, and Andrew hated him for it. He hated that he didn’t even need to be told, he just knew what Andrew was going to do and moved to work alongside him. It made Andrew seethe. He flicked a knife out of one of his armbands, grabbed Parrish’s forearm, and made a slice in a motion and with an exact pressure he hadn’t done in many years. He vaguely heard Aaron yell at him, but he didn’t matter right now.

Parrish gasped. His chest began heaving rapidly, and he blinked his eyes, looking around dumbly at his little crowd. 

“Wh- ow, shit!” He hissed, pulling his cut arm close to his chest. 

“Adam?!”

“Ronan?” Parrish turned to the phone in Neil’s hands, eyes wide. Andrew was nearly shaking with adrenaline. He was awake; good. Now he needed answers.

“What in the fuck was that?” He asked.

“I-” Parrish started, but was cut off.

“Call Gansey. You’re not gonna make any sense, you just came out of a nearly ten minute scry. I’m on my way down.”

“Ronan-” Parrish made to tell him to stay, to not bother, that he wasn’t worth the effort of his boyfriend coming down to check on him; Andrew could see the man starting to curl in on himself. I’m fine, Andrew thought bitterly.

“Shut the fuck up with whatever dumb shit you’re about to say. I’ll be there in three hours. Call Gansey.”

“...It’s a five hour drive.” Parrish said softly.

“My bad, I’ll be there in two.”

The corner of Parrish’s mouth quirked up. This guy was a smartass, apparently. Andrew understood why Parrish had taken to Neil so quickly.

“Drive safe.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll see you in two hours.”

“And try not to die before I get there. I know that can be hard to do, but I’d appreciate the effort.” 

Oh , Andrew thought, and doesn’t that sound familiar? He could feel Neil’s eyes on him. He refused to look back on principle. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Tamquam.”

“Alter idem.”

The call ended. Parrish held out his uninjured arm for his phone.

“I have another call to make.”

“Adam, what the hell?” Bacay said softly. She was speaking for all of them in that moment. Parrish sighed. Neil gave him his phone.

“In one sentence,” Andrew said, “What just happened, and what are you about to drag us into?”

Parrish looked him dead in the eyes as he dialed.

“I accidentally left my body and went somewhere else, because I am a psychic and magic is real.” He said.

“Okay, now what actually happened?” Aaron asked. Parrish met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. The other end of the phone picked up. The voice was smooth and bright, and just tinged with an accent that made Andrew think of old southern money.

“Adam! Did Ronan call you? He said Lindenmere was going crazy.”

“Yeah. That was me, I think. I accidentally scried on….something.”

“Oh my god, are you alright? You were able to get yourself out okay?”

“I’m fine.” Parrish said. Andrew felt his lip curl in reflexive disgust. Aaron’s face fell and he looked at Neil, who at least had the decency to look concerned. Andrew didn’t believe in karma, but the universe sometimes made a compelling argument for it. Cosmic retribution, Josten. Parrish continued, unaware of the pavlovian response he’d just incurred. “But some of my teammates saw. Ronan had to tell them to cut me to get me out.”

In the chaos of getting Parrish back, it seemed like everyone had forgotten about the open wound on his arm. Andrew pushed past Neil and ran up the stairs to grab the first aid kit out of his bathroom while Neil grabbed a dish towel and Aaron started putting pressure on the wound. Neil took the box and kneeled next to Parrish. He batted Aaron’s hands out of the way to look at the cut.

“It’s not going to need stitches,” He decided, “Just some gauze and a wrap should be fine.” Neil fell into the role seamlessly, cleaning and bandaging Parrish’s arm like it was second nature. It had been second nature for him, in another life. It had to be. Andrew watched Neil’s hands as they went through the motions, steady and skilled. Andrew hated him.

“How many people are there?” The voice on the phone asked.

“Four.” Parrish replied. He looked deflated, like his energy had just been sapped. Maybe it had, a voice in Andrew’s mind said. Maybe he really did leave his body. Maybe that took all of his power. Maybe he is psychic. Andrew grit his teeth and began mentally hunting that voice down with a machete. Magic was not real. Sunrise was real; Death was real; Neil Abram Josten was real . Whatever this was, it was not magic, because magic was not real.

“Excellent. Well, everyone, My name is Richard Campbell Gansey the Third. What do you know about Welsh kings?”

Andrew slammed the door to his room closed. 

Magic was real.

There was a chair at his desk. He threw it. 

Magic was real.

He ran his hands through his hair and started to pull.

Magic was real.

Magic was real, and out there, and wild and dangerous. Magic was real and there were people out there who could use it, who hunted it down and collected it and would kill for it. Magic was real, and it’s name was Adam Parrish, who was sitting in his kitchen with his brother and his boyfriend, ordering McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches on UberEats because no one felt like cooking or driving at the moment because they had just been told by some asshole from Virginia that magic was real.

Andrew backed up against a wall and knocked his head back, sliding down to the floor. What was he supposed to do with this? He could fight the mafia. He could throw out his brother’s drugs and beat people off of his cousin. He could drag his best friend’s drunk ass home night after night, and he could buy as many knives as he liked. But Andrew had the sinking suspicion that he could not stab magic. He could not threaten leylines into submission, and he could not intimidate a dream forest. 

There was a magical artifact trade, apparently, and people who tracked down said artifacts, including people, to put them into collections. What if they tracked Parrish down to the Foxhole? What kind of weapons would they have on them, or would they just use some random bullshit magic powers that could explode someone’s internal organs with a snap of their fingers? 

How was Andrew supposed to protect his family against that?

“Andrew?” He hadn’t noticed Neil opening the door. He barely noticed him now, too busy rolling through scenario after scenario of what if? What if magic came? What if people got hurt? What if he could do nothing but watch as it tore through them-

“Andrew, yes or no?” Neil was kneeling in front of him, hands hovering over Andrew’s knees. Andrew looked at his eyes, and he hated how blue they were. No one’s eyes should be that bright and blue and big. It made him feel sick.

“Yes.” He said. Neil slowly put his hands on top of Andrew’s in his hair.

“I’m going to unclench your hands, yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew let Neil uncurl his fingers from his hair, the pressure slowly letting up. He hadn’t realized how tight he was pulling. Neil held his hands between them. He was too far away, Andrew’s knees a barricade between them; he was too close, Andrew was going to shake apart and catch him in the blast. He wanted to pull him in. He wanted to punch him in the face.

“When Adam’s boyfriend gets to campus, I’m going to ask him about protection against this shit.” Neil said softly. “We’re going to figure it out.”

Once again, he hadn’t needed to say a word for Neil to know exactly what he was thinking. It made him furious. How did he do it? How could Neil Josten, liar of liars, look at Andrew and instantly find truths? If he squeezed Neil’s hands tighter, it was only out of frustration. Andrew blinked slowly at him.

“I got you two McGriddles. Those are the ones with the maple syrup and pancakes as the buns, right?” Neil asked.

Right. It was just frustration.

Pure hatred.

Chapter Text

Adam picked at his hashbrowns rather than eating them. He felt too tired to chew, too tired to do much of anything. It was his own fault, really. He hadn’t scried in a while; in all honesty, he thought he’d lost the ability to fully do it after Cabeswater was sacrificed for Gansey. Even when Maura and Calla told him he was still one of them, still a psychic, part of him didn’t really believe it. They’d given him exercises to do, basic tarot readings to practice extending his energy and interacting with others. He hadn’t done them. It was the cowards way out, sure, but he didn’t want to try only to find that it was all really, truly gone. Schroedinger’s Psychic: if he never looked inside himself, then he could be normal and magical at the same time. 

That hadn’t exactly worked out.

“Don’t just pick at it, you need to eat. You look like shit.” Gillian said. They were sitting on the cousins’ couch, her curled up on one end and Adam on the other. Ever since he’d come out of the scry, Gillian had been hovering around him, watching him like if she looked away then he’d slip right back into wherever it was he went. 

“I feel fine. I’m not that hungry.” Adam mumbled, tearing apart his hashbrown patty even more. Aaron scoffed from the armchair. He’d turned on the news when he sat down; apparently there was an unexpected storm system starting to form off the coast of Charleston. Gillian narrowed her eyes at Adam. He raised an eyebrow back.

“Fine.” She said, leaning back on the couch arm. “When’s your boyfriend supposed to get here?”

“He’s meeting us at the school,” Adam said, “In maybe four hours. Could be three if he’s pissed enough.”

“It’s a two hour drive back.” Gillian said. “We should probably go if you want to meet him there.” Adam nodded and stood. 

“Let me get my keys.” He said. Gillian stood immediately after him.

“That better be so you can hand them to me, cause like hell you’re driving.” She said.

“He is not driving.” Andrew said. “Neil is.” He and Neil were sitting at the kitchen table. Adam shot them both a dirty look. He didn’t want anyone else driving his car. The hondayota was a delicate system of scavenged parts that required quick thinking to navigate in such a way that it wouldn’t break down. It was sensitive like that.

“You don’t know how to drive it. Give me the keys.”

“Adam, you can barely keep your eyes open.” Gillian said.

“If you want to die in a crash so badly, then go ahead. Take the keys.” Andrew replied. The keys were on the table between him and Neil. Adam glared at him and reached for them.

“I’ll fucking drive.” 

All eyes turned to Aaron, who was gripping the arms of his chair. He looked pissed, though Adam had learned early on that being pissed off seemed to be his default emotion.

“I’ll drive.” Aaron said again. “Give me the fucking keys and grab your shit.”

“You are still hungover.” Andrew said mildly. The twins locked eyes.

“I’m in better shape than he is. I’ll fucking drive.” Aaron spat. The front door opened and closed. Adam’s car started out front. The keys and Neil were nowhere to be found.

“Neil’s driving.” Gillian muttered. Adam grit his teeth but followed her to his car. He sat up front and closed his eyes as Neil began to drive them home.

It was about ten minutes of quiet before Gillian spoke again from the backseat.

“Do you want to switch?” She asked.

“What?” Adam said.

“Do you want to switch. It might be better for you to lie down back here.” She said. 

“I don’t need to lie down,” Adam snapped, “And I don’t need you to baby me. If I need to sleep I can do it up here, I’m not dying.”

“You could be.” Neil commented.

“I’m not.”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for being a little freaked out and concerned for you, Adam, you see I woke up this morning to you brain dead and then found out magic exists, so I’m a little on edge!” Gillian snapped back. “Entirely my bad, I’ll just let you live up to your last name and perish, then.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Adam said.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” She said. Adam was suddenly struck by how similar she sounded to Blue in that moment. It made his ribs ache. Gillian had just been thrown into all of this. She didn’t know what to do, what to say; she just wanted to help. A part of Adam wanted to continue fighting and say he didn’t need her help or pity or approval. Another part of him was pulling its hair out because he still couldn’t let himself have nice things, could he? His knee-jerk reaction was to push people away, and he’d end up alone and angry and it’d be his own damn fault.

We’re not like the others, the little Persephone in his head reminded him. That doesn’t mean we don’t need them, though. We live inside ourselves so much, but they pull us back into the world. Without them, we’d get lost.

“I know.” Adam said softly.

“It was fucked up, Adam.” Gillian said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. When they arrived at Fox Tower, Neil let them into the Monster’s dorm, and Adam sank into a beanbag and fell asleep.

Andrew turned to stare at his brother. 

“What is it about Adam Parrish,” He asked, “That has made you grow a spine?”

Aaron did not look at him, choosing instead to stare at the door. That was fine. Andrew could wait. Eventually Aaron looked back at him.

“Did you know his boyfriend has a daughter?”

Andrew blinked at him.

“No. I did not. How do you know?” He asked.

“I overheard them on a call yesterday. She called him ‘dad.’ She’s four.” Aaron said. His voice was steel. Well, this certainly cleared his sudden behavior change up, Andrew thought. 

“So you decided to try and protect him from me, since I kill every parent I meet.” Andrew said coolly.

“She’s four, Andrew. She asked when he was coming home.” Aaron said.

“Maybe I am taking too long with Wymack. I have had since Kevin’s riveting revelation to plan, but the timing just never feels right.”

“God damn it!” Aaron yelled, standing from his chair. “This isn’t a fucking joke! So what if I got a little protective, maybe I just didn’t want to see you hurt another kid’s parent!”

Andrew regarded his brother. They were letting Bee have her summer vacation, which meant their joint therapy sessions had been put on pause. They hadn’t tried talking outside of it, at least not about this. 

“Unless he decides to give her the same childhood he had, Adam Parrish is in no danger from me.” Andrew said. “Not about this, anyway.”

Aaron was still, probably processing Andrew’s words. He wasn’t stupid, but he could be very, very dense at the best of times. If he hadn’t put together by now that Adam Parrish had been abused, then there was really no hope for him. There was a noticeable difference between Parrish and Aaron, and even Neil in that regard. Where Aaron had cowered and Neil had ran, Adam seemed to have bided his time until he could emancipate himself. He’d gotten himself out. It was a risky move, to trust the legal system, but it had worked, and now Adam Parrish owed his life to nobody but himself. 

“Why didn’t you drug him or Gillian last night?” Aaron asked quietly. “What changed?”

“Neil asked.” Andrew said. “It seems half this family is under Parrish’s spell.”

Aaron’s face twisted. “Neil is not family.”

“Not with that attitude.” Andrew said. The twins stared at each other. Andrew raised an eyebrow. Aaron rolled his eyes and started for Nicky’s bedroom.

“I’m not going to your fucking wedding.” He snarked.

“Marriage is a scam.” Andrew said simply.

“You’re soulless.” Aaron called back.

“Maybe you absorbed mine in the womb.”

“Fuck you, I’m getting Nicky and Kevin up.”

“Why?”

Aaron stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Andrew. “There’s a random guy who told us to stab his boyfriend coming to campus. You want him to get there before you?”

The man had a point. Andrew nodded to the door. 

“Tell them we’re leaving in 30.”

Kevin was murderous and Nicky was whiney, and Aaron was Aaron, so Andrew swung them through Starbucks before hitting the highway. It made the drive quieter if they had something to do with their mouths other than complain at him. If Andrew also got a venti caramel ribbon frappuccino out of it, then it was simply a bonus. It also made it easier to answer questions about why they were heading back early, and why Neil had driven Adam and Gillian back before them, and then what exactly they meant by ‘Adam’s soul left his body because he’s a psychic and magic is real.’ It wasn’t an easy conversation. Nicky had about a million questions that Aaron told him to save for Adam’s boyfriend, which caused Nicky to scream out of excitement. 

Kevin...was quieter. Andrew knew he was having the same concerns he’d had earlier, about the Moriyamas and weapons and safety. It wasn’t a great feeling, not being able to tell Kevin exactly what he was going to do to keep him safe. Sure, he was no longer at risk from Riko, and thanks to Neil’s deal with Ichirou they were in a pretty good spot, but Kevin Day was a creature of fear. It was an instinct he had yet to shake, and perhaps never would. Every now and then Kevin would have accidental bouts of bravery when he wasn’t on the court, such as his tattoo cover-up. He still needed copious amounts of alcohol to get there, though. Andrew made a note to himself to watch for an increase in Day-drinking. 

Andrew was pulling into his spot in the lot of Fox Tower when Aaron spoke.

“Is that a fucking BMW?”

Andrew put the car in park and whipped his head in the direction Aaron was looking. Sure enough, Andrew clocked the BMW symbol on the end of a sleek, shark-nosed black car circling around the parking lot. The inhabitants of the maserati watched the car pull in smoothly a few spots away from them. Out of the front seat stepped a man with a buzzed head and a black leather jacket. Everything he was wearing was black, really, and everything about him set off alarms in the back of Andrew’s mind. They watched as the man leaned against his car and pulled out his phone.

“SQUASH ONE, SQUASH TWO-” Parrish’s phone shrieked. He’d forgotten it at the house in his brilliant stupor, which really just proved everyone’s point that he should not have been driving. Andrew looked at the phone, the word “Ro” on the screen. He looked up and met Aaron’s eyes.

“No fucking way.” Aaron whispered.

“Oh my god. It’s the gay goth farmer.” Nicky whispered reverently. 

“Will someone fucking answer that?” Kevin snapped, also watching the man out the window but still not awake enough to handle Parrish’s godawful ringtone. Aaron gestured for Andrew to answer it. Andrew barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His brother was a pussy. Andrew picked up the phone.

“Put it on speaker!” Nicky hissed. Andrew glared at him. He did not put it on speaker.

“Adam Parrish’s phone, the asshole forgot it when he left. How may I direct your call?” Andrew watched the man outside lean his head back against his car.

“God damn it. Who is this?”

“A teammate.”

“Fucking- what’s your name?”

“Not important right now. What kind of car are you leaning on?” The man lifted his head up suddenly and started looking around.

“Are you fucking spying on me right now?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“It’s a BMW.”

“Did you steal it?”

“Inheritance. Where the fuck are you?”

Andrew got out of his car and started walking towards the other man- Adam’s boyfriend, Ronan. 

“Right here.” Andrew said, and hung up the phone. Ronan scowled at him and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He had sharp features, and Andrew could see the icy blue of his eyes from yards away. He was dangerously handsome. 

“Kinda creepy to watch someone from your car.” He said, and craned his neck to get a better look at the car. “Is that a maserati?”

“Sure.” Andrew said. The other man nodded.

“Nice.” He said. Andrew walked right up to him and, unfortunately, looked up at him. Ronan looked down and raised an eyebrow.

“You sounded taller over the phone.” He said. Andrew grit his teeth.

“And you did not sound like a skinhead. We learn new things every day.” Ronan grinned at him. It distinctly reminded Andrew of a shark.

“Ronan! You’re Ronan, right?” Nicky shouted, rushing out of the car and over to them. Kevin and Aaron weren’t far behind, both staring at Ronan.

“Allegedly.” Ronan said, eyeing Nicky warily. Andrew watched his cousin lean onto the strange man’s nice car and bat his eyes.

“Adam’s told me so much about you, but he seems to have left out the part where you’re broad as hell , like holy shit sir, your shoulders are the perfect width to-” Nicky yelped as Aaron tugged him towards the Tower.

“No.” Aaron said. “I’m not listening to this. In fact, you’ve already said too much and I wish Andrew had eaten me in the womb.”

“Careful, we might actually agree on something.” Andrew said lazily. Aaron flipped him off and continued to drag an indignant Nicky away from Adam’s handsome boyfriend. Said boyfriend was watching Nicky, baffled. His shark grin simmered down into a smirk that made Andrew want to rip it off his face. 

“Friendly.” Ronan said.

“Try not to let it set your expectations.” Andrew replied. He turned and began walking to Fox Tower. Behind him he heard Kevin ask Ronan if he played exy. Andrew could see his grin go back to full size in the reflection of the door.

“They wouldn’t let me on the team.” Ronan said. “Apparently excessive violence is frowned upon in private school murder lacrosse.”

Adam shifted on the sand. It settled around him, letting him sink deeper into the warmth of the grains. Not too far from him, the roar of ocean waves sent birds scattering into flight. The wind kicked up and sent sand and salt whipping around him. It stung, but not enough to make Adam move from where he was laying. The sun was hitting him just right, and there was no way he was giving up that perfect heat. It was starting to get colder though. It started at his feet, then traveled up his legs and torso until finally a shadow loomed over him- a massive wave, growing taller and taller until it blocked out the sun entirely. A million voices rose with the tide, edging closer and closer to him.

“A Traveler?”

No, Adam thought. A Magician.

“Come play, Magician.”

How?

“Free us, Magician.”

How?

“Wake up, Magician.”

I can’t.

“Wake up.”

I can’t, I- I am. I am awake, I am-

“Adam, wake up.”

Adam’s eyes fluttered open as his shoulder was jostled. He felt warm all over. He looked up at what was blocking the sun.

“Ronan?” He looked down at Adam with such tenderness in his sharp blue eyes that Adam feared he might collapse under his gaze. Without a second thought he grabbed onto Ronan’s leather jacket and pulled him closer. Ronan pulled him off the beanbag and wrapped his arms around him tightly, and Adam breathed him in. He smelled like leather and sweat and that strange forest mist that permeated the Barns; he smelled like home. 

“You’re here.” Adam whispered. Ronan squeezed him tighter, as though trying to prove to Adam just how here he was. Then he pinched him. Adam jumped and tried to push out of Ronan’s grasp.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“That’s for being a shithead.”

“You just pinched me!”

“Yeah, because you’re a shithead. Why didn’t you tell me the witches gave you exercises to do?” Adam looked at the floor.

“...Because I didn’t think they’d work.” He said quietly. Ronan rolled his eyes and stood, taking Adam up with him. 

“Well great job, you nearly died. Sargent’s mom sent a list of card shit for you to do.”

“Card shit?” Neil asked. Adam suddenly felt very conscious of the fact that there were six other people in the room, all watching him and Ronan.

“Tarot.” Adam said. “It’s supposed to help me focus and work as an outlet.”

“So you need to practice being psychic.” Kevin said carefully.

“Basically.”

“What about the scrying?” Gillian asked from the other beanbag. Adam shrugged.

“I should probably practice that too. I had better control of it before.”

“Is that going to mean more stabbing?” Neil asked.

“Probably.” Adam admitted. 

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Ronan said. “You need sleep.”

“You just woke me up.”

“Yeah, from a nap in a shitty beanbag. We’re going to an actual bed.”

Adam sighed. “Let me grab a change of clothes.” He turned to look at his teammates and paused. This had been a whirlwind morning for all of them, and he was being whisked away before they’d had a chance to actually talk about it. Not that Adam actually wanted to talk about it; he didn’t want any of this to be happening in the first place. He owed them a plan, though. He’d dragged them suddenly into this world, and now it was his job to teach them how it worked.

“Tomorrow.” Adam said. Neil met his eyes and nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Adam woke to the smell of Chinese food. It was dark out; he must’ve slept through the rest of the day. As he and Ronan ate, he did his best to recall the scry.

“It was a lot of water.” He said. “It felt like I was floating. Everything was really bright. There were whispers, like lots of voices all talking at once, but it was hard to make out what they were saying over the water. It smelled weird, like salt and dirt.”

“Sounds like the ocean.” Ronan said through a mouthful of lo mein.

“I’ve never been.” Adam said.

“Open water’s creepy as fuck. You’re not missing out on much.” 

Adam narrowed his eyes at Ronan. “Are you scared of the ocean?”

“I’m not scared of anything.” Ronan said indignantly. “I’m just not about to get into a watery void with giant monsters in it that I can’t see. I get enough of that in my head.”

Adam smiled.

“You’re scared of the ocean.”

Ronan threw a noodle at him.

Later, they lied together in the motel bed, limbs tangled and as close as they could get.

“I missed you.” Adam mumbled into Ronan’s chest. Ronan pressed a kiss into Adam’s hair.

“You freaked everyone out, you know. Calla was pissed.” He said quietly. “Asked if you were trying to end up like Persephone.”

Adam winced a little. Persephone had died because she had scried for too long, wandered too far from her body and never found her way back. If Ronan hadn’t called when he did, who knows if the others would’ve been able to wake Adam up before it was too late.

“How did you know to call?” Adam asked.

“I was dropping Opal off in Lindenmere. Chainsaw started going nuts, the wind picked up, shit like that.” Ronan said.

“Maybe it sensed me wandering.” Adam said. Ronan held him tight.

“ Noli foras ire, in me ipsum redi .” Ronan whispered. Adam thought for a moment.

“I thought it was ‘ te ipsum’. 

“It is. I changed it.”

“Who is that?”

“Saint Augustine.”

“You’re so catholic.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Adam kissed Ronan’s collar bone and allowed himself to relax against his body.

Do not wander far, Ronan had said. Return to me.

Sunday morning was Adam being awoken by the smell of warm maple syrup and bacon. Adam lifted his head from the motel pillow, eyes still closed, and inhaled deeply. Fuck, that smelled good.

“Fuck, that smells good.” Adam said, voice deep and ragged with sleep. 

“Tastes even better.” Ronan replied. “Get up or I’m eating it all.”

“Ngh.” Adam made an only slightly pitiful noise and reached out blindly from under the covers in the direction he heard Ronan’s voice coming from. It only took a moment for his hand to be batted away. Adam rolled onto his back as the bed dipped from Ronan joining him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, he watched Ronan put various to-go boxes on the bed around them. One was just a pile of bacon, another was a half eaten stack of pancakes, and two were still closed. Ronan handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and pointed to the closed containers.

“Black coffee, biscuits and gravy, and your own Waffle House pancakes because I’m not fucking sharing. You can have two slices of bacon.” He said, tearing a bite out of the piece of bacon in his own fist for good measure and settling against the headboard next to Adam. “Eat.”

Adam couldn’t stop the small smile that overcame him, and the feeling of total endearment that came with it. There was a time not long ago when he would have chewed Ronan out for buying him food, because he was perfectly capable of providing for himself. There was a time when he would have instinctually viewed this as pity, or condescension, or whatever other word his brain could come up with that wasn’t genuine care and kindness, because those were words and concepts that were foreign and scary to Adam Parrish. Adam could feel that scared 17 year old still, kicking and screaming inside of him, but the Adam of now knew what love was, and specifically knew how Ronan Lynch expressed it. Ronan spoke in gifts, and whether or not he had dreamt it, there were little pieces of himself in everything he gave away: jackets, knives, epipens, boots, hair clips, impossible globules of light that never went off, food. Adam looked at Ronan next to him.

“I love you.” He said. He meant to say ‘thank you,’ but it was really the same thing. Ronan glanced at him, freshly awoken and shirtless in a bed, surrounded by containers of cheap breakfast food, and a deep flush spread from his cheekbones to the tip of his nose. 

“Just eat the fucking food, Parrish, Jesus Christ.” He muttered into his bacon. Adam grinned and began to dig in.

As they ate, Adam’s phone beeped intermittently. Ronan elbowed him in the side.

“Make it shut up.” He said. Adam rolled his eyes but picked up his phone and briefly scrolled through it. He made a face.

“What?” Ronan asked, elbowing him again. 

“Dan’s- our captain -she’s putting together a team dinner tonight. ‘Significant others are invited and encouraged to come along.’” He read out, entirely unamused. This was obviously just a ploy for them to meet Ronan. Adam continued checking his notifications. “Andrew wants us to come back over when we’re up. Nicky is threatening me with a ‘gay culture movie night’ if I don’t properly introduce you guys. Gillian….”

hey just a heads up, nicky told matt dan allison n renee that yr boyfriends here. aaron already bullied him for it, dw. sorry for being overbearing yesterday. its been really nice fighting w andrew w you. i wasnt expecting random white boi number 5 to be solid, ig. its been nice the past few days n i was scared it was all gonna go away. id be cool hanging out w/o the monsters if you can still stand me. my n eliots room is open whenever. 

btw yr boyfriend is aesthetic af can you ask him where he got his jacket

Adam smiled down at his phone and typed out a reply.

I’m 50% sure he magicked his jacket into existence but you can ask him when we get there. 10 min.

He started to get out of the bed, then typed one more thing.

Thank you. I like fighting with you too. 

The Monster’s kitchen was a mess of fruit and granola when they arrived, door unlocked and waiting for them. Adam and Ronan both stared as Neil piled a bowl of yogurt full of grains, blueberries, strawberries, kiwi-

“You can’t put orange slices in with yogurt, for the last time, the consistency isn’t right!” Kevin snapped. His own bowl was half eaten and still managed to look like something out of a Healthy Living magazine. Neil ignored him as he added easily half an orange to his yogurt bowl.

“Wrong consistency for you.” He said. “Right consistency for me.”

“You’re disgusting. I’d ask what was wrong with you, but I already know the answer.” Kevin said, face twisting into further disgust as Neil reached for the peanut butter. It was snatched away from him by Andrew, however, who opened it and scooped a large spoonful into his mouth. 

“I was about to use that.” Neil said. Andrew blinked at him and walked away, spoon still in his mouth and jar of peanut butter still in his hand. Aaron, not looking up from his phone, held out his hand for a second spoon that Andrew had seemingly pulled out of nowhere, and also took a spoonful of peanut butter. Neil sighed but followed with his tall bowl of granola and fruit, carefully lowering himself into a beanbag. The entire room watched as half of the contents of his breakfast tumbled directly into his lap.

“Oops.” Neil said, staring down at the mess. Andrew’s typically blank face took on an entirely new shade of unfeeling, and Adam saw Aaron look from Neil to Andrew and raise an eyebrow at him. Andrew pointedly did not look back. Nicky and Gillian were sharing the other beanbag and a bowl of popcorn. Nicky leaned closer to Gillian.

“I love watching him try to be human.” He said to her, and took another handful of popcorn as Neil began to scoop what had fallen onto his lap into his mouth with his hand.

“Um.” Adam said. All eyes turned to him- except for Neil, too engrossed in his breakfast. Adam pointed a thumb at Ronan next to him. “This is Ronan.”

Ronan, for his part, was staring at Neil’s whole...deal with the kind of expression Adam had seen him give to Blue when she’d shown him how glue-on eyelashes worked: vaguely horrified, yet still completely enraptured.

“Right,” Kevin said, stepping forward, “We didn’t actually get introduced yesterday. I’m Kevin Day.” Kevin stuck out his hand and put on his best camera-ready polite smile. Ronan looked at him unimpressed and said nothing. Kevin put his hand down and Adam saw his smile strain. “Those two by the window are Aaron and Andrew, the two on the beanbag by them are Nicky and Gillian, and that sorry excuse for a human being is Neil.”

Neil looked up at the sound of his name and attempted to wave. More granola fell into his lap. He cursed and went back to eating. What was left of Kevin’s smile fell and his shoulders sagged as he watched Neil. 

“So.” Andrew said. He scooped up another spoonful of peanut butter and looked at Ronan. “Magic.”

“Yeah.” Ronan replied, matching Andrew’s tone. “Magic.”

The room fell into silence again as Ronan and Andrew began a staredown that Adam didn’t have the energy to try and decipher. Ronan seemed vaguely amused, at least, rather than outright hostile; Andrew, as per usual, was inscrutable. 

“Are you all constipated?” Gillian asked. The room’s attention turned to her. “Because Adam nearly died yesterday, and I’d like to know how to not have that happen again, not watch you two have a fucking goth-off!”

“A wonderful transition, Miss Bacay.” Andrew said. “Truly, I think you should look into majoring in Public Communications.”

“Bite me.” Gillian said.

“Your requests are duly noted.” Andrew said. “So Adam, Ronan, tell us: how do we prevent Adam from dying by coffee? Is it more magic? More stabbing? A combination of both?”

“He mentioned cards yesterday.” Neil supplied. His entire face had changed, Adam thought. There was a focus in the set of his lips and a hardness in his eyes that made him look near intimidating, if only he wasn’t still partially covered in granola. Adam sighed.

“There are...I use tarot cards to help organize the energy I tap into.” Adam said. “There are exercises I can do to help practice controlling the energy flow.” 

Andrew hummed and tapped his chin. “‘There are exercises I can do,’ implying that you already knew of the existence of said exercises and were not doing them. Why is that?”

Ronan stepped back and leaned on the wall by the door, crossing his arms and looking at Adam. His singular raised eyebrow said it all: Yeah, Adam, why weren’t you doing those exercises? Inquiring minds want to know.

Adam glared at him, then looked back to Andrew. “Because something happened in the spring that made me think I’d lost my powers. I didn’t think I needed to keep practicing.”

“The witches told you back in May that you were still psychic,” Ronan cut in, “But sure, you didn’t think.”

“Wait, witches?” Nicky spoke up. “Like, actual witches.”

“No.” Adam said at the same time as Ronan said, “Yes.” 

“They’re other psychics.” Adam said. “Our friend Blue’s moms. They’ve been teaching me about...all of this, for the past year.”

Neil nodded. “Your other friend mentioned them yesterday morning. He said they can tap into the leyline energy. Those exercises would keep you from accidentally scrying?” He asked. 

“No.” Ronan said. Adam wasn’t sure, if he was being honest, but the certainty in Ronan’s voice caught his attention. “They’re only going to strengthen his bond to whatever energy is around here.”

“Then what’s going to stop him from scrying?” Gillian asked.

“Self-control.” Ronan said. Adam tensed and looked at Neil. He didn’t even have the decency to look at least a little bit guilty. He’d pushed Adam to let go, to lose control, and for what? A night Adam didn’t remember and a morning that nearly killed him? The even look on Neil’s face told Adam they would have this out later. Adam dug his nails into the meat of his palm and only imagined kicking Neil square in the jaw. He heard Ronan inhale beside him.

“Maura,” Ronan said carefully, “thinks you need to scry more. Calla thinks she’s an idiot.”

“And what do you think?” Andrew asked him. Ronan raised an eyebrow at him and looked back to Adam.

“I think you need to figure out how to stop scrying without hurting yourself.”

“Wait, is cutting him really the only method you guys have for getting him out?” Aaron asked.

“The only one that always works.” Adam replied, looking at his shoes. 

“Then you practice that too.” Andrew said. “Every weekend. We go to Eden’s, you and Neil go to the house and practice scrying.”

“Why does it have to be Neil?” Aaron asked.

“Are you going to cut him with zero hesitation?” Andrew said to his brother. Aaron tightened his jaw.

“No.” Andrew answered for him. “You are not. You are going to hesitate and end up severing his artery. Of the people in this room, only two know how to cut someone without causing irreparable damage and how to apply immediate first aid to the wound, and I have to babysit all of you at Eden’s, so: Neil.”

“How dangerous can this get?” Kevin asked, looking between Adam and Ronan. “Can the scrying attract other things?”

Shit. Adam hadn’t thought about that. He glanced to Ronan, whose brows were drawn together. He knew they were thinking of the same thing: the demon. It had found Adam when he scried, and latched onto him. 

“Sometimes.” Adam said.

“What kind of things?” Aaron asked, wide eyed.

“The demon.” Andrew said. Adam and Ronan whipped their heads to him.

“How the fuck-” Ronan started. 

“And here I thought you were just drunkenly making up stories to spite me.” Andrew said. “But no, you meant an actual demon. How did you stop it?”

All at once, Adam also remembered he had not told Ronan he had gotten blackout drunk Friday night. Adam held Ronan’s gaze, even as he watched Ronan understand what Andrew had just said, understand what information Adam had decided to leave out. 

“You got drunk?” Ronan asked. His face was blank. Adam swallowed roughly.

“Yeah.” He replied.

“How was it?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“You blacked out?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. How was the hangover?”

Adam grimaced. “Not worth it.” I’m sorry, was what he was really trying to say.

Ronan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Rarely is, when you get blackout.” I’m not mad, dumbass, was what he was really saying. He turned to Andrew. “You stop bad magic shit the same way you stop bad normal shit: extreme violence and zero prejudice.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “So I could just stab a demon?” He asked. Ronan shrugged.

“Sure,” he replied, “Don’t know how much good a kitchen knife is gonna do you, but go ham.”

“What would actually do good?” Andrew asked. Ronan smirked and pulled his switchblade out of his pocket.

“This.” He said, and clicked it open. A sudden mess of feathers, beaks, and talons sprang out of the end, moving of their own accord like a microcosm of one of Ronan’s more violent nighthorrors. The room erupted.

“What the fuck is that-”

“Holy shit-”

“What the hell-”

Ronan clicked the dream weapon closed. He looked very self-satisfied as he took in the awe and terror on the faces around him. Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics.

“Where,” Andrew said, almost reverently, the most emotion Adam thought he’d ever heard come from the man, “Did you get that?”

“Made it myself.”

“Make me one.”

“Do not give him one of those!” Aaron yelled. “You have enough knives, jesus christ!”

“They’re not magic knives, though.” Neil said. “If there’s a demon, we should probably have the most effective weapons available. If Andrew’s the only thing standing between us and a demon, would you rather he have his regular knives or magic knives?”

Aaron looked pained, but took another spoonful of peanut butter and shoved it into his mouth as an acquiesce. Ronan narrowed his eyes at Andrew, then a devious grin began pulling at one corner of his mouth. He had an idea, and Adam was almost certain he wasn’t going to like it.

“I’ll dream you a knife, sure,” Ronan said, “If you can beat me in a race.”

“ Ronan. ” Adam said. He said it like Gansey used to, with layered meanings of ‘what are you doing?’ and ‘ are you insane?’

“Once around the block. You win, I dream you a custom magic knife; I win, you take whatever I give you that’s lying around the Barns. What do you say?”

Andrew paused, thinking the arrangement over before finally putting down his spoon and picking up his jacket and keys.

“Deal.” He said.

“Let’s go then.” Ronan grinned and threw open the Monster’s door. Adam followed close behind him as they walked downstairs.

“Are you being serious right now?” Adam angrily whispered in Ronan’s ear. Ronan’s shark grin only seemed to grow bigger.

“I won’t tell Gansey if you won’t.” He said breezily. Adam immediately heard it for the threat it was: You tattle on me for racing, I’ll tell Gansey you got blackout drunk. Adam could already imagine the disappointed dad face that Gansey would wear when asking him questions like, ‘ Why?’ and ‘ Were you coerced?’ and ‘ Did you like it?’ and ‘ I thought you never wanted to be anything like him?’ It made him feel nauseous. This was something he wasn’t planning on doing again anytime soon, anyways, and he didn’t need Gansey turning it into a dissection and discussion of his moral fiber or whatever shit Gansey would Gansey about the whole situation. The man was his best friend, his complete opposite who understood him in a way that would never cease to make Adam at least a little bit angry. He was also a rich idiot who treated everything like it was breakable and he was carefully holding the pieces together. Adam was already a broken thing, and so Gansey’s gentle touch was always going to be lost on him. 

Ronan, on the other hand, was a broken thing himself, and had pieced himself back together without regard for the jagged edges that were left out for the world to get cut on. He’d never treat Adam delicately, not unless he asked him to, but he would point out the places where Adam had done a shit job of putting his own pieces back into place. Ronan knew Adam could take care of himself, and Adam knew Ronan could take care of himself. That was why they worked: they were whole people who forced the other to be better.

Everyone was allowed a cheat day, though.

“You might not win this one.” Adam said casually.

“Is that your professional psychic opinion?” Ronan snarked.

“No, just the opinion of someone who’s driven with you both. Andrew’s insane.”

“You’ve been driving in someone else’s nice black car? Parrish, you whore.”

“How about you win the race first, and then you can call me a whore in your nice black car.” Adam picked up his pace and walked out of the stairwell ahead of Ronan. He let a self-satisfied little smile onto his face when he heard Ronan trip and curse behind him. Now this was a race with some decent stakes.

Ronan was only minorly fuming as they pulled onto the highway. Andrew told him he would give him a list of features he would like in a knife at the team dinner that evening. Adam could see the energy still steaming off of Ronan, and so had asked Gillian if she wanted a ride in an effort to let Ronan get the rest of his aggression out on the road. One call to Eliot later, and the BMW was once again driving four young adults to a 7/11 for Slurpees. Eliot had stolen Ronan’s phone immediately, criticizing his music taste and screaming when they found the Murder Squash song. Gillian made a valiant effort to steal the phone away, but the freshman goalie was an unfortunate expert at playing keep-away. Adam, for his part, tried to turn the stereo off entirely, but Ronan slammed them into a break-check and turned it up louder. It was a rare moment when Adam felt lucky for being partially deaf, but if he had actually had to listen to this assault on the concept of music in full stereo sound again, he’d probably commit at least three felonies. Listening to Gillian threaten Eliot in the backseat, and Eliot’s responding laughter, and seeing the whisper of a smile on Ronan’s face as the BMW was filled with chaos once more, well. Adam could stand listening to some reverberating trash for a couple hours if it got him this.

They had a few hours left to kill before meeting the rest of the team at Chili’s, so when they came up near the banks of the Keowee River, Adam told Ronan, “Stop here.”

As the four of them got out of the car, Eliot paused. They looked into the car, under the driver’s seat, and pulled out a black cloth bag.

“What’s this?” They asked, holding it up by a pull string. From where Adam was about to sit on the ground near the river, the bag and string looked like a shimmery black velvet, but when the wind blew and made the back spin, the velvet moved in the pattern of a field of grass bending to the breeze. This was a dream object, Adam thought. He didn’t need to see Ronan quickly snatch it out of Eliot’s hand to know he was right.

“Not yours.” Ronan bit out. Eliot rolled their eyes.

“Okay, whatever. It’s a pretty bag though, what’s in it? Why was it just shoved under the chair?” They asked. Ronan hesitated but glanced over at Adam.

“...I got it for you last night.” He said. That caught Adam off guard- it always did, when Ronan dreamed something for him, explicitly for him. His heart kicked at his ribs.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Eliot, sit the fuck down, you just ruined a fucking surprise present, you asshole!” Gillian snapped. Eliot shrugged and walked to take a seat between Adam and Gillian. 

“He was going to get it anyways, what’s it matter that I just prompted it happening now? That’s cute as shit, though, like seeing a guy over six foot get all flustered about a gift for his boyfriend? That shit’s catchy. Come on, open it! Give it to him!”

Ronan took a seat on the other side of Adam and handed him the bag. It wasn’t much smaller than Adam’s hand. He opened it.

“Cards?”

“Take them out.”

Adam took the deck out and cradled it in his hands, and drew a card at random. The image on the other side was of a beautiful black raven flying up towards the sky, a wand clutched in its talons. Underneath it was a pentacle and a cup balancing on either side of a flat sword. The clouds in the picture seemed to drift in front of the mountains in the background, and some unseen wind seemed to sway the flowers at the bottom of the card and ruffle the feathers of the raven’s outstretched wings. A Roman numeral one was at the top of the card, and at the bottom there was a title: 

The Magician.

“Oh shit, is that a tarot deck? Adam, you read tarot?” Eliot said, looking over Adam’s shoulder at the card.

“A bit.” Adam said. Ronan had dreamt him a tarot deck, with ravens and mountains and flowers that moved and beckoned him home. It was Cabeswater and Chainsaw and the magic parts of Henrietta in a set of cards. His hands itched to try it, to see even more of the incredible art that Ronan had imagined just for him. Adam looked up at the other man, who had been watching him carefully.

“Thank you.” Adam said quietly. “It’s beautiful.” You’re beautiful. What you can do is beautiful. That you do it for me is even more beautiful.

Ronan swallowed roughly and looked out at the river. “Try it out, then. You know what to do, Magician.”

Adam smiled and turned to Eliot. “You want a reading?”

“Hell yeah, I don’t believe in any of this shit but my aunt loves it,” They said, holding their hand out for the deck and shuffling. “Please, oh magic cards, read me to filth.”

“Half of that shit is just the Barnum Effect, y’know.” Gillian said, watching the cards warily then leveling a heavy look at Adam. “We hear what we want to hear. It’s not real, just generic vague bullshit that we make about ourselves because humans are all full of themselves.”

“Says the Leo.” Eliot chirped. They handed the cards back to Adam.

“I’ll decapitate you.” Gillian said.

“And spoken like a true Sagittarius moon!” 

“I never should’ve given you my birth time.”

“I would’ve worn you down eventually.” Eliot shifted to be fully facing Adam. “Alright, Madame Adam, what do you do now?”

“How about a past, present, future spread?” He suggested. Eliot nodded. Adam could already feel the pull, three cards licking his fingers with energy. He swiftly pulled those cards out and laid them face down towards Eliot. He flipped the first one. It was a beautiful white throne with a large raven perched on it. A sword balanced blade up on one arm of the throne, a garland of flowers curling around the other arm. A crown floated above the raven, who was staring out of the card, a single wing outstretched.

“The Queen of Swords,” Adam said, “She’s traditionally a woman in mourning, or a woman who is associated with grief. She’s reaching out towards something, or pointing to the future.” He thought for a moment. “You lost someone.”

“Are those cherry blossoms in the corner?” Eliot asked quietly. Adam looked closer at the card. Sure enough, a branch of what look to be cherry blossoms extended from the right side of the card above the throne.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Huh.” Eliot said. Adam flipped the second card.

It was a lone raven perched on a branch above three cups. A fourth cup was carried by a cloud to the left of the card as the raven watched solemnly on. 

“You’re not satisfied with something. There’s something you can’t have, or it got taken away, and you can never get it back. You’re waiting for it to, though. Nothing else really matters to you, or makes you feel anything, if you don’t have that cup filled.” Adam said instinctively. It had been a while since he’d done a proper reading, and very rarely did he do them for other people, but he remembered what Maura had taught him. Think less about what the cards mean, and more about what they say. Listen to them and how they interact with each other; what story are they all trying to tell? He flipped the third card.

A raven sat in a barren tree with a lit old-fashioned lantern clutched in its beak. A snow flurry swept through the card, leaving the ground and tree covered in frost. In the lower right corner, hanging from the lowest bough of the tree, was a single star. The title at the bottom of the card read, The Hermit .

“There’s nothing left for you where you are. What’s there is dead, and if you stay then you’ll waste away with it. You can’t survive in isolation. You’re looking at the future- you should go to it. You don’t have to be alone.” Energy thrummed in Adam’s head, telling him what to know, what to say. “She’s gone, but you can still live.”

Adam looked up at Eliot. Their face was blank, similar to the times Adam had caught a glimpse of them in goal. It was a mask of dead eyes and a flat line of lips. They didn’t move for a moment, or look away from the cards, but eventually lifted stiff hands and did a sign that Adam recognized.

Thank you.

When Adam had first lost half his hearing, Gansey, and surprisingly Blue, had done extensive research into how to properly support someone who was newly deaf. Adam argued that he wasn’t completely deaf, and also he didn’t want them treating him any differently just because of a new disability, but Blue had argued that there was a whole Deaf community and culture, and would it kill him to learn about something that he was now a part of? Or did he view his deafness as something to be ashamed of and ignored? That would be incredibly ableist of him, if that was the case. So Adam was roped into learning about the Deaf community. He was actually surprised by how helpful the experiences he’d read about were. While doing all this research, of course, the gang all ended up learning some basic sign language. It was mainly the rudimentary stuff, like hello and goodbye and help and thank you, and also a whole bunch of dirty words because Ronan and Noah were children (they were all children, really, all of them so young to be adjusting to so much). 

Adam signed back to Eliot, No problem. Eliot’s eyes widened and they began to rapidly sign.

“Oh, no, I don’t- I’m not fluent, I just know some- I’m deaf in one ear.” Adam said quickly. Eliot stopped and their mouth formed an ‘O’. They pulled out their phone and began typing. Gillian slid closer to Eliot.

“You not talking right now?” She asked quietly. Eliot pursed their lips and nodded. Adam’s phone dinged with a text message.

‘im selective mute, it just happens sometimes when i get triggered 

thank u for this reading, it was a lot but i think i needed to hear it

im ok tho, like this just happens itll pass’

Adam looked at the time on his phone. It was somehow already 5:34. The team dinner was at 6.

“We need to leave if we want to get to the dinner on time.” He said. Part of him wanted to be gentle, but the other part had gotten to know Eliot over the past couple of weeks and knew how capable they were. Thinking back, Adam began to suspect Eliot may go mute every time they were on the court. He wondered if it was to do with the violence of exy, or the yelling. He wouldn’t ask, but he made a mental note to keep watch for when Eliot shifted on the court.

“Are you gonna be good for dinner?” Gillian asked. Adam wondered how long she’d known, but then, the two were roommates. Plus, he had no idea what went on in the women’s locker room, how Eliot came down from the court. Gillian had probably witnessed most of Eliot’s mute spells since they moved in.

Eliot smiled at her and nodded. Adam turned to tell Ronan they were ready to leave, but he was already standing up and walking back to the car. Adam turned his attention instead to packing the cards up. He felt someone ruffle his hair. He looked up at Eliot through the flyaways in his eyes, and wrinkled his nose as Eliot pinched his cheek hard before walking to the car. That left Gillian standing over Adam. She looked down at him with crossed arms.

“You’re a freak, you know that?” She said.

“I’ve heard it once or twice.” He replied.

“You’re never doing that shit to me, got it?” She said.

“Okay.” He replied. She nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go to hell, then.” She offered him her hand.

“Chili’s isn’t great, but I wouldn’t call it ‘hell’.” He took her hand. She rolled her eyes as she helped him to his feet.

“People, Adam,” Gillian said, “People are hell.”

Chapter Text

Adam Parrish wasn’t sure whether or not he believed in God. Magic? Of course. Energy? No question. All powerful beings who watched over you and could perform miracles? Well, that was just his boyfriend. The point was, Adam Parrish did not believe in prayer, because who was actually going to hear you, and would they ever really lift a finger to help you? But as he walked into a Chili’s with Ronan Lynch, Gillian Bacay, and Eliot Keng, Adam sent a little message out to the universe:

Please, let this go smoothly.

Three tables were pushed together in the center of the restaurant near the bar, and they were already piled high with margaritas. There were four seats left, and Gillian and Eliot made a beeline for the two at the end by Kevin, across from Aaron and his girlfriend. She was pretty, he thought, all sun-kissed skin and long, curly auburn hair that she always kept pulled back in a high ponytail. He could immediately see the resemblance to Neil that Matt had told him about. She was laughing at something Nicky, who was on her left, had said, and Aaron was watching them with a relaxed fondness Adam hadn’t seen on him before. 

“Well hot damn .”

Allison was looking at him and Ronan- in fact, now that she had spoken, everyone was. She was grinning in a way that made Adam’s ears heat up.

“Adam Parrish,” she said, “Where the hell have you been hiding this specimen ?”

“Ronan!” Nicky exclaimed, patting the empty chair to his left, “You can sit right here!”

“Hey boys!” Dan said. “Ronan, it’s nice to meet you, I’m glad you could join us for dinner tonight. I’m Dan, team captain. Order whatever you guys want, it’s all going on the team card.”

Adam and Ronan took the only seats left available, between Fletcher and Nicky and across from Andrew and Neil. Fletcher offered Adam a fist bump in greeting as he sat.

At first, it was standard interrogation. Between Allison and Nicky, Adam and Ronan explained how they met in high school, had been dating for about 8 months, and that they had hated each other when they first met.

“You hated me.” Ronan corrected.

“You were constantly being a jackass,” Adam said, “You hated me, too.”

“I never said that.” Ronan said. Adam paused and took a good look at Ronan. He was sipping his water and slouching in his chair, and very much not looking at Adam.

“You liked me the whole time.” Adam said with sudden realization. Ronan’s jaw clenched and a light flush began to spread across his cheekbones. “You were pulling my pigtails.”

“That’s fucking adorable.” Allison said. Ronan glared at her. Adam smiled.

“Are we just gonna talk about gay shit for this entire dinner?” Jack asked from the end of the table. 

“Adam is our teammate and our friend,” Dan said harshly. “We’re just trying to get to know him and his boyfriend. If you have an issue, save it for later.”

“I don’t have an issue with half the team being queers, I’m just wondering why you have to talk about it so much.”

“Jack…” Benjy said.

“Dude, there’s nothing different between them asking questions about Parrish and his boy and earlier when they were asking me and Jaenelle shit,” Fletcher said, gesturing to the girl sitting between him and Benjy. She had long, intricate braids pulled back into a ponytail, and was looking decidedly uncomfortable. 

“There’s plenty different, idiot.” Jack snapped.

“What’s so different?” Adam said. He leaned backwards in his chair to get an uninterrupted view of Jack at the end of the table. Jack bristled.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Parrish.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“We wanna act like this is normal?” Jack asked, gesturing to the team. “We wanna act like it’s fucking normal that half the team is taking it up the ass? Alright, I’ll play ball. Hey Parrish, I have a question: Which one of you is the bitch? Is he where you got all those scars from? Cause you like it rough?”

Ronan was immediately on his feet. Adam took a handful of his jacket to keep him in place. Jack was being a dick, as per usual, but it wasn’t the worst thing that Adam had ever heard. He knew Ronan was sensitive about his scars; hell, he’d been the one to beat the shit out of his dad when he finally saw everything first hand. The implication that he would ever hurt Adam enough to leave marks like that must’ve grated on him. But this wasn’t the time, and Adam didn’t exactly want to get the team banned from a Chili’s because his boyfriend laid the team asshole out in the middle of the restaurant. 

“He’s not worth it,” Adam said. Ronan’s fists clenched at his sides, but he stood still, glaring bloody murder at Jack but not moving. Jack raised his eyebrows in mocking surprise.

“Oh,” he said, “You’re the bitch, aren’t you? You’ll do whatever he says, huh? Hey Josten, take notes: that’s how you properly leash a dog.”

Adam’s eyebrows jumped up and he looked over at Neil. The other man’s eyes were wide at the audacity of what he’d just heard. Renee’s hand was on Andrew’s wrist, but Andrew didn’t look particularly murderous. If anything, he was more mildly amused, in as much as Adam was able to read off of the man’s impassive face. Neil met Adam’s gaze. He may not be worth the effort, Adam thought, but he’s not worth listening to, either.

Adam looked up at Ronan, still standing, still waiting, his own eyes wide but trained on Adam.

“Don’t get us banned,” He said, and let go of Ronan’s jacket. Ronan grinned like he could already smell the blood in the water. He marched over to Jack, lifted him by the back collar of his shirt, and began to drag him out of the restaurant.

“Whoa, what the fuck, let me go!” Jack said, tripping over his feet to try and keep up with Ronan, while at the same time trying to get away. Ronan had a good five inches on him, though, and his own strength was nothing to turn your nose up at, even if you were a collegiate athlete. 

“I’m not exactly a fan of words,” Ronan said, continuing to walk. Adam stood and picked up his drink, and began to walk calmly after them. The other Foxes started to do the same.

“Adam, what the fuck?” Dan asked. Adam shrugged.

“Dinner and a show.” He said. Allison cackled behind him.

“Talk shit, get hit, Rudawski!” She shouted, putting an arm around Adam and taking a sip of her margarita. 

Adam hadn’t taken two steps outside before he saw Ronan throw the first punch. Jack went flying, stumbling into a silver minivan. He wiped blood from his nose and looked up at Ronan, who stood a good 20 feet from the front of the restaurant. He had his fists up and ready, feet solidly planted in a boxer’s stance. He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. 

“C’mon, square up. You wanna talk like a big boy, you gotta fight like one too.” Ronan said. He looked perfectly relaxed, in his element, like he was made to fistfight men in parking lots. Adam leaned back against a pillar in the entrance and took a sip from his bottle of coke as the rest of the team clustered in an audience. Matt leaned over to Adam.

“Does he box?” He asked. 

“Since he was 12.” Adam replied, hiding the uptick of his lips behind his glass. Matt nodded, eyes trained on Ronan easily side-stepping a wide right hook from Jack. Ronan faked a left and hit Jack’s kidney, causing him to double over, then bounced back two steps, leaving the other man room to recover.

“Oh my god,” Matt said reverently, “He’s fucking toying with him.”

“Should we be concerned about this, or…?” Dan asked, hesitating at Adam’s side. Adam shook his head.

“No,” He replied, “He’s not gonna kill him.”

Dan side-eyed Adam for a moment before looking back on the free show before them.

“Well, I can’t say he didn’t fully earn it. The kid has a lot to learn about this fucking team if he thinks he can get away with saying shit like that. Honestly, if Ronan hadn’t stood up, I was thinking of doing it myself. He seems like a good guy, Adam.” She said. Adam felt his ears and face flush. Ronan was a good guy, despite it all. Or, maybe, because of it.

A dark, jovial laugh drew Adam’s attention back to the fight. Ronan was grinning, weaving around Jack’s sloppy fists. The guy had clearly been in a number of fights, but never up against someone with formal training. As much as Jack had his athletic strength and stamina, it was nothing compared to Ronan’s sharp, precise jabs. Every hit he tried to make, Ronan deftly dodged, and had begun laughing as he danced circles around Jack. He hadn’t been in an actual fight since Kavinsky died, Adam was pretty sure, seeing as he and Declan were on better terms nowadays. It probably felt good to be able to lean into his anger, express it with his whole body, for the first time in a while. Having an captive audience to show off for likely didn’t hurt either. Ronan barked out another laugh, and Adam felt electricity run up and down his arms; he could’ve knocked Jack down almost immediately, but he wanted to make him look like an idiot first, and it showed a patience for delayed gratification that Ronan didn’t display often. Adam was a little proud of him.

He couldn’t say the same for the rest of his team, however.

“He’s laughing at him?” Benjy said. He looked very torn. Fletcher smacked him on the back and pulled him in.

“Benny, my man, I think we’re all laughing at him,” Fletcher said solemnly, then allowed a grin to grow on his face. 

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” Allison said, “But is anyone else getting an insane case of deja vu?”

“At what? Seeing some guy in all black beat someone up in a parking lot?” Kevin asked sardonically.

“And laugh while he’s doing it.” Allison added. 

“I’ve never seen someone throwing hands in a parking lot look this hot while doing it.” Nicky said between sips of his margarita.

“I sure fucking hope not.” Aaron said, vaguely horrified. Allison snorted. 

“Does this happen to y’all often?” Jaenelle asked. 

“More than you’d like to think.” Dan sighed, a small smile playing on her lips even as she tried to play the role of the disappointed captain. She could’ve put a stop to this at any time, Adam knew, and they all would’ve listened to her. “Welcome to the exy team.”

The scent of cigarette smoke caught Adam’s attention as Neil sidled up beside him. 

“So,” He said, eyes on the fight, “Off leash?”

“There was never a leash,” Adam replied easily. “I’m his boyfriend, not his keeper. Half the time I’m still surprised when he listens to me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neil smile. 

“Quit fuckin’ around and lay him out already!” Gillian yelled. Eliot hung onto her arm, grinning wildly and jumping and smacking her arm at particularly exciting moments. 

“Fuck him up!” Nicky shouted. Ronan caught Jack by the collar and briefly glanced at Adam, who met him with a raised eyebrow. Ronan smirked, pulled Jack close to whisper something, then socked him in the jaw. Jack sprawled backwards onto the ground. 

“Yeah!” Katelyn cheered, her hands flying up in the air in celebration. Aaron looked at her incredulously. 

“Kate?!” He said.

“What? It was a good hit!” She said, a little embarrassed at her outburst. Nicky cackled and pulled her into a side hug as he continued the cheers. Ronan began walking back, hands resting behind his head in a way that showed off the snug fit of his leather jacket. Fletcher took that as his cue to grab Benjy and collect Jack off the ground. As they passed each other, Ronan stopped next to them and said something that caused Fletcher to laugh and Benjy to look fearful. Fletcher clapped Ronan on the shoulder as they parted ways, and it was a testament to Ronan’s good mood that he let him. The Foxes met him with an applause, along with Matt asking him where he learned to box.

“My dad taught me.” Ronan said.

“Was he a boxer? Like, professionally?” Matt asked.

“Nah,” said Ronan, “Just irish.”

“Christ,” Matt said with no lack of awe, “That was art.”

Ronan grinned. Adam was suddenly struck with the thought that this was probably the first time Ronan had been praised for a fight in a long time, if ever. Declan and Gansey were always ready with their disappointed looks and attempts at lectures; of course, Ronan had usually well earned them in one way or another. But there was never any celebration for a fight won, just exhaustion at it happening at all. Ronan glowed in the setting sunlight, sweat glistening on his brow and neck, and his smile itself struck Adam right in his heart. Fighting wasn’t good, and definitely wasn’t to be encouraged, but Ronan’s happiness was. If a little blood got on his knuckles in the process of attaining that happiness, well, that was just a sacrifice some well-deserving sucker had to make every once in a while, Adam thought. 

Adam took a deep drink of his coke as Ronan walked right up to him, leaving but a breath between them.

“Enjoy the show?” Ronan asked. Adam rolled his eyes.

“You’re a drama queen.” He said. Ronan’s grin only seemed to grow.

“What did you say to him?” Neil asked beside him. Ronan shrugged.

“That he should probably look into a dentist.” He replied casually. Neil’s small smile curled almost cruelly. Kevin closed his eyes and sighed audibly.

“If he has a concussion, he’s getting benched for the week. I’m getting another drink.” He said, and went back inside the restaurant. Aaron made to follow him, trying to remove Nicky from the vicinity before he could actually say something to Ronan. Katelyn and the upperclassmen gave their last congratulations before joining them. Renee in particular smiled kindly up at him as she told him, “Well done.”

A puff of cigarette smoke blew in between Ronan and Adam. They looked down at Andrew, who had come up from his spot reclining against the next pillar over. He took another drag, locking eyes with Ronan. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, pressing it against Ronan’s chest.

“For the knife.” He said. Ronan took the paper and briefly looked at it, scanning the contents before shoving it in his pocket.

“I’ll think of something.” He said. Andrew nodded, glanced at Adam, then turned to go back inside the Chili’s, stomping out his cigarette as he walked. Neil smiled at them both and gave a two finger salute before joining him. Adam, Ronan, Gillian, and Eliot were left outside. Gillian looked between the two men.

“You guys coming back in?” She asked. Adam thought about it.

“Nah,” He said. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. Adam raised one back. Gillian gagged.

“Gross. Go eye-fuck each other in your car, we’ll catch a ride in Matt’s truck or something.” Gillian said, turning to go inside. Eliot snorted and wiggled their fingers in goodbye as they re-entered the building. Adam watched them go and when he looked back at Ronan, he was still looking right at him.

“So,” Ronan said, “Car ride?” Adam simply finished his drink, throwing it in the trash before starting his way to Ronan’s car. Ronan caught up to him, but said nothing, unlocking the BMW and sliding into the driver’s seat. Adam clicked himself into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, relaxing against the leather.

“Where to?” Ronan asked as he started the car. Adam felt the rumble of the engine roll up his back. He looked at Ronan in a way that had the other man flushing.

“Drive.” Adam said. Ronan wasted no time and peeled out of the parking lot, into the dark and sparse streets of evening in a college town. 

Chapter Text

Saying goodbye for a second time was harder than Adam thought. He hugged Ronan tightly in the dark parking lot of Fox Tower, hiding his face in his throat. He didn’t want to go back inside to the world of exy and foxes, not yet; he just wanted a couple more minutes of nighttime, of Ronan and Adam, that was all.

But he was Adam Parrish, and he had good practice at denying himself what he wanted.

With a last whisper (‘Tamquam.’ ‘Alter idem.’) , Adam stepped back from Ronan and headed into the Tower. He didn’t hear Ronan start the car until he was in the front doors, and turned to watch the Lynch BMW drive into the night. 

Adam could hear the sounds of the TV on the other side of the door. At least one of his roommates was still awake. Adam unlocked the door as quietly as he could, calling on his years of practice in being invisible to aid him, but he’d barely stepped in the door before Matt looked over at him.

“Hey! Have a good night with your man?” Matt asked. The only thing illuminating the space was the TV screen. Adam took the opportunity to whip his shirt off and run through the story he’d practiced in the elevator.

“It was good. We got milkshakes.” He said. 

“You spilled?” Matt guessed. 

“Yup.” 

Hook, line, and sinker. Adam balled up his shirt and went into their bedroom. The light was on, and Aaron was reclining in his bed fucking around on his laptop. He looked up when Adam entered, nodding in greeting. Adam nodded back and threw his shirt into his laundry basket. He turned to grab a fresh one for bed.

“Jesus Christ, did you get fucking mauled?”

Adam froze. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Aaron’s outburst drew Matt into the room, however. The man took one look at Adam’s back and started laughing.

“Dude, those are not gonna fade by morning practice.” He wheezed.

“How bad is it?” Adam asked. He couldn’t see his back. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

“You look like you lost a fight with Wolverine.” Aaron said.

“I mean, you could argue that he won.” Matt said, grinning. Aaron scoffed and Adam could hear the eye roll in it. Adam sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow’s practice.

Jack walked in the next morning with a shiny, swollen left eye and mottled bruising along his jaw. He said nothing and looked no one in the eye

“For fucks sake,” Wymack groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do I want to know what happened?” 

“Karmic justice, coach.” Nicky said pleasantly. Wymack sighed, but asked no further questions. It was something Adam was growing to appreciate about the man. In spite of all the suspicious, strange, and outright scary members of his team, Wymack gave them space. He trusted them to be adults and figure out how to live with each other, rather than hound on them to behave. In short, he was their coach, not their parole officer. 

Adam did his damnedest to change out quickly in the locker room, hoping to minimize any attention on his back. Unfortunately, he was Adam Parrish, and luck was a foreign, taunting thing.

“Damn, Adam! Have fun last night?” Fletcher said jovially. Adam grit his teeth and threw his armor on, pointedly ignoring him.

“Adam, you hussy!” Nicky gasped. He sounded all too pleased. “Are you gonna be able to run today?” Adam turned to look at him, brows furrowed.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to run?” 

Immediately Nicky’s face fell. Matt started laughing.

“Pay up, Hemmick!” 

“Adam,” Nicky said mournfully, “Adam, what have you done? ”

“Don’t blame him cause you wrote a check your ass couldn’t cash!” Matt grinned.

“ His ass! His ass was supposed to cash it! How can you have an ass like- well, okay, it looks better in skinny jeans, but still! How can you have that and not be a bottom? It’s criminal!” Nicky gestured to Adam, who had the sudden urge to crawl into his locker and shut the door behind him. He could fit, possibly. Not as well as Neil or the twins could, but he’d make do.

“Stop objectifying the freshman, you fucking creep.” Aaron said. He sounded bored of the topic, giving Adam a sinking suspicion he’d probably heard Nicky wax poetic on the subject before. His ears burned. The locker looked very inviting.

“I’m not objectifying, I’m appreciating!” Nicky argued.

“Kevin,” Andrew said, sounding equally as bored as his twin, “Talk about exy.”

Kevin began to talk about exy. As he rattled off statistics from the previous year and hypothesized about how much work they’d need to do to get the team in top shape to match them, his teammates dressed and exited the locker room in a rush. Adam didn’t think he’d ever stop being thankful for the five foot tall assholes in his life.

Practice went without incident, but not without irritation. After Andrew’s command to start talking, Kevin had decided to keep talking all through practice. He hounded everyone, and at one point Adam thought for sure that Allison was going to deck him if Gillian or Neil didn’t do it first. Adam tried to make the most of Kevin’s critiques, but there was only so much he could take of being told he wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t shooting enough, he wasn’t listening - that had gotten a round of shouting out of a couple people -before he just had to accept the fact that Kevin Day was both the biggest perfectionist and the biggest dick he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. It was a loaded statement, and Adam really had to let it roll around in his head for a while, comparing and contrasting Kevin with all the boys he’d gone to Aglionby with. By the end of practice, though, he felt confident in his assessment. 

Gillian was basically carrying Eliot out to the car as they left the court. 

“I’m boneless.” Eliot moaned. “I’ve got no bones!” 

“You did great today, Eliot.” Renee said, coming up and patting them on the back. Eliot made a vague noise back at her. Adam opened up the backdoor and let Gillian dump the exhausted goalie onto the seat.

“Hey, Parrish! Adam!” Fletcher called, jogging towards them. Adam didn’t need to look to know Gillian was making a face.

“What.” Adam said.

“Could I catch a ride back with you guys?” Fletcher asked. It caught Adam by surprise. Normally he rode with Jack and Benjy, his roommates. 

“What, did Rudawski kick you out?” Gillian said snidely. Fletcher smiled at her.

“Nah, I kicked myself out. He’s got shit vibes.” He said. Gillian raised an eyebrow and glanced at Adam. He took a moment to really take Fletcher in. He was the kind of guy that everyone seemed to like, naturally charismatic and eager, and his shaggy, curly blond hair and deep-set laughter lines reminded him of Matthew Lynch, only with glasses. Fletcher had been pretty enthusiastic during Ronan and Jack’s fight; maybe it was a tipping point. Adam jerked his head towards the backseat.

“Get in.” He said.

Fletcher smiled brilliantly and got in. Adam had barely exited the parking lot before Gillian turned around and glared at Fletcher.

“Spill. Why are you here?” She said. 

“Uh,” Fletcher started, “Well, I mean, Jack’s kind of an asshole. I don’t really wanna ride with him anymore, ‘specially after yesterday, y’know? He’s a dick. I don’t wanna give dudes like that the time of day.”

“He’s been an asshole, what made this different?” 

“Fletcher, are you a milkshake man or a slushie man?” Eliot asked. Adam smirked.

“Oh, slushies! I like chewing the ice.” He replied. 

“Adam, to Sonic!” Eliot declared. Adam turned the car accordingly. Eating out as often as they had started to (about twice a week) was something Adam was forcing himself to get used to. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of the money or draw attention to his discomfort; he didn’t need these new people to know he’d grown up with nothing. He had scrimped and saved and applied to as many scholarships as he could, and it had been a good day at the Barns when he’d learned he’d actually been awarded more than enough to cover his out-of-state tuition for his entire first year. Tears may have been shed, even. But Adam knew money was a fleeting thing, and had carefully planned out his budget. For now, he could splurge on fast food twice a week, but he was going to use that meal plan like nobody’s business once school kicked into gear. Getting a job at the same garage that had fixed the hondayota up would give him even more cushion, but there was no way he was going to be able to fit that in with his practice schedule. He would have to make do.

“Hey!” Gillian snapped in Fletcher’s face. “Answer the question: what made this time different? Why are you here?”

Fletcher was quiet for a moment before answering.

“So, the whole reason I’m playing exy is because my roommate in high school played it. He got me into it when I moved in with him, and he’s gay, and it totally saved my life. So, like, I’m not gonna just listen to someone be homophobic like that, and I’m not gonna hang around a dude like that either. Plus, I think you guys are pretty cool, and I’d really like to hang out more, but, like, you’re all qu- er, LGBT, and I’m not, so I didn’t wanna, like, barge in on your space.”

“Have you checked?” Eliot asked sardonically. 

“If I’m LGBT? Oh, yeah, totally, I’ve checked, and, like, men are handsome sometimes, but I’m firmly into boobs.” He replied. Gillian snorted.

“Yeah, you and me both.” She said. Fletcher laughed at that. Gillian eyed him warily still, though.

“You’re not gonna be weird, are you?” She asked.

“No!” He said emphatically. “No, I just wanna be respectful. Like, if you guys don’t want a straight white dude in here-”

“Oh my god, shut uuuuup!” Eliot groaned. “We’re going to get slushies, not to a pride parade. Chill the fuck out and roll down your window, this bitch has zero AC and I’m sweatier than Satan’s ballsack.”

Fletcher rolled his window down to match Eliot’s, and Gillian squinted at him but relaxed into the passenger seat, and Adam reached to turn the cassette player on.

“SQUASH ONE, SQUASH TWO-”

“Oh what the fuck?!” Fletcher shouted. Adam fully grinned and continued driving like nothing had changed. For all it pained his soul to listen to it, the Murder Squash Song was pretty useful as a hazing technique.

“Welcome to the Shitbox!” Eliot cackled.

Adam was ready to melt into his bed by the time they returned to Fox Tower. The South Carolina heat was oppressive and damp, and there was still four hours until evening practice. He walked into the living room ( his living room, Adam reminded himself. He could live here too, if he wanted) where Aaron and Matt were both sprawled on the couch and on their phones. 

“Hey.” Adam said in greeting.

“Kevin wants to talk to you.” Aaron said without so much as looking up from his phone.

“Why?”

“Probably gonna ream you out for how ‘unprofessional’ having scratches all down your back is and how it ‘disturbs the locker room environment’.” Matt teased. He had a brilliant smile, and though he liked to poke fun, it never felt cruel. Matt Boyd felt very similar to the sunshine that was currently backlighting him through the windows. Adam had been suspicious of it at first, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop on Matt’s personality, but after over a month of living together Adam had finally settled into the idea that Matt was just a warm person. Sometimes his kindness and concern rubbed Adam the wrong way; he was a private person by nature and necessity, and so didn’t always like so many questions. But Matt pressed on, giving him space and an open invitation to hang out whenever he wanted, even offering anecdotes on what his own freshman year was like and how he handled the adjustment. Adam appreciated the honesty and the openness, and also appreciated that Matt never demanded he reciprocate in turn. 

“Did he say when or where he wanted to talk?” Adam asked, fighting back a yawn.

“As soon as you got back, probably in his living room.” Aaron replied. Adam sighed, but turned and headed out to the Monster’s dorm. Half a knock later, Kevin swung open the door.

“Where have you been?” He demanded. 

“Out. What do you want?” Adam said. The other man scowled.

“Get in and sit down.” Kevin said, and gestured inside.

“Why?” Kevin’s face pinched. Adam could tell he didn’t like his orders being questioned. Unfortunately for him, Adam didn’t like being told what to do. 

“You need to practice.” He bit out, voice low so as to not draw any attention in the hallway. “Did you bring your cards?”

“I can practice on my own.”

“That’s nice. You were supposed to be practicing on your own before, too. How did that turn out?”

Adam said nothing. Kevin squared his shoulders.

“This is your new routine: every day after practice, you are coming here and doing your exercises for at least an hour, or however long it takes to run through them all. If you go out with the other freshmen after practice, then you come straight here when you get back.”

“I don’t need supervision, and I don’t need to do it every day. It’s not your problem. I can manage to do this by myself, thanks.” Adam said.

“You don’t have to!” Kevin snapped. “We’re just- it’s turning it into a routine, a pattern, so you won’t forget to do it again and endanger yourself! If you don’t need to do it every day then fine, three times a week after practice, twice a week, I don’t care, but you’re coming here and you’re doing this, and I’m going to make sure that you do it. This is our problem; it and you became our problem the moment you stepped onto this campus. Now we’re going to deal with it, whether you like it or not.”

Adam was quiet. He had brought this world of magic and danger into their lives. It was wild and unknown, and Kevin was trying to provide structure for him. He couldn’t say it was a bad idea, to incorporate his tarot practice into a set routine. Using the Monster’s room would be the safest place, too, seeing as they all were in the know already. It was a sound plan. Adam hated it.

“Go get your cards.” Kevin said again.

Adam went back to his room and got his cards.

Kevin was still standing in the open doorway when he came back, and pointed him to the desk by the open window. It was clear, for once; it seemed Andrew had been relegated to sitting on the kitchen counter instead of his normal perch. He was staring off into space while Neil, also sitting on the counter not far from him, read a book. Neither acknowledged Adam as he stepped inside and sat at the window desk. Kevin moved to stand beside him, arms crossed as he looked down on him. 

Adam took out his cards, closed his eyes, and began to shuffle.

“I can’t do this if you’re going to be breathing down my neck the entire time.” He said. He heard Kevin huff, but sensed him take a few steps back. Adam breathed in the new space, and began his first practice spread: a simple self check-in of where he was, where he had been, and where he was going. Persephone had told him once how important it was to orient oneself in the world; you needed to keep in mind your path, the roads you’d taken and the choices you’d face ahead. If you lost sight of your place, you’d risk losing yourself completely. It all seemed darkly ironic to Adam now, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He drew the first card.

A raven sat perched on a wooden gate, the door made of three poles. It looked out on a roiling ocean. On the other side of the waters, far in the distance, was a beach and rocky cliffs. The Three of Wands was associated with travel and enterprise, putting in effort and patiently waiting for it to pay off. Here he was, on the precipice of….something. He could almost hear the churning ocean waves in the card. His skin crawled. He drew another card.

Another raven flew across the card, three swords clutched in its talons. Two more swords seemed to be falling from its grasp, and off to the side another two swords were stuck blade-down into the dirt, a second raven perched on one hilt and looking away from the one flying past. The Seven of Swords was a card of careful planning, strategy, and goals. Adam had planned his entire life carefully; every dollar, every piece of clothing, every meal, every minute to study and sleep, all organized so he could eventually find his freedom. Watching the raven continue flying, seemingly unaware of the swords it was dropping, he wanted to reach in and pick them up, call the bird back and return to it what it had nearly lost. It was only a card, though, and Adam could only watch as the raven flew and left behind more than it had seemingly intended. 

Adam pulled the last card.

In a low field of ruby-red poppies, a raven lay on its back, black feathers strewn about haphazardly. Its entire skeleton was visible from the side. A ghostly outline of a raven flew straight up from the corpse, aiming for the sky where the clouds were parting for it. The Roman numeral XIII sat between the clouds. 

Death, the title read.

Adam knew better than to fear the card of Death. It was rarely ever literal, just a symbol for something coming to an end. It was the card of transitions, new beginnings, one thing dying so another may live. He couldn’t fight the sinking in his stomach, though, remembering when the psychics had pulled the card for Gansey a lifetime ago. He thought it’d been purely symbolic then, too. If this was where he was going, Adam wasn’t sure he wanted to face it. He was a survivor, and death was his antithesis, his enemy. Adam Parrish wanted nothing more than to live. 

Silently, Adam slid the cards back into his deck, and shuffled.

The rest of the week brought a shift in the Foxes social hierarchy. Every time the team ate together in the cafeteria, Adam and Gillian would get pulled over next to the Monsters end. It wasn’t unusual for him, seeing as Nicky had been snagging him for weeks now, but the addition of Gillian and the knowledge that they’d been taken to Columbia seemed to make it more significant, somehow. He could see the Upperclassmen’s distaste for the whole thing, but none of them said anything or tried to bring him back over to their side. It became abundantly clear that there was some kind of boundary within the team. That wasn’t to say that the two groups never interacted; in spite of all their bickering they were very clearly loyal and unified. But there was a line that was acknowledged and respected but never pushed. Adam wondered when the split had happened, and who had caused it. 

Jack’s jaw slowly healed, and with the returned use of his mouth came a fury and irritability that leached into everyone’s mood. He was rude before, but it seemed like getting his ass handed to him had the opposite effect than intended. He spat vitriol at anyone who had the bad luck to get near him. It set the entire team on edge, and sometimes Adam felt like they did more arguing than actual practice. Adam, for his part, was trying to take the ‘ignore it and they’ll get bored and move on’ route, and it was a testament to his incredible self control that he hadn’t lost his shit at Jack, or Kevin, or Neil, or Allison, or Nicky, or Gillian, or or or-

Sometimes, it felt like the whole world was a test of Adam Parrish’s patience.

Fletcher continued to ride home with them, and Adam found himself quickly growing fond of the man despite himself. Fletcher was, to put it kindly, a bit of an airhead. Between him and Eliot, the conversations in the car ranged from inane to disturbing. Not that Adam and Gillian were above it or didn’t participate; if anything, the car rides made Adam think of how rowdy and stupid Ronan and Noah would get, once upon a time. It made a little part of his heart ache. 

Adam went again to the Monster’s dorm on Wednesday. He agreed to a twice-weekly practice schedule, much to Kevin’s smug joy. He was still a little unnerved by his first reading, and so decided to start at the beginning and meditate with each card. It was peaceful and allowed him as much time as he needed to really feel each card’s specific energy. It also had the added benefit of driving Kevin crazy as he watched Adam just sit there and do nothing for two hours. 

Friday brought another trip to Columbia, and Adam and Neil’s first scrying practice. They drove up separate from the others, Gillian getting in the maserati almost reluctantly, and headed straight for the cousins’ house. Neil unlocked the door and Adam followed him in.

“So,” Neil said, turning on the lights, “What do we need?”

“A reflective surface of any kind usually works,” Adam said.

“Any reflective surface?” Neil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep; mirrors, bathroom sinks, random puddles in the woods, and, evidently, coffee. As long as it’s reflective and I can stare into it, I can use it to scry. Lights too, but I’m not exactly keen on possibly damaging my eyes by staring at a light-bulb for five minutes straight.”

Neil pursed his lips and seemed to think for a moment before looking into the kitchen.

“Would a toaster work?”

Adam stared at him.

“A toaster.” He said, slowly, as though doing so would change the meaning of the word. 

“A toaster.” Neil confirmed. “Theirs is basically a mirror. We can use different objects each time, see what else you could accidentally scry in besides a cup of coffee.” Neil’s face was all casual innocence, but Adam could read the mischief in his eyes. Also, it would be hilarious to see you scry using weirder and weirder shit.

Adam considered it.

“Fuck it. Bring me the toaster.” 

Let’s get weird.

Neil smirked and set the toaster on the kitchen table. The first aid kit was still on the counter from last week. Adam sat at the table and positioned the toaster in front of him. Neil turned a chair so he could face Adam and sat. He held up a paring knife.

“What’s the plan here.” He said. Adam swallowed.

“You’re going to time me. We’ll start short, maybe three minutes max. I’m not technically searching for anything, so I don’t need to go too far in. I’m going to look around a little bit, and then I’ll try to bring myself out.”

Neil nodded slightly. “Three minutes. Where do you want it?” He said, wiggling the knife between his finger and thumb. He looked almost blank, like something in him had receded. This was a different Neil from the one he knew on the court, different even from the Neil that had manipulated him that day in the locker room. Adam felt at once sure that Neil could take care of him, and sure that he could be in one of the most dangerous situations of his life. 

“Forearm is fine,” He said. “You could just reopen the one from last time. Upper arm might be easier to hide in the long run, though.”

Another small nod. Adam took a deep breath and looked at himself on the side of the toaster. His face was only slightly distorted on the edges.

“Start counting,” He said, and he began to scry.

Wind whipped gently around his face, tickling him with salt and sand. He was walking, but also flying, but also standing very still. All around him was fog, grey and damp. He heard thunder, the rushing and crashing of waves on one side of him. He went toward it. Whispers came from all around him, but then they grew louder, into shouts, screams. He looked around, trying to find the source, and saw silhouettes in the fog. Dark, weak outlines of people, still yards away from him, in varying shades of grey and black. The cries came from every silhouette and none of them. Their voices carried on the breeze, a single word rising above the rest in a crescendo:

“Out.”

He ran.

Chapter Text

Adam gasped and flung his eyes open. He could still hear the rushing ocean in his ears- both of his ears, christ -and his skin felt damp, like he’d just run through mist. 

“Two minutes, forty-three seconds. You beat the timer.” 

Adam fought not to jump. He looked at Neil, breath heaving. 

“What happened?” Neil asked. He was all business, inspecting Adam in a way that would’ve made him feel self-conscious if he wasn’t so preoccupied with his panicked heartbeat. Adam took a deep breath and described it to him: the field of fog, the sound of the water on one side and the screams of the hundreds of shadow people on the other. Neil drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

“Are you sure they were telling you to get out?” He asked.

“What?”

“All they said was ‘out,’ right? Are you sure they meant they wanted you to leave?”

Adam let the words sink in. “You think they want to be let out?” Neil shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

“I have no idea what the shadow people want. I just think that the word ‘out’ by itself can mean a lot of different things.”

He was right, but that only made things worse in Adam’s mind. A strange magical entity, or entities, being pissed that someone was in their realm was one thing (and, frankly, understandable); that same entity/entities wanting to leave their realm was an entirely different, and honestly more terrifying, situation. 

“Maybe the cards’ll give some clarification.” Adam mumbled, absentmindedly pulling his backpack up to retrieve his tarot deck.

“Maybe,” Neil nodded, “Or maybe you can go back in and ask.”

Adam blinked at him. Neil spun the paring knife between his fingers and stared right back.

“You’re supposed to be practicing going in and out, right? So, go back in and try and get some clarification. Or, y’know, try not to get noticed this time. That could be a pretty sound strategy, too.”

“It’s not like I was trying to get noticed.” 

“Not like you were trying to hide either, right?”

Adam grimaced. No, no he hadn’t been trying to hide. He’d just wandered around like he always had. Perhaps the leyline of Henrietta had made him too complacent; perhaps he’d trusted it too much to show him what he needed to see and protect him from the rest. Other lines may not be so kind. 

Magic and people, Adam thought, are one and the same. 

He gave a deep sigh and set his bag back down, instead taking the toaster in his hands and trying to get more comfortable in his seat.

“Once more unto the toaster,” He mumbled, and dove back in.

Four more times, he went in; a total of five scrys in one night. Each time he tried to remain more aware of himself. Each time he ended up back in the field of fog. Rather than wander, though, he stayed still, watching and listening. It was exhausting, splitting his focus between deciphering what the silhouettes were saying and trying to keep track of how long he’d been gone in the real world. By the time Neil called an end to the whole ordeal, Adam felt light headed and more than a little nauseous. He didn’t come out empty handed, though. The silhouettes in the fog weren’t moving; rather, they were multiplying. The fog would shift and one more shadowy figure would appear, another soft voice added to the breathless calls echoing around him. Amidst all the cacophonous whispering, the shadows seemed to come together every couple of seconds and agree on a word:

Stuck. 

Help. 

Out.

The words rolled around in Adam’s skull. Stuck. Help. Out. He was starting to think Neil was right, or at least close. This only raised more questions, though- What were they? Why were they there, and why couldn’t they leave? Were they even telling the truth, or was it just a ruse to lure an unsuspecting psychic into releasing, say, an ancient dream-consuming demon from the dawn of time that would bring about the apocalypse? It was a reasonable concern. 

Adam slept harder that night than he had in a long time. 

That morning, Adam’s nausea still hadn’t subsided. He figured that was what he got for using his powers so much in one sitting, more than he possibly ever had. His head throbbed, and the clinking and clanging in the kitchen didn’t help. Neil handed him a travel mug full of coffee rather than a mug when he got up. It was covered in what looked like German phrases. Adam took it questioningly.

“Can’t stare into the surface of that, right?” Neil said, like it was obvious and Adam was an idiot for not realizing that in the first place. Which, he wasn’t, he just felt like crap and couldn’t think too hard or clearly or, really, at all. 

Fuck Neil Josten’s smug, forward-thinking ass, Adam decided. Just. Fuck that guy.

His brain slowly returned to him as he drank his coffee and ate breakfast, but by the time they were all getting ready to leave Adam still didn’t feel like he could safely drive. His forehead pulsed, like the world’s nastiest migraine. Without saying anything, Adam held out the keys to Neil, who similarly took them without a word and headed out to the car. Adam made to follow him but was stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, could I ride with you guys? Your car just has so much more leg room, and you play nicer music, and Aaron and Kevin are super pissy-”

“Yeah, sure, Nicky.” Adam interjected. He rubbed his head. He didn’t have the capacity to handle much more of Nicky’s babbling, but he hoped the other man would pick up on the need for a quieter car ride. Of course, if he didn’t, Adam figured he could sic Gillian on him to get him to shut up. He briefly wondered when he’d gotten his own attack dog, but then, Adam thought, Gillian wasn’t his; she wasn’t leashed, and if she was, Adam sure wasn’t the one holding the other end. 

“I call shotgun,” Gillian said, putting both hands on Adam’s back and steering him out the door, “And if you try and change the music, I will bite you, Nicky.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicky said sweetly. “Your car, your rules.”

“S’my car,” Adam mumbled.

“And it’s lovely, but seeing as you’re incapable of walking and talking right now, I’m naming myself it’s chief executor. Say more than five words and throw in a clause for good measure and you can have your command back.” Gillian rested her hands on her hips and waited. Adam glared at her.

“Fuck you.” 

“Tsk, verb and a noun, that’s too simple, I’m afraid. Now get in the car.”

Adam got in the car, but he wasn’t happy about it.

They managed to make it to the highway in relative quiet, only the sound of Gillian's music on low flowing through the car. It wasn’t too long until Nicky’s leg started to bounce, though. He started patting a beat on his thighs, first with his fingers, then his palms absently smacking away. Adam opened his eyes and glanced at Nicky from the corner of them. Nicky caught him and took a deep breath.

“ So , Adam,” Nicky started.

“Nicky.” Adam said.

“I was wondering, if maybe perhaps , if you were feeling up for it, would you could you possibly-”

“Spit it out!” Gillian groaned.

“Will you do a tarot reading for me?” The words rushed out of him, like Nicky knew he shouldn’t be asking this. Adam sighed as Gillian started in on Nicky.

“Are you kidding me? He’s basically sick, and you want him to-” 

“Shut up,” Adam cut in. Gillian turned in her seat to glare at him.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up.”

“Don’t fucking speak for me, then. I have a headache, I’m not dying. It doesn’t take much energy for a simple reading, I don’t mind it.” That was a lie. Adam did mind it. He wasn’t feeling great and would much rather be resting, but the way Neil and Gillian had been helping him out so much this morning rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t need babying, just a little assistance. Gillian seemed to be getting too comfortable in whatever this role she had made for herself with Adam was, he thought. A little dismissal would do her some good. 

Adam reached into his bag at his feet for his dreamt deck, not bothering to look back at Gillian for her reaction. He didn’t need to, really. Her bitterness was radiating, and you didn’t need to be a psychic to feel it. If there was some genuine hurt mixed in there, well, Adam didn’t care. He didn’t need someone treating him like he was something that needed to be protected. Gentleness grated on him, sometimes. It was the same war of attrition he’d been fighting with Gansey for going on two years now, and he wasn’t about to lose on another front. Better to nip it in the bud now rather than lead Gillian on into thinking Adam Parrish was someone who could be cared for. 

“Oooh, thank you thank you thank you!” Nicky wiggled his fingers for the cards. Adam took them out the bag and handed them over, instructing Nicky to shuffle and think about whatever it was he wanted to know, if it was anything in particular. The backseat was a little too small to properly spread the cards out, but Adam didn’t need to; his mind was already awake, and when Nicky handed the deck back, it was easy enough to locate the cards that wanted to be pulled. Like everything else about him, it seemed, Nicky’s energy was loud.

Adam set the deck back into its pouch and flipped the first card in his hand over. A white horse strutted along a beach, balancing a cup on its head. Adam barely suppressed a shiver at the sight of the waves in the card, ebbing and flowing low in the background. A school of fish leapt out of the water, almost like they were raining. A raven flew down from the slate-grey sky and landed to drink from the cup, and the stallion bowed its head to allow easier access. In cursive below it was the title, Knight of Cups . Adam hummed.

“The Knight of Cups is essentially the Prince Charming of the tarot deck. Romance is on your mind, a man who was able to offer you something you couldn’t get before, or helped you to get it.”

Nicky gasped. “Erik! Oh my god, it’s talking about Erik, oh that is so cool!”

Adam smiled a little. Nicky’s excitement was infectious, even if his voice made his headache worsen. He turned the second over.

Nine swords lined up one atop the other, horizontally. On the left behind them was a blue crescent moon, and on the right a cage. The sky was a dark, stormy purple, nearly black. Two ravens stood on the third sword from the bottom, fighting beak to beak. At the base, holding up the bottom sword, was a barren tree. A third raven was placing twigs in it, making a nest.

“Something happened that brought a burden onto you, a crisis. You had to work hard to balance everything, keep everything alive or bring it back to life. Outside forces didn’t exactly help.” Adam paused, and looked up at Nicky. “You haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Nicky’s jubilance at the first card was gone. In its place, a forlorn look directed at the card. “How the fuck does it tell you that?” He asked.

“The nine of swords represents depression, typically. Also nightmares, fear, and insomnia.” Adam answered, listing the meanings easily. The car went over a bump, and Nicky’s hands shot out to keep the cards in place. He drew a finger over the two birds on the sword.

“They’re fighting.” Nicky said. Adam nodded.

“And that one,” Adam said, pointing to the third bird, “Is building. They wouldn’t be held up without him.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, structurally speaking; the ramshackle nest the raven was building was only holding up one of the swords. But it felt right to say, somehow. Nicky took a shaky inhale of breath. Adam gave him a few seconds to roll that one over before turning the final card.

A giant cup was haloed by the sun, a beautiful cloudscape behind it. The cup was overflowing with water, the excess pouring into a pond around it filled with floating pink lotuses. A raven sat on the lip of the cup, bowing its head to drink. In the distance, through the clouds, flew another raven, in its beak something shiny and golden and round- either a coin or a ring, Adam couldn’t tell. But he smiled as he read the words at the bottom of the card: Ace of Cups .

“Nicky?”

“Yeah, what?” Nicky said, borderline panicked. “What does that mean? Adam don’t just smile at me, it’s creepy, what does it mean!”

“It means it’s going to be okay .” Adam said. “You’re going to return to that happiness you had, that person. Or they’ll come to you. It’ll be worth it, everything. It means a happy ending.”

Nicky gave a shaky laugh. It wasn’t often that the cards gave Adam any hope, but times like these reminded him there was more to magic than the aches and terrors he’d come to know so well. Like when he’d first become connected to Cabeswater and had felt like he was part of something, like anything was possible and he was worth something. 

“Can I see it?” Nicky asked. Adam picked the card up and handed it to him. Nicky took his time with the Ace of Cups , taking in the magic. 

“And they’ll be okay?” He asked quietly. Adam followed Nicky’s gaze back to the Nine of Swords , to the fighting ravens. Adam pondered the question for a moment, then took the tarot cards back out of their bag and spread them in his hands for Nicky.

“You want to find out?” 

Nicky bit his lip, then quickly snatched a card out from the middle of the deck. He looked at it, his brow furrowed, before turning it for Adam to see.

“It’s cups again, is that a good thing?” He asked. The card...had a lot going on. Across the top arched a rainbow, ten cups arranged inside of it. Below them was a tree, this one with many branches and leaves. On one branch to the left was a thick twig nest, the two ravens inside of it snuggled close together. On another branch to the right sat two more ravens, surrounded by poppies and sunflowers. The ravens faced each other, their beaks and bodies positioned to suggest the shape of a heart. Adam took it all in; he’d never had the good fortune to pull the Ten of Cups before.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “It’s a good thing. Just because they’re apart doesn’t mean they won’t be connected. And they won’t be alone, either.”

Nicky laughed again, and turned the card back so he could look at it again. His face was a quiet smile, sincere in a way that made Adam question every smile he’d ever seen on Nicky’s face before. 

“Thank you,” Nicky said. Adam went to respond, but a giant yawn overtook any words he would’ve said. Nicky quickly gathered up the cards and handed them back to Adam, who deposited them and the rest of the deck back into their bag. He leaned his head against the window for a moment, briefly closing his eyes, and when he opened them again, the sawdust tan of the Palmetto State campus greeted him.

It was nearly Wednesday morning before Adam felt like a whole version of himself again. The whole weekend he slept hard, and then pushed himself through practices and being a person who had to interact with other people as the work week started. Adam hadn’t thought of exy as work before, but his time with the Foxes was already doing well to change that. Suffice it to say, Adam couldn’t look at Kevin Day without a wave of deep-seated hatred and annoyance rushing through him.

Which is why, when he knocked on the Monster’s door late Wednesday night, he was a little thrown to see, over Neil’s shoulder, Kevin slouched in one of the beanbag chairs with a kazoo in his mouth. It wasn’t hatred that was evoked within him, no. Something else, something adjacent to confusion and catty-corner to bitter disbelief that Adam could not name, reminiscent of the feeling he’d experience when going to Monmouth only to find Gansey and Ronan both awake and covered in crafting supplies and orange juice. 

Neil followed Adam’s eyeline and shrugged.

“Mental breakdown.” He explained casually. Kevin heard him, and responded by kazooing a sloppy cover of “The Final Countdown.” Andrew, seated in the other beanbag, had his phone out and trained on Kevin. He was probably recording, Adam figured. Friendship. A smile ghosted across Neil’s face.

Adam allowed Kevin to finish his performance, as was polite, then held up the small package in his hand.

“My boyfriend sent something for your boyfriend.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and stepped aside for Adam to come in. Adam set the package on the counter as Neil called out to Andrew, “You’ve got fanmail.” Andrew stood and deftly dodged Kevin’s reach and sad kazoo noises. Adam could now see the half empty bottle of alcohol resting between the beanbags, and idly wondered how often this happened. It wasn’t his circus, though, and if Kevin wanted to act a clown both on and off the court then that was Andrew and Neil’s business. 

Andrew snatched up the package and ripped into it. Ronan had sent it as part of a larger box, along with tea from Fox Way, a butter container full of dirt and weeds that he could tell were pulled up by small grubby hands, a small stack of drawings that could easily have been the work of either Ronan or Opal, and a new container of Manibus. 

Carefully, Andrew lifted a lighter from the box. It was golden, large enough to fit comfortably in Andrew’s hand, and was covered in etchings of branches, vines, and leaves that seemed to twist and rustle from an unseen wind. Andrew brought a small scrap of paper up to his face, squinted at it, then flicked the lighter open. It was like a classic metal Zippo, but had a sparkwheel on either side of where the flame was supposed to come out. Andrew struck one side, and a simple flame came out. Adam imagined it probably didn’t require any fuel- Ronan’s dreaming was stronger than gasoline, and just as flammable.

Then Andrew struck the other wheel.

Fire came spouting out again, but this time it grew to 4, 5 inches. 

Unmistakably, it was a knife.

Made of pure fire.

Andrew looked deceptively calm. He adjusted his grip on the lighter, careful to keep his thumb on the fuel. He tested the weight, taking a few experimental jabs and slices. No smoke came from the flames, but Adam could feel the heat. Neil side eyed him. Adam met his gaze. This was, he could tell, not a great development. 

Andrew put the scrap of paper back into the box and closed it, then stabbed it with the knife. The three of them watched as the flame knife punctured the cardboard, the paper edges sizzling and receding from it. A knife that wounds and cauterizes all at once was a hell of a dream weapon, Adam thought. Andrew removed his thumb from the fuel, and the fire receded back into the lighter. He then closed it and stuck it in his back pocket. He turned to Adam.

“Your boyfriend is terrible at naming things,” He said. Adam nodded.

“His pet bird is named Chainsaw,” He replied. Neil’s eyebrows shot up.

“That is a great name for a bird,” He said.

“Chainsaw is good,” Andrew agreed. “Splighter the Spite Lighter Deathblade is not.”

Adam smiled in spite of himself. Neil hummed in thought.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I think spite as your weapon is pretty fitting.”

Andrew threw the half-burnt box at him. Neil didn’t bother to move out of the way, just smiled fondly at Andrew in a way that made Adam suddenly really miss Ronan. 

Andrew stomped off back to the beanbags, and Adam took that as his cue to leave. Neil stopped him before he got too far.

“Tell Ronan he likes it.”

“Will do.”

“Also if he gives him any more knives, I’m going to be the one to kill him.”

Adam smiled ruefully.

“Get in line.”

Chapter Text

Pre-practice breakfasts were a team activity, at least twice a week. Dan liked to try and make everyone sit together and next to some new people, trying to instill some team bonding and break down the pre-made barriers Adam had noticed in the traditional seating arrangements. It was a cute effort, but ultimately for naught. Most of the time nowadays, Adam ended up sandwiched between Eliot and Gillian and across from Fletcher, Nicky, and Aaron. They’d taken to discussing video games, and were currently arguing over the ethical implications of the GTA franchise.

Adam had zoned out within minutes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in video games, he just...well, he’d never played them much. He hadn’t had the money, or the space, or the friends to do so with. 

The sudden sound of coins jingling and deep bass snapped him to attention. Gansey was calling. Adam raised the phone to his ear, swallowing his bite of biscuit quickly before answering.

“Gansey.”

“Parrish!”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Adam asked, tone business-like and professional.

“Oh, you know,” Gansey began, “It’s a bull day at the market. Stocks are up, prices are down-”

“Name one stock.”

“Easy. Chicken.”

Adam snorted. “Yeah, I’d buy that. Mark me down for 20 shares.”

“Of course. You know, I wonder if there actually is a stock with the letters CHKN.”

Adam hummed a moment and took a sip of orange juice. “I think Chicken Soup For The Soul is on NASDAQ. Could be their initials.”

“...Bullshit.”

“Could be.”

“Adam, you are my dearest friend, and I care for and admire you deeply, but-”

“There’s always a but,” Adam sighed.

“Why in the fresh fuck,” Gansey said pleasantly, “Do you know Chicken Soup For The Soul has stock options?”

“I mean, it’s there in the name. Soup.”

“ Adam. ”

He couldn’t fight the grin at the sound of his friend’s exasperation. Fucking with Gansey was a beloved pastime. He’d missed it.

“You wanna know why I know Chicken Soup For The Soul has stock off the top of my head?”

“Possibly more than anything in this life, yes.”

“So I could make that joke one day.”

Gansey laughed on the other end. “Adam Parrish, you wonderful creature. How the hell are ya?”

Adam glanced around the tables. Half the team was looking at him like he was insane. In fairness, it was easy to sound like you had a few screws loose when talking to Richard Campbell Gansey III. “I’m eating breakfast with my team, what do you want?”

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt you-”

“A little late for that, Gans.”

“Right. Well. I’ve been doing some digging, bought a couple of maps and started some plotting, and I think I may have a lead on your ley line problem.”

Adam paused. This was not a conversation he could continue in front of the team. He quickly scarfed down the last of his biscuit and tossed his tray, ignoring the questions called after him. Outside the air was damp, an unpleasant side effect to living further south than the Appalachians. Adam never thought he would miss anything about Virginia, except maybe the people (his people) , but he had to admit that weather was never something he’d had to worry about outside of rain when he was still bike-bound.

“Okay,” he said, taking a seat on a bench not far from the dining hall. “Talk to me, Gansey.”

Well, you didn’t need to ask Richard Campbell Gansey III twice.

“Right! So, I started by finding a map that included the tri-state area- Virginia and the Carolinas -and plotted the lines that we’d already established ran through Virginia. Then I kind of did my best to approximate how much further they’d go, if and how they’d curve, that sort of thing. I cross-referenced that map with other maps I’d recorded in my journals of other notable ley line maps and theories- you know, it turns out that quite a few allegedly run through your neck of the woods! The Main Gizeh Corridors, two Great Circles, the minor Beckerhagens-”

“Gansey,” Adam interrupted. “That’s great, and I’d love to see the maps and have you explain everything to me some time, but-”

“That’s just it Adam! Your school actually sits very near a supposed conjunction of a set of lines called the Georgia Guidestones. It’s part of the chart based on the positions of the Great Pyramids of the World. The way the lines point, the one that goes by you potentially goes all the way out towards the ocean. So what we, or at least, I was thinking, Blue is mainly advocating on the part of visiting you and supporting you, which, of course I wholeheartedly agree with her-”

“Wait, what?”

“-was that we could come down and see you and maybe take a weekend to drive along that line, see what we pick up! Get Ronan to meet us down here as well, catch your first game of the season, meet your team. A family reunion! What do you say, Parrish? For old times’ sake?”

Adam wasn’t sure what to say. It was a lot to take in. On the one hand, he was suddenly hit with the immensity of how much he missed Gansey and Blue. On the other…

“Where are you guys right now?”

“On our way to Valley of Fire State Park! Jane’s driving, and doing an excellent job of it, I might add-”

“Gansey that’s- you don’t need to drive across the country to see me. I thought you guys were trying to take your time.”

“When is your first game?”

“...About two weeks.”

“Two weeks. That’s plenty of time to make it to South Carolina while hitting some interesting stops.”

Adam sighed.

“Unless, you don’t want us to come?”

“I never said that.”

“Well you certainly didn’t not say it.”

Adam sighed again.

“We miss you, Parrish.” Gansey’s voice was soft and tinny, and it struck Adam right in the ribs.

“I miss you guys, too,” Adam said quietly. “I want you to come.”

“Well then, consider us there already.”

After their phone call, Gansey had emailed Adam pictures of his notes and maps so far. They were endearingly cluttered, covered in various shades of highlighter, sticky notes, and Gansey’s atrocious scribbling. He’d also asked that Adam check local libraries for any information or folklore that could help direct their search.

Research was one of Adam’s favorite things. A guilty pleasure, even. There was something extremely satisfying to him about collecting information and connecting dots, digging in and finding things that others overlooked. It was something he and Gansey had bonded over when Adam first joined the search for Glendower, the two of them content to spend hours surrounded by books and notebooks and a laptop, not talking except to tell the other something that could be relevant, or simply interesting. Those days sitting on the floor of Monmouth were ones he held close to his heart. 

He wasn’t with Gansey now, though. He was alone.

Sitting in the Monsters’ room after practice, Adam contemplated how to attack his task. It had been easy with Gansey guiding him, and he remembered what to look for, but he was in a new area, and it was hard to cover all the libraries in the area in a timely manner by himself. As he shuffled his deck, trying to clear his mind for his exercises, a card popped out.

Two ravens sat on a field of purple and red poppies, their beaks open and touching. Behind them, a grand fountain stood bursting with water and sunlight, and above them four large wands hung from white blossoms. The Four of Wands was a card of unity, many designs reminiscent of a marriage ceremony. To Adam, though, the four pillars had always reminded him of stability; the ability to rely on the strength of the wands working together to keep the tent or garlands up around the couple in the center. In a way, the card was about more than just love or marriage: it was about teamwork. How else could the couple, or the birds, get the pillars up and decorated, if not by working together?

Adam hummed, then turned in his chair to Kevin, who’d taken to sitting in the beanbag closest to Adam during his tarot practice after he’d gotten tired of hovering. He was reading a thick book with a gold helmet on the front. From behind his fingers, Adam could barely make out the words Dark Ages . 

Score.

“Day,” Adam called.

“Mm,” Kevin grunted. He did not look up from his book.

Adam paused for a moment, then fought back a small smile.

“What do you know about Welsh kings?”

Kevin blinked and looked up curiously at Adam. He glanced down at his book, hesitant, possibly nervous even, but he spoke.

“Well, if you’re asking about this book, it’s on the history of Anglo-Saxon Britain, like Mercia, East Anglia, Northumberland. Wales was ruled by the Celtic Britons during the Dark Ages, so they’re not in this beyond mentions in battles, not in detail anyway. Why?”

It was enough to confirm what Adam had suspected: Kevin Day was a pedantic nerd.

“I have some research I need to get done,” Adam said. “I was wondering if you would help me.”

“About Welsh kings?”

“About magic.”

Kevin’s face was hard to read, but Adam saw something familiar in it. Trepidation, disbelief, wanting something but not being sure if you were allowed to have it, or if it was a trap.

“Where would you even find information on… magic ? It’s not like you can just go to a library and-”

“You’d be surprised what you can find at your local library,” Adam said. Kevin looked doubtful. “We’re looking for local lore that could tell us anything about the leyline or lines around here. That means newspapers, local histories-”

“Microfiche?” Kevin sounded almost excited. Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Microfiche.”

“I’m in,” Kevin said, resolute. “I’m the best researcher you’ve got on this team, anyways. The rest are useless, except maybe Aaron, but his focus is medical, not historical. I doubt that would be much help here.”

“Researching is a skill. As long as he’s good at it, the topic shouldn’t matter, and more hands would be appreciated,” Adam said. “Is there really no one else? What about Neil and Andrew?”

Kevin scoffed. “Neil is barely what I would call ‘literate’, and Andrew doesn’t read unless it’s pulp scifi bullshit. He refuses to step foot in a library if he can help it. Like I said, useless. If you think you can convince Aaron to help you, then by all means, go ahead. He’s not so bad to study with, at least.”

Was that a hint of fondness in his voice? It wasn’t complete derision, at least, not compared to how he spoke about Neil and Andrew. Adam nodded and turned back to his cards.

It wasn’t a hard sell to get Aaron on board. Unlike Kevin, he wasn’t immediately skeptical, but rather curious: how would that work? Would the school library work, or would he need to find a more specialized one? His voice and body language dripped with feigned disinterest, carefully practiced as though showing too much enthusiasm for something would have it taken away. Adam knew the feeling.

The three agreed to start with the university library the next day, during the interval between morning and evening practice. Aaron and Adam went to the Monster’s door, where Aaron proceeded to start kicking it repeatedly after two minutes of standing around.

“Come on Day, we’re waiting!” Aaron yelled. The door swung open, revealing a red faced Kevin Day with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“You’re an asshole,” Kevin bit out. “We still have three minutes before the time we said we’d leave.”

“And we’re here now, so hurry it up,” Aaron snapped back.

“Parrish,” Andrew called from inside the dorm. He and Neil were seated on a beanbag together, nearly on top of each other, a large book resting on their laps. “I don’t remember putting you on babysitting duty today.”

“You didn’t,” Adam said. “I volunteered.”

“How thoughtful. It’s good for them to get out every once in a while. What’s the plan? The park? Carowinds? An open field where they can run around and get all of their energy out?”

“The library, actually. Wanna come?”

Andrew narrowed his eyes slightly, then turned back to his book. “I expect them back in one piece, though two is also manageable. Scratches from general wear-and-tear are fine, but if they start scratching each other you’re allowed to cone them. Begone.”

Adam stepped back and let Kevin through, who closed the door loudly behind himself. In the elevator, Adam could feel the waves of annoyance coming from Aaron. 

“I just don’t get why he always has to have something to fucking say,” he griped.

“He doesn’t even talk half the time,” Kevin said.

“Yeah, but he always does during the half where no one asked,” Aaron bit back. “We’re not his fucking possessions. He doesn’t have to say anything.”

“Some people just enjoy being dicks for no reason,” Adam said. Aaron crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall.

“You’d think he’d had enough of dicks in his life, he doesn’t need to be one, too,” he grumbled. 

Adam blinked, and looked to Kevin. His slightly widened eyes and clenched jaw seemed to say, You don’t want to touch that one with a five foot pole.

The trio set up shop in a private study room in the basement of the university library: no windows, little air flow, and only fuzzy fluorescent lighting to guide them. It smelled of mothballs and mold. Kevin looked comfortable as could be, but Aaron was fidgeting and eyeing the door constantly, like he was nervous it was going to close and trap them all inside. Adam almost felt for him. Claustrophobia was one fear he could never afford to have back in the trailer.

Sitting around the table, each of them pulled out their supplies, and then waited. Kevin and Aaron were looking at Adam, he realized, for direction.

“So,” Adam said.

They stared. A little thought niggled in the back of his mind:

You are not Gansey. You are not a leader. 

“Parrish,” Kevin said, “What are we doing?”

Adam swallowed roughly and imagined himself putting on Gansey’s glasses, and spoke.

“Ley line research. It’s not exact. You can’t just go looking for books or articles about ley lines, because everyone thinks it’s a hack. And they’re partially right: a lot of the so-called experts are making shit up or drawing conclusions with no actual basis on reality. Most information you find online about them is going to be fantasy spiritualist bullshit and conspiracy theories.”

“If it’s all bullshit then why are we even here?” Kevin asked.

“Because,” Adam said, “We know what to actually look for.

The Old English had it right; ley lines are death roads, paths that the spirits of the dead walk on on their way to the afterlife. That’s where the practice of funeral processions comes from. The line we were on up in Virginia was asleep, and therefore stagnant; Nothing could travel on it, things were just trapped going back and forth across the line forever. Once it woke up, though, power was able to flow through it again and things became…weird.”

“Weird how?” Kevin asked.

“Well, we had a sentient forest on the line before it woke up, and after it was awake it started having kind of a mind of its own. Things popped up in it that Ronan hadn’t put there or invited in. Weird stuff.”

“You keep saying ‘wake it up,’ how the hell do you ‘wake up’ magic?” Aaron asked.

Adam thought about it, and said, “Human sacrifice.”

They stared at him. He stared back. Then the yelling started.

“Have you fucking killed someone?!” Aaron shouted, jumping out of his chair. Kevin’s face was fit snugly in his hands.

“No. Well, not really. It’s complicated. I was the sacrifice. It had to be someone willing, or it wouldn’t work.”

“You were a human sacrifice?! Are you stupid?!”

“It’s not what you’re thinking. It was more like a deal. I lived, obviously.”

“Did you know you would live?!”

That gave Adam pause. “Well, no-”

“Oh my god,” Aaron said. “Oh my god.”

“It’s not that bad. I lived. I was fine.”

Kevin groaned and put his head on the table. Aaron looked at him in horror.

“You’re insane. And now we’re in your mess. God fucking damn it.”

“We get this over with quickly. No human sacrifices,” Kevin mumbled from the table, “And do not- and I mean this sincerely -do not tell Neil or Andrew that human sacrifice is an option.”

“I said it had to be willing, it’s not like they could just kill someone on the line and fix it. That’s not how it works, it’s been tried.”

“By you?!” Aaron said,

“No,” Adam said, “Someone else.”

“How do you know about it then?”

“Because my friend’s ghost told us. Showed us.”

Kevin lifted his head, all color drained from his face. Aaron’s terror dropped, leaving something too similar to pity in it’s wake for Adam to be comfortable. 

“Shit,” Aaron said. “Shit.”

Adam sighed. “Listen. The guy who killed him is dead. All the people who tried to kill us are either dead or far away from here. We fixed that line, and we can fix this one too. I don’t think this line is asleep, anyways, because it’s active enough for me to scry on and communicate with it. The spirits on the beach I see when I’m scrying, they say things like ‘stuck’ and ‘help.’ I think the line is just…clogged. They can’t move on it. All we need to do is find out where the actual line or lines are, and then we fix them. Things get a little weird, the spirits travel their road, and we move on. If it’s too scary for you, then leave. I’m not gonna make you stay and help me. But you’re here now, and you can help, so do something. Do something or leave.”

It wasn’t an inspiring speech. In fact, it was essentially a long-winded way of saying ‘buck up or stay the fuck out of my way.’ Adam had never felt that he was particularly eloquent, or inspiring, or much of a motivational speaker. That had always been Gansey. Excelsior . He would’ve been able to make it sound like a grand quest, a noble cause. Adam made it sound like The Deadliest Catch - dangerous and cold. There was no chance Kevin and Aaron were going to stay now. Adam Parrish was not meant to be a leader.

“What happened to your friend? After your line was fixed.” Kevin asked quietly.

“He left, eventually. He was able to move on.”

“How long was he stuck for?” 

“Seven years. He was dead when we met him. He was never supposed to die there,” Adam said. “I think that made him more likely to be stuck in the first place.”

Aaron’s face was inscrutable. “So if someone died when they shouldn’t have on our line, would they be stuck too?”

“It’s likely.”

Aaron clenched his jaw, cracked his neck, and sat back down. He breathed once, then twice, then looked to Adam again. Kevin was staring at the table, but seemed to be waiting for Aaron to do something.

“Alright,” Aaron said. Adam raised an eyebrow at him. Aaron rolled his eyes. “Where’s the line, then? If we’re on it. Is there a map? Any indicators? Or are we just gonna rawdog this investigation?”

Adam pulled up the map and information Gansey had sent. The other two were quiet while Adam explained what all of Gansey’s annotation and alleged handwriting meant. Then they got to work: looking up towns near the supposed line locations, pulling books on South Carolina folklore, pouring through pictures and records. South Carolina, Adam soon found, was chock full of ghost stories. There were women in white, crybaby bridges, burned houses and lynchings that would undoubtedly leave behind disgruntled souls. The rancid history of the southern USA was on full display as they dug further and further, from unmarked slave cemeteries to razed indigenous burial grounds, to the graveyard of the Atlantic that haunted the Carolina coast. Adam wondered if this glut of death could’ve clogged the lines naturally, like bad cholesterol in an artery, or if it was an outside force.

“How do your cards fit into this?” Kevin asked at one point, eyes on Adam’s hands. He hadn’t noticed he was fidgeting with his card bag. The black pattern swirled and shined under the fluorescent lighting. 

“They’re…kind of a conduit. They help connect me to the energy of the line, and communicate with it.”

“But if the leyline isn’t a living thing-” Kevin started. Adam closed his eyes as Aaron groaned again. Kevin had been harping on this for the last 30 minutes. He couldn’t wrap his head around magic being a force, like electricity, but also a living thing. It was getting annoying, and was reminiscent of Kevin’s initial confusion over Eliot’s pronouns when they’d first met. If Blue ever heard Kevin complain about using a plural pronoun for a singular person, she’d eat him alive. Adam thought he might like to watch that.

Blue will be here in two weeks, Adam remembered. All of them. Just two more weeks.

“-I just don’t think you can call something living or talk about it like it’s alive if it isn’t! If it’s a force like electricity, then it isn’t intelligent, it’s just power and it’s there!” Kevin said.

“Bold for you to use intelligence as your metric for living things,” Aaron said. Kevin glared at him. He opened his mouth to say more, and Adam considered the merits of trying non-willing human sacrifice just one more time.

“If I give you a reading, will you shut up?” Adam asked. Both men’s eyes shot to him. “If I prove to you that it’s both energy and intelligent, will you please shut the fuck up?”

Kevin hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. If you can convince me that it’s more than just vague statements and vibes, ” he said derisively, “then I’ll believe that magic is sentient. But I’ve read up on this, and it’s obviously just-”

“That’s the internet,” Adam said, taking out the cards and shuffling them a bit. “This is real life.” He held the cards out to Kevin. “Shuffle these and don’t talk. It’ll waste your energy.”

It wouldn’t waste his energy. Adam was just desperate at this point. Kevin shuffled quietly and handed the cards back. Adam spread them out, letting his fingers drift above them, feeling the draw of each card. Aaron had leaned back in his chair and started watching them, skepticism clear on his face. It kind of annoyed Adam, the way they watched him like vultures, waiting to pick apart his actions and pull from them the proof that he was a liar. He understood it, of course, but that didn’t mean he liked it turned back on himself.

He drew the first card and flipped it immediately. It was snowing in the card. One raven stood in the foreground; with one wing it held two swords, and with another it pointed to the right. Behind it lay the bodies of two more ravens, feathers and two more swords scattered around them. Overhead another two ravens flew through the clouds in the direction the first raven was pointing, and a fifth sword was poised to drop from the sky right above the pointing raven.

“Your past sucks,” Adam said, bluntly. He couldn’t help wanting to be a little mean, and Kevin was at his mercy here. He might as well have some fun with it. “Everything you did, it was hollow. You won and you won, and it was all pointless because you were left alone in the end. Something happened that left you disgraced. You were either the raven calling the shots, the raven flying away, or the raven left for dead. Maybe you were all three. But that’s your past.”

Adam didn’t look at Kevin, and didn’t give him time to mull it over. He flipped the next card. It was another winter scene, but the ice was melting. A weak-looking tree stood in the center, new leaves starting to grow from it. Two ravens stood at the base of the tree, watching the ice recede. Three more sat in the branches, five coins in between them.

“You’re unhappy. You’re in a rough situation, maybe you feel stuck. You’re stressed, or missing something. Maybe it’s financials. What matters is that you’re unstable right now,” Adam said. “But you’re not alone. This is a card of sticking it out with others at your side. Sort of a ‘come-what-may’ deal.” He spared a glance at Kevin. He looked blanched, and his frown was deep set. Aaron had moved closer, squinting at the cards; he almost looked amused. Adam flipped the last card.

A single raven flew above an apple orchard. A river wound through the edge of it and off the side of the card. The sky was clear blue and had few clouds. Above the raven was a large sun, a heart cut out of the middle of it and a cup sitting inside. The roman numeral for three was at the top of the card, and at the bottom the title: The Empress.  

“It’s not going to stop you,” Adam said after a moment, considering the card in relation to the others on the table. “Whatever anxiety you have. It's keeping you still, but it’s not going to hold you forever. There’s something growing, but you have to be patient. There’ll be freedom, if you want it. A legacy too, maybe.”

Adam wasn’t sure what made him mention the legacy. The Empress had nothing to do with legacies, not really: it was about creation, fruition, femininity. The Queen of Queens. Adam looked up at the chess piece on Kevin Day’s cheek.

“I want it,” Kevin said softly.

“Then wait,” Adam said, “For the thaw.”

He gathered the cards back up while Kevin sat with the reading, mulling it over. Aaron’s eyes bored holes into his skull until Adam met his gaze.

“You’re a creepy fuck, you know that?” Aaron said.

Adam smiled ruefully.

Yeah, he knew.

Adam walked through the mists, the shadows of people shifting around him. He was both there and not. Shrieks and cries, reaches and whisps. Sometimes it seemed like someone was actually looking at him, that they could be talking to him. But when he tried to respond, or focus in on them, all he got was hollow eyes and then they faded away. Was it shyness? Were they too weak?

Was Adam too weak?

He wandered through until he reached the edge of the beach, the waters ebb and flow good for practicing his breathing. These past few goes were to try and see if he could protect himself while in a scry; like the bubbles he created around himself in the material world. He hadn’t exactly shown anyone he was able to do that yet, but he wondered if Neil could see it, back in the land of the living. When he created his bubble in the scry, did he manifest one in reality, too? Neil had yet to say anything, but then, he wasn’t the kind of person to outright ask something. Not until he’d had time to try and piece it together-

There was someone on the beach. By the water.

The shades didn’t usually travel this close to the water. This one was crouched in the sand, watching the waves go in and out. He was gray, same as the others, but something about him looked familiar to Adam. He approached slowly.

“Hello?” Adam said. The figure looked up.

“You’re real fucking annoying, you know that?” The ghost said. It was the first true response Adam had gotten.

“Sorry. My name’s Adam. I’m-”

“No one asked. Some of us are trying to make the best of Purgatory. Get the fuck out of here.”

“...What’s your name?”

The ghost looked Adam up and down. His eyes seemed to linger on Adam’s PSU sweatshirt.

“Just go away, man,” He whispered. He seemed to turn more gray, more faded.

“I’m trying to help. You’re stuck here, right? Tell me about it. Let me try and fix it,” Adam said. The ghost shook his head.

“There’s nothing left to fix. Fucked over in life and in death. Just let it go, man. Forget it. Move on.”

“You can’t move on, though, can you? You’re stuck. I can help. Just tell me your name, I can-”

Adam gasped and winced in pain. Neil was already applying pressure to the cut he’d made on the back of Adam’s hand. He must’ve gone over the three minute limit. This was the first time Neil had ever actually cut him while doing this.

“Five minutes. I tried to slap you out of it first,” Neil said. His voice was strange, distant. He was very focused on the bandaging. It made Adam feel almost guilty, somehow.

But it didn’t matter, not really. Not now. Adam had a new, clearer plan. All he had to do was find that spirit again and bother them until they actually told him more than fuck off .

Feelings didn’t matter right now. Adam had an in.

Chapter Text

Gillian Bacay wasn’t exactly what Andrew would call a complete lightweight, but she was close. Each Friday night, upon arriving at Eden's Twilight, she told Andrew, “Don’t let me drink more than three cups.” He nearly rolled his eyes every time. She didn’t need him to watch her alcohol intake; she never finished her third drink (not including shots, which in Andrew’s opinion didn’t count as actual drinks. They were more like party favors that added a little extra buzz.). 

She always ended up too busy dancing and insulting people’s clothing with Nicky. They would be hanging off of each other by the end of each night, giggling like mad. Aaron was never far behind them, but he had cut back slightly on his own consumption in an effort to be more watchful. Not out of any deal, of course, Andrew doubted his twin would make any concrete deals with him ever again. But after taking the time to listen, a skill Aaron had been practicing since they started sibling therapy, it seemed like he had picked up on why the new backliner had caught his brother’s interest.

Initially, he’d found her anger entertaining. She was a hair-trigger, opinionated and rude but only when others were looking. When they looked away, Andrew didn’t- a practice that had served him well thus far. Out of focus, her bark and bite both gave way to the kind of exhaustion that only comes from putting on a constant performance. Andrew was familiar with it, though he’d shed that particular tactic many years ago. It was pitiable, but not enough to truly gain Andrew’s interest.

No, that had been accomplished when she’d punched Rudawski in the throat (commendable) and nearly taken Boyd’s arm off. Her fearsome shout in the face of the man trying to restrain her had really only been fear, and once Andrew recognized it in her he couldn’t avoid it. Fear dripped from her every action, and it disgusted him. Someone needed to show her how to cover that shit up before she embarrassed herself and did something stupid. The last thing this team needed was another high-strung dumbass picking fights they couldn’t finish. So, out of the kindness of his heart, Andrew concocted the plan to invite Bacay and Parrish, who had his own obvious suitcase of tragedy to be dealt with, to Columbia. A trial run, to see if they were going to be an issue or if they could run with the big dogs.

That plan had gone to shit. It had gone to shit the moment Bacay was in a room with a bunch of men telling her what to do, Andrew knew in hindsight. He’d assumed Parrish being there as well would be enough to make it feel less like a cornering and more like an offer. When she’d said no, Andrew assumed it was just the fear talking again and steamrolled past it, like he did with his own. Lead by example, that was what Wilds was always telling Neil. 

But Bacay threw it back in his face. What part of ‘no’ did you not understand? Andrew understood the word perfectly; it was one of his favorites, right next to ‘audacious’ and ‘cock’. This was just a situation, he’d thought as he silently fumed, where it was okay to ignore it, because he knew what was best for them.

And then the nausea hit as he listened to himself.

It was Neil’s bright idea, offered after Andrew’s fifth cigarette, to try it again from a different angle. It was Renee’s idea to create an incentive; if she was really like them, then the offer of fighting lessons would be too good to pass up. Andrew placed the situation into their hands then, because he was also working on his listening skills, and there were no people he trusted more in the world than them.

Then Parrish had scried into his coffee cup and changed the game.

That’s how they were here now. Andrew unlocked the door to the Columbia house and stepped swiftly inside and out of the way to allow his parade of drunk idiots to enter behind him. Bacay broke off from Nicky and sloughed onto the couch, seeming to melt into the cushions. She narrowly avoided stepping on Parrish, who had taken up residence in the sleeping bag at the foot of the couch. Parrish blinked blearily a couple times, seemed to identify who had come in, and promptly went back to sleep. Nicky stumbled into his room, leaving the door open as he fell onto his own bed. 

That left Aaron to carry Kevin’s drunk ass. Andrew leaned against the couch and watched in amusement as his brother tried to help Kevin navigate the last step into the house, before ultimately giving up and letting Kevin trip and fall. Aaron stepped over him and grumbled something at Andrew that he didn’t care enough to try and parse out, then made his way up the stairs to his room. Andrew spared a look at Kevin, who remained on the ground. He looked up at Andrew with unfocused eyes.

“I fell,” he slurred.

“Keen observation,” Andrew replied. Kevin blinked dumbly at him.

A sigh came from the table as Neil got up and went to help his beloved exy star off the floor and into Nicky’s room. He closed the door after dumping him, and Andrew finally got a good look at his face. 

Neil looked tired. He slumped in a way that reminded Andrew of some nobody he once met who had fake black hair and fake brown eyes. This auburn hair, real, was mussed like someone had been running their hands through it; these blue eyes, also real, were hard and direct. Andrew checked the table. The first-aid kit was still open, the remnants of bandage and gauze packaging littered around it. He didn’t spare another glance at Parrish. He already knew his arms were probably wrapped up tight. 

Andrew flicked his eyes to the stairs and then started up them. He threw his shit in his room, and by the time he returned from the bathroom Neil was there, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Long night?” Andrew asked. It was rhetorical, but it was enough to get Neil to start talking.

“He found something,” Neil replied. “Some ghost that responded to him. He went back in to look for him twice.”

“And came up empty, I presume. Shame we don’t have a proton pack,” Andrew said as he changed. 

“He went over the limit three times.”

Andrew turned around and took Neil’s face in his hand. 

“If this is going to be an issue-”

“It’s not. I’m fine.”

“Which is why you’re doing the mopey puppy routine.”

“Andrew-”

“Do not ‘Andrew’ me,” Andrew said. “I am well aware that you are perfectly capable of spotting Parrish. But if wielding a knife in any capacity is going to put strain on your fragile little psyche, then say so and we will switch. You can spend Friday nights herding cats, and I get to stab Parrish. Everybody wins. Just say the word.”

In actuality, Andrew did not particularly want to switch jobs with Neil. The whole scrying thing unnerved him; how still Parrish got, and the thin film that came over his eyes and seemed to move. It was some freaky shit, and Andrew was more than content to stay away from it. 

But this was Neil. If Andrew could do anything to take some weight off the shoulders of his least favorite martyr, well, he could bench a significant amount.

Neil, for his part, at least pretended to consider the offer. He sighed quietly and leaned his head further into Andrew’s hand. 

“I can do it,” He said. Andrew could feel the rumbling of his voice in his fingertips. “It…I know I’m going to space out when I have to cut and bandage him. The more I do it, the more I get used to it, the easier it’ll be, and maybe then I won’t…get weird when I do it. When I cut him. But until then, I’m just going to have to push through it. I know it’s not the most fun thing to come home to after the club, but I have to do this. I don’t want to be controlled by them.”

Bee would call it exposure therapy. Andrew just called it….

Brave? The Bee in his head suggested.

No, Andrew thought, not brave. Just stupid. Putting himself through unnecessary grief on the off chance that he’ll build up a tolerance to it.

Is that not what you do? Brain Bee asked. When you touch him or sleep next to him?

Shut up.

“Shut up.”

Neil just stared at him. His eyes had a little more life in them, dopey and shining now in that way they tended to do when he looked at Andrew for too long. It was honestly embarrassing for him, which was why Andrew was constantly telling him to stop staring at him. For his own dignity, or what was left of it.

Andrew let his hand drop from Neil’s face and began to crawl onto his bed. “I am going to sleep now. If you want to mope further I’m afraid the couch is already taken, but I’m sure you’ve slept in worse places than an armchair, or perhaps outside if you prefer. However, if you are done, my feet are cold.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Your feet are cold,” He parroted.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “I thought Parrish was the hard-of-hearing one.”

“He is,” Neil said, laying down next to Andrew. “I was just making sure the situation was actually as serious as you said. We can’t have your feet being cold.”

“You are nothing but a personal space heater to me,” Andrew said as he shifted closer, immediately gluing his feet to the back of Neil’s calves. They just looked at each other for a moment, Neil on his back and Andrew on his side, a mile and yet millimeters of pillow between them.

“Yes or no,” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” Neil said, “Whatever you want.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Turn.” Neil turned away from Andrew and onto his side. Andrew slid up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him in close, like if he could just squeeze tight enough then Neil would hear him saying with his whole body, Stay- I’ve got you. He nosed the back of Neil’s neck and pressed his lips there, unmoving. He felt Neil shiver and then relax back into him, allowing Andrew to take some of his weight.

As he let sleep take him, Andrew thought that perhaps Neil had heard him after all.

Splighter the Spite Lighter Death Blade (more commonly referred to as Splighter for sake of simplicity) was perhaps one of the most useful gifts Andrew had ever received, next to his maserati from Neil and the two inch platform boots Renee had surprised him with for Easter. The lid of the lighter opened with a flick of his wrist and made a pleasing clacking sound of metal-on-metal when flicked closed. He found it was a fantastic fidgeting tool when classes started up, especially when he caught people giving him dirty looks for the noise. It only made Andrew clack the lid closed harder, faster. 

Andrew Minyard did not enjoy much, but he did enjoy being annoying.

The beginning of the school year brought with it the return of something else Andrew actually enjoyed, which was people watching. From out the window or atop the roof, Andrew was able to watch as tiny people walked quickly in one direction, checked their phones or papers, then quickly turn around and walk in the opposite direction. Sometimes they did this multiple times, because they were stupid. All of them probably prayed to some deity that their idiocy had gone unseen, but it had not. Andrew had seen. Andrew knew. 

As he looked over the edge of the rooftop, Neil, lying on the ground next to him with his head resting on the ledge, handed him another useless introduction paper he’d received in some class earlier. Andrew took it and ignited Splighter. The fire licked to life in the form of a three inch blade. Andrew barely touched it to the corner of the sheet, but it caught easily. He watched the flames dance up the sides, eating away at the paper until it was so hot at his fingertips that he almost let go. But he didn’t; instead, he crushed the flames out in his fist. It burned a little, but Andrew breathed through it, allowing the sensation to travel through his arm and into his brain. 

Come on, chemical machine, he thought. Make with the stimulants.

“There are better ways to put out fires,” Neil said mildly.

“Offering your face?” Andrew replied. He deserved Neil’s glare for that one. It was a cheap shot, far from Andrew’s best work, but he was bored and he got mean when he was bored. He didn’t feel too bad, though. Not only could Neil take it, but he could dish it out with equal vitriol. It was one of the reasons why they worked so well together.

Now, however, Neil only sighed and stared up at the sky. His shoes were tapping on the floor of the roof in some kind of pattern. He was obviously antsy for practice that evening; it was the last one the team would get before the first game of the season against the Terrapins tomorrow. While Andrew didn’t give a shit himself, he knew what Neil was thinking: 

They weren’t ready. 

Neil and Kevin had been bitching about it at length, both on the court and off it. Rudawski was still a ball hog, Aaron and Reynolds still weren’t communicating clearly enough, and Tucker was still pulling his checks while Bacay was still going full-tilt into hers. When they lost tomorrow, Andrew thought, it wouldn’t be the fault of the goalies at the very least. Keng had a zone they got into that turned them into a machine in the net, however a quick enough trick-play or pass was enough to trip them up. Which wouldn’t be a worry, if the defensive line had their shit together. But they did not, and Andrew hated how he knew all of this, just as much as he hated the way he knew Kevin and Neil were going to be moping over the weekend and then riding everyone into the ground come Monday’s practice.

As it stood, practice that evening was going to be unbearable.

Andrew was going to strangle Jack Rudawski. Unless, of course, Gillian Bacay beat him to it first.

Practice had gone roughly to begin with. Between Wymack, Wilds, Kevin, and Neil, the freshmen were being run ragged in preparation for the Big Game™. It was mildly entertaining at least, watching Kevin slowly lose his cool more and more as the freshmen kept fucking up. Keng was having too easy a time in goal, and Rudawski getting yelled at to pass the ball became the steady background noise of the night.

After Rudawski tried and failed to make yet another goal, cursing up and down and blaming everyone but himself, even Parrish lost his carefully-curated cool.

“If you want to score so badly, give the ball to someone who can actually do it,” Parrish snapped, “But don’t just keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

Rudawski turned on him in a fury. “You want me to pass you the ball? Okay, Parrish. I’ll pass you the fucking ball. You’re a catcher, right, it’s what you’re good at?” He stormed over to the net and scooped up the ball.

“Is this what you want, Parrish?” He yelled. “You can fucking have it!”

The resounding crack of the ball colliding with Parrish’s helmet echoed around the Foxhole Court. 

Andrew was up in an instant. Parrish was one of his now, which meant Rudawski had officially gone from irritating to Needing Discipline. But Andrew was barely a few steps out of the bench before Bacay pounced on Rudawski akin to a panther, sending them both to the floor. Andrew continued, though, taking his sweet time. Wymack yelled at them to break it up, but Andrew shooed him away. He’d take care of this.

When Bacay pulled her fist back for another punch, Andrew caught it with his net. She pulled against it a couple times then looked back at him, scowling. She was straddling Rudawski and had his helmet off. His face looked like shit. She was good, all things considered; had his arms pinned with her knees and everything.

“Coach doesn’t like blood on his court,” Andrew said.

“I think he can make an exception,” Bacay grit back.

“I tend to agree. Unfortunately, my jurisdiction ends at the court doors. I’d be happy to watch you break Johnny’s face another time, somewhere else perhaps.”

Bacay stared him down for a moment, then reluctantly stood.

“Good girl,” Andrew said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bacay replied. As she stormed away, Andrew knelt down next to Rudawski.

“The next time you cannot keep control of your balls,” Andrew whispered in his ear, “I will cut them off. This is your only warning.” He gave the man two hard pats on the cheek and stood.

“All yours, Coach,” Andrew said, walking back to the bench. As Wymack passed him, Andrew spared a glance over at Parrish. Abby had his helmet off and was checking him for a concussion. His face looked fine– seemed like the helmet had done its job. 

Abby announced him concussion-free, but Parrish was still placed on the bench for the rest of practice. Rudawski, however, did have a concussion, and would be benched for the next game for that reason among many others. 

Parrish was quiet on the bench next to Andrew and Renee for the rest of the evening. Andrew couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or if he was dissociating. Perhaps it was a quiet, simmering anger. Andrew was still waiting for the day when Parrish would fully lose his shit. Bacay’s temper was a known factor, one he could work with. Parrish’s was an unknown, and it grated on Andrew. He couldn’t trust someone if he didn’t know their threshold; he needed to be able to predict their moves, know how far he could push them in order to get shit accomplished, and know when to intervene before a clean-up crew was needed. But he was forced to trust Parrish anyways, what with the magic and all.

Andrew could wait for the breakdown. He knew how to trigger a panic attack in the man, at least. If nothing else, he had that in his back pocket. Along with his knives.

Walking out of the Foxhole Court that evening, a familiar nice black car was parked in the lot next to Parrish’s shitbox. A familiar skinhead in a leather jacket was leaning against said shitbox, seemingly chewing on something on his wrist. A gross habit, Andrew thought. He saluted the man in acknowledgment, and received a middle finger and a head tilt in return. 

Ronan Lynch was a class act.

Parrish rushed past Andrew, speed walking and not stopping until he’d reached the other man and thrown his arms around his shoulders. They looked like two different worlds colliding; one the washed-out everyman, the other dark and fast and cutthroat. But the longer one looked, the more they seemed to balance each other out. One sharpened and one softened, meeting the other where they were at. 

“That motherfucker better at least drive us back before running away with his boyfriend,” Bacay grumbled behind Andrew. Keng or Reid said something in return, but he didn’t give enough of a shit to actually register it.

Beside him, Neil looked a pitiful combination of wired and miserable. Andrew flicked him on the cheek.

“Stop thinking so loud,” he said. Neil only sighed and looked up at Kevin on his other side.

“Night practice later?” He asked. Kevin snorted.

“As if that’s even a question,” he replied.

As if that’s going to be enough to save them, Andrew thought.

It was not, in fact, enough to save them.

The trouble with Foxes, Andrew supposed, is that they all think they are correct all of the time, and everyone else is stupid. The only person this assessment didn’t apply to was Renee, because she was the equivalent of Buddha in her understanding of herself and the world. Andrew would never try to delude himself into thinking he wasn’t an idiot at times either; he knew what made him stupid, and he kept an eye on them as best he could while trying not to drive them away.

The rest of them, however, were terrible. The Belmonte Terrapins were a mediocre group at best, but they looked like a synergistic daydream compared to whatever the fuck was going on with the Foxes that night. It was largely the fault of the defense; Nicky and Aaron tended to communicate in their own weird way on the court, and while Boyd had been able to learn the language and adapt to it, Tucker and Bacay had not. Bacay and Aaron got into a yelling match, Reynolds smacked Tucker in the face with her stick (an accident and arguably hilarious), Tucker tripped Boyd (also an accident and even more hilarious), and Reid tripped himself and sprained his own wrist (surpassing hilarity and wrapping around to just pathetic). The utter communication breakdown was honestly a marvel to watch in real time. Between Andrew, Renee, and Keng working essentially alone in the net, eight goals were let through.

The only saving grace, besides the goalie line busting their asses (more the other two than Andrew, who put in a modicum of effort), was the strikers. Parrish was the only alternate, meaning he was having to keep up with Kevin and Neil nonstop. He didn’t falter, though, and even managed a goal, which alongside Kevin and Neil’s two each brought the end score to 5-8. The Foxes had seen worse games.

They’d also seen better.

Andrew was ready to leave before Wymack even started the debrief. Not only were his two pet junkies grouchy, but his brother and cousin were radiating pissyness as well. Andrew was ready to load them all in the car, dump three of them on Boyd and the girls, and disappear into the night with the other one until he was no longer pouting about sportsball. Finally released into the disappointed, sweaty air of the night, Andrew was ready to drive.

But there were people in his parking lot.

There should not have been people in his parking lot. It was nearly an hour after the game had ended, and people should not exist in the Foxhole Court’s parking lot after the game. They should go away, despawn, evaporate. But there were four people standing by the ugliest, most orange car Andrew had ever had the unfortunate occasion to lay his eyes upon. 

One Andrew recognized as Ronan Lynch, tallest of the bunch and stark black against the orange of the car. He wondered what would compel Lynch to ruin his aesthetic with proximity to such a fluorescent monstrosity. To one side of him were two men a good half-foot shorter than him; one with neat brown hair and glasses wearing a bright orange polo shirt with a white PSU fox paw on the breast, the other with tall black hair and a brightly colored bomber-style jacket. On Lynch’s other side, much shorter than him, was a woman with a menagerie of clips in her hair drowning in a PSU hoodie that looked to be two sizes too big for her. 

Behind him, Andrew heard Parrish say, “Oh no.”

Lynch looked over immediately, as if sensing Parrish’s presence from halfway across the lot. The rest followed his gaze, and the man with the glasses smiled and began walking over to the Foxes. Lynch, trying and failing to hide the worry on his face, and the others were fast behind him. 

“ Oh no ,” Parrish said again. His voice dripped with dread in a way that piqued Andrew’s interest. Parrish sped up, walking past Andrew and through the rest of the team. 

“Adam Parrish, how the hell are ya?” The man called out as he approached. 

“Gansey–” Parrish started, before being cut off by the man.

“And the rest of the team! Great game tonight, folks, really. You all put up one hell of a fight. I’m sure you’ll get those damn Terrapins next time,” he said pleasantly. His voice was like a softer version of Foghorn Leghorn: I say, I say, I say!

Andrew wanted to punch him on instinct.

He didn’t, of course. Too much of a hassle to make his way up there, and there were plenty of other Foxes in front of him who were radiating annoyance at this guy’s mere presence. He figured someone else could take care of it.

“ Gansey ,” Parrish hissed.

“Wait, ‘Gansey’?” Reynolds said. Andrew barely contained a sigh as the team stopped to gape at this….Andrew wasn’t sure how to describe him. He was handsome, Andrew had eyes, but in a sort of average way. He smiled like a politician, and walked with the air of someone who had never been denied anything in his life. Andrew recognized the name and voice from the phone call all those weeks ago, the Gansey that had told them about magic and leylines and dead Welsh kings, but this? This was not who Andrew pictured the voice belonging to. He wasn’t sure who he pictured, really, but he was at least sure they weren’t wearing Sperrys. 

“Yes, Richard Campbell Gansey the third. I’m a friend of Adam’s. And who might you be?” 

Reynolds ignored his question. “Any relation to a Helen?”

“Yes, actually, my sister!” Gansey replied. “Are you familiar with her?”

“Intimately. I’m pretty sure I snorted something off her titties at a party once when we were teenagers. Good times. Tell her Allie Reynolds says hi and give her my number, would you? Parrish has it,” she said, and pinched Parrish’s cheek before continuing on to her car. Andrew fought back a smirk as Parrish and Gansey watched her walk away, eyes wide and jaws slack. The rest of their crew were all grins; the devious kind, like they’d gained ammunition with which to destroy someone later.

Sometimes, and only sometimes, Allison Reynolds was alright.

Wilds stepped forward, plastering on her captain face one more time for the night. “Thank you for your kind words. We would love to chat some more, but we’ve had a long game and I think everyone could use some shut-eye. If you’re friends of Adam’s then you’re welcome to come by Fox Tower some other time and he can properly introduce us. Until then, thank you for coming to the game and supporting the Foxes, and have a nice night.” She smiled, tight and formal. 

“And hi, Ronan,” She added, a little more sincerely, and did not wait for a reply before taking Boyd by the arm and walking off. The rest of the Foxes followed suit, except for Andrew, who nodded to his group to head to the maserati. He had business to attend to. Neil, always good at following directions, stayed by his side.

“I’ll be right there,” Parrish called to the freshmen. He’d so kindly offered to drive all of them since Rudawski decided to pout in his room rather than attend the game. Andrew sauntered up to the group, hands in his hoodie pocket.

“We spoke on the phone,” He said. Gansey turned in the direction of his voice, and then looked down. Andrew estimated he was around Nicky’s height– just tall enough for it to be annoying. 

“Oh,” Gansey said, “My. Did we?”

Parrish scrubbed a hand down his face. “That’s Andrew. The other one is Neil.”

“Oh!” Gansey said. “My apologies! Yes, of course, Andrew. Sorry, I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to be so–” 

Ronan Lynch clapped a hand over Gansey’s mouth. “How’s that knife working out for you?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Lynch had a protective streak, it seemed. That was stored away for later.

“It is sufficient. You make fine weaponry,” He replied. Lynch grinned, all teeth and daring.

“It’s a passion project,” He said. The woman next to him looked up, annoyance written clear on her face. Closer now, she looked roughly as tall as Andrew. Her hair was a mix of natural curls and hanging braids, with bobby pins and barrets stuck haphazardly throughout.

“You made him a knife?” She asked.

“No,” Lynch said.

“You’ve never made me a knife,” She said.

“You’ve never asked.”

“Will you make me a knife?”

“No. You already have one, you don’t need a dream one to cut people’s balls off.”

“If I did I’d start with you.”

“I’m touched.”

“In the head.”

“As riveting as it is to listen to you two verbally spar– and truly, it is one of my favorite spectator sports –I believe our new friends here were trying to be on their way,” The man to the other side of Gansey said. His smile was good-natured, practiced and clean, and his multi-colored jacket screamed money .

Adam Parrish, Andrew thought, who do you surround yourself with?

Gansey hummed and pried Lynch’s hand off his mouth. “Right-o, Mr. Cheng! Apologies, gentlemen, it seems these two haven’t gotten to sniff each other's tails enough after being apart for so long.”

“Gross,” said Lynch.

“Are you calling me a dog?” said the woman.

“Are you done yet?” Neil said. “Because I’d like to go home and go the fuck to sleep.”

All eyes turned to him– all except Parrish, who was pointedly staring at the ground. His jaw was tense, fists clenched.

Good, Andrew thought, You should feel shame. These people are idiots.

“Yes, I believe we’re quite finished,” Gansey said. There was a different quality to his voice now. It was quieter, more even. There was something decisive about it, like when he spoke the rest of them had no choice but to shut up and follow along. 

Interesting.

“I’ll make this simple,” Andrew said, “Before or after you all do whatever it is you’re here to do, you will come by Fox Tower and we will all have a nice sit down to discuss the bullshit.”

“‘The Bullshit’ referring to magic, I assume?” Gansey asked.

“Do not ask stupid questions. You’ve already wasted my time enough tonight. Just say you understand.”

Gansey locked eyes with Andrew. They were more intense than he was expecting, more power behind them than his clothing and demeanor led him to believe. Like a light switch, Gansey had turned into a commander. 

Andrew blinked at him, face impassive.

Gansey smiled politely, a carbon copy of Kevin’s press-face.

“I understand,” He said. “We’ll have Adam let you know when we’re coming ahead of time. Please ex-”

“Shut up,” Andrew cut in. He’d had enough of this guy. “You use too many words to say nothing of substance.”

Andrew walked away to his car. If Gansey had a rebuttal to that, Andrew didn’t hear it, because he had already tuned him out. Neil bumped his shoulder into Andrew’s. Andrew nudged him with his elbow.

At the car, Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron were all slumped in varying states of consciousness.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Nicky announced as Andrew and Neil approached, “But I would like to go get very drunk.”

“Seconded,” Kevin said.

“Thirded,” Aaron said.

“Motion acknowledged. Get in,” Andrew said.

Back at the Tower, Andrew pushed Kevin and Nicky towards Aaron and told him they were his problem for the night, and told Kevin and Nicky not to come home til the morning. When the objections started, Andrew shut the door in their faces, locked it, and slid the deadbolt into place.

He was done with people for the night.

In the middle of the living area stood Neil, his bag dropped at his feet. He sighed, and it came from somewhere deep and drained within him. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head.

Andrew tossed his bag to the ground, not caring where it landed. He walked in front of Neil, standing just a smidge too close. He waited for a moment, then said, softly, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Neil brought his hands up, and Andrew thought he was going for his face, so he placed his hands on Neil’s hips. But Neil placed his hands on Andrew’s shoulders instead, and ever so gently hid his face in the crook of Andrew’s neck. It wasn’t what he was expecting, and Andrew stiffened a little at first, but that stiffness quickly turned into steadiness as he gripped Neil’s hips tight and leaned his head against the other man’s.

I’ve got you.

Chapter Text

By the time he arrived at the rental house Henry had arranged for them, Adam was exhausted. Playing (and losing) a game was tiring enough, but then he’d had to field questions from his passengers on the way to Fox Tower.

(“Your friend is a fucking dork,” Eliot said.

“I know.”

“How did you meet him?” Benji asked.

“School.”

“The short one was hot. With the braids,” Gillian said.

“Shut up.”)

The rental was a simple one-story, with a nice white porch and blue-painted wood paneling. Adam was greeted by the smell of Mexican spices and the sound of bickering as he stepped through the door left unlocked for him. 

“Ah! There he is! The man of the hour,” Gansey said pleasantly. Blue elbowed him, and the smile on his face grew tight. “Right, ah, I have been informed that I may owe you an apology. It was not my intention to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“Yeah?” Ronan asked, taco half in his mouth. “What were your intentions then?”

“To greet them! To introduce myself! To perhaps lighten the load of their loss!”

“Alliteration!” Henry and Blue chorused. They fist-bumped, and Gansey looked defeated. Ronan snorted.

“I just…” Gansey sighed. “I’m sorry Adam.”

Adam stared at Gansey for a moment. On one hand, he was frustrated in the way that only Richard Campbell Gansey III being Richard Campbell Gansey III could frustrate him. On the other, though, he was here , and Adam would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed being frustrated by him just a little.

“They think you’re a dork,” Adam said.

“They’re right,” Ronan and Blue chorused. They fist-bumped, and Gansey threw his hands in the air.

“Honestly! Can I ever win with you people?”

“No,” they all said, including Henry. Adam hadn’t been sure at first how Cheng would fit into their little group, despite five feeling like the right number for them to be. He’d expected to find the man annoying, boisterous, an Aglionby bro who would throw everything out of balance. But over the past months of getting to know him through video chats and texts, he’d found that Henry was actually very thoughtful. Yes, he was boisterous; yes, he was colorful and bright where the rest of them tended to lean towards the dark and muted; but there was a quiet competence to him, a wicked cleverness that matched the rest of them well. Yes, the five of them, somehow, felt right.

“So,” said Henry, “What was that I heard about your sister’s boobs?”

Adam snorted, sending the burrito he had just taken a bite of into his nose. Ronan’s boisterous laugh and Blue’s cackle competed to drown each other out as Gansey paled. 

“You heard nothing,” he said, “Because I heard nothing whatsoever having to do with my sister’s, er, well, her…chest.” 

“Chest? Her chest? ” Blue asked.

“I refuse to talk about my sister with such crude terms as tits , Jane!” Gansey had taken the bait, and even though his sinuses stung and his eyes were watering, Adam felt it was worth it to hear Gansey— dear, proper Gansey —say tits.

“You all think this is hilarious. Of course. Go on, laugh away, but it would be different were the shoe on the other foot!” Gansey protested. Henry shook his head, wiping a tear away. 

“No way man, I’m an only child,” Cheng said. 

“Same,” Adam said between gasps for air. 

“Also same, but if you want to count Orla then I’ve already heard about way more than her tits . It’s just annoying at this point,” Blue shrugged. 

“ Fuck,” Ronan gasped, “If someone wants to say shit about Declan’s tits they’re fucking welcome to. It’s not my fault they have bad taste.” 

Gansey’s blush was bright across his cheekbones. He was grasping for something, anything to save himself. “Well, what about Matthew’s?”

Ronan stopped and looked at Gansey very seriously. The rest of the table froze with him.

“Gansey,” Ronan said, stone cold, “are you talking about my baby brother’s tits?”

Gansey spluttered, tripping over himself to try and say no, of course not, I would never, why would you even ask that, it was only for the sake of example Ronan—

“I’ll let it slide,” Ronan said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms (fuck, Adam thought, his arms looked incredible), “On one condition.”

Gansey gestured for him to continue.

Ronan smiled, sharp and mean. “Give Parrish Helen’s number.”

The mirth and joy and camaraderie that filled the room was more energizing than anything Adam had felt in many, many months. 

———

Waking up to Ronan Lynch was something Adam wasn’t sure he would ever get tired of. It wasn’t often that he did it; over the summer Ronan had his feeding schedule with the animals, and Adam didn’t work until a little later than the asscrack of dawn. That summer, more often than not, Adam would awaken to kisses or touches or the smell of food. Sometimes, if he was especially lucky, it was all three. Those were very good mornings. 

The sheer blue curtains of the guest bedroom let in a thin amount of light that made the sharp lines of Ronan’s tattoos look smooth and sleepy. Adam was a back-sleeper (he liked to see who was at the door), while Ronan was a stomach-sleeper (he liked to cuddle). The two usually ended up falling asleep with Ronan half on top of Adam. It was a nice weight, a pressure that Adam knew he could move if he needed to but rarely did. 

Ronan had a leg thrown around Adam’s leg and an arm thrown over his chest, holding him close. Ronan was not a pretty sleeper. His mouth was partially open and there was definitely a drool spot on the pillow. But he looked so peaceful, so at ease and young in a way he’d lost while awake. 

And when he woke up, who knew what he would bring with him?

Slowly, slowly, Adam lifted a hand and began lightly tracing the dark curves and swirls on Ronan’s back. The other man shifted but quickly settled again. Adam watched and traced. The tattoo was hard to pin down sometimes; Adam was pretty sure it was ever-changing, a quality likely gotten from being dreamt onto his boyfriend’s skin. At times there were claws and beaks and feathers, ravens dominant, like the first time Adam truly saw it; other times, tree-like branches twisted in celtic knots across the bare expanse. Sometimes there was a cross, or a hand, or a sword, or an eye that seemed to blink as soon as you looked away. Adam willed it to focus, like he was doing one of those magic vision puzzles that make you go cross-eyed to see the picture. Under his fingertips, the black mass in his vision stilled into talon-like curves, vines wrapping around them and leaves and impossible flowers at full blossom. It was beautiful. 

It was Ronan. 

And then there was an exy stick in the bed between them— two exy sticks in the bed, one in Ronan’s hand, looking like they’d always been there. Adam half believed they were, even though he knew better. He glared down at his boyfriend’s now moving form. 

“You know, I’d appreciate it if I could spend at least one morning without having to wake up to exy,” he grumbled. Ronan shifted and lifted himself up to take a look at his newest creations. The handles of the exy sticks seemed to be tree branches, a dark wood with bumps and twigs with leaves sprouting off of them. The netting was silvery, like a spider’s web covered in dew. On the top corners of the nets were black feathers, tied onto the perfectly curved branch with thin vines. 

Adam ran his hand along the stick in Ronan’s hand. It felt like it had been broken right off of a living tree, rough and dirty and a little damp. Ronan pulled at the netting. It looked delicate, like it would break in a strong wind, but the dew-shiny threads held strong against his fingers.

“I wonder if these are game-legal,” Adam said. Ronan snorted, then looked at the sticks consideringly.

He wondered aloud, “You think your wardens might like ‘em?” Adam understood immediately: The Monsters. Neil and Kevin could be easily– potentially --distracted by some dreamed Exy equipment.

“I could hold onto them and find out,” Adam said. He and Ronan met each other’s eyes. It was the two of them, up to some plotting or mischief. Just like old times.

They kissed, and it tasted like the most sure thing Adam had ever known.

_______

“Shotgun!” Ronan shouted like a bullet himself, all but pushing Blue into the bushes by the porch steps. She squawked with indignation, quickly pulling herself up and charging at Ronan. Adam stepped out the door with his to-go cup of coffee- ice cold and uber sweet, the way Henry always made them in the mornings. He leaned on the porch railing and couldn’t help but smirk a bit. Ronan had been cooped up at the Barns, and he needed to get some pent-up menacing out. Blue was always more than happy to oblige, so long as Ronan was in the mood to receive what he dished out.

“Like hell, asshole! You can get shotgun in your own boyfriend’s car!” She said, shoving him away from the Pig- or trying to, anyway. Ronan stood still as a brick wall. He yawned and stretched his arms. 

“You guys feel something out here? Like, gnats or some other small, annoying, bitey things?” He said.

“Oh, I’ll show you bitey–” 

“Adam’s getting shotgun,” Gansey announced from the doorway. The outdoor scene seemed to pause as he walked down to his car. Henry followed, locking the door behind him. He threw a wink at Adam as he went, and leaned in to whisper to Adam quickly,

“Ganseyboy likes to say he doesn’t play favorites. I think we both know that’s not the case.”

Adam felt his face flush as Henry continued towards the Pig. He would never deign to think of himself as anyone’s favorite– except Ronan and Opal, but that was different. That was still an anomaly, courtesy of the strange things dream magic does to a person’s brain, obviously. Adam Parrish was no sane person’s favorite anything– but then, he caught himself, because anyone who wanted to describe Richard Campbell Gansey III as ‘sane’ was in for a sore surprise once he opened his mouth. 

Maybe, perhaps, Adam Parrish could be a desired person. Even by someone like Gansey. (This was an old battle, Adam knew that. He’d been trying to justify and earn his place at Gansey’s side for over two years now. The option that Gansey just liked him because he liked him more than other people used to be too absurd for Adam to handle, but now the theory filled him with a warmth that felt something like a mix between smugness and home.)

“Why the fuck does Parrish get front?” Ronan asked, clearly irritated, though probably less so than if someone other than Adam had been given the front seat. “You haven’t seen me all summer either, you know.”

“No, I haven’t, and I have missed you terribly, Ronan,” Gansey smoothly replied. He smiled at him from where he was standing next to the driver’s door. “But it just comes down to logistics, really. Between the two of you, Adam is the better navigator, and we’re using an actual map. Are you going to be paying attention enough to help direct me down unfamiliar roads?”

“I’ll direct you down my dick,” Ronan said with no heat, and moved to get into the backseat. 

“And Jane,” Gansey continued, turning his attention to Blue. She beat him to the punch, however.

“I know, all summer, you’ve missed your boys,” she said. Gansey gave her an endearing smile, and she matched it right back. (They were her boys too, and she’d missed having all of them together. Her raven boys.)

With only some minor grumbling from Blue over having to sit in the middle, the five young adults loaded into the Pig. Gansey handed Adam the map, pointing out where they were and the rough trajectory of where they were headed. It was to be a roadtrip across the whole of South Carolina, ending on the coast. Gansey patted a simple looking machine sitting on the dashboard.

“And this will keep us on the right path, even if it seems to differ from my estimates,” he said.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“The MAGIC BULLSHIT SNIFFER, all-caps,” Ronan said from the back. Gansey made a face.

“Yes, that’s its… birth name, unfortunately,” he said, “But I’ve taken to calling it the Dowsing Machine. I asked Ronan if he had anything laying around the Barnes that would be able to essentially take over the role of dowsing rods while the car was on the move. I’d rather complete the trip to Charleston in one day so we can all get some rest and return tomorrow, so this will let us cover more ground. Or, such is the intention.” 

“... So a police radar detector for magic?” Adam said.

Ronan smirked. “I’ve got a couple of regular ones too, if you want.”

“Why would Richie Rich need a cop detector?” Henry asked. “He’s a natural repellent!” 

Gansey sighed, and gunned it.

_______

“Alright, that’s it. If you play one more goddamn Train song I’m jumping out of this car.”

Gansey scoffed. “Ronan, please, Pat Monahan is a talented–”

Ronan unbuckled and pulled on the door handle. Gansey swerved to the side of the road and came to a screeching halt. Adam immediately turned the radio off and turned around to look at his boyfriend. While 25 minutes wasn’t a record, it was still an annoyingly short amount of time for Ronan to decide he was bored and pick a fight.

“You jump out of this car while it’s moving and we’re not coming back for you,” he said. Ronan looked at him with clear disdain. His eyes flicked over to Gansey, who was holding the steering wheel very coolly in one hand and looking at him through the rearview mirror. They held eye contact for a minute, speaking in the silent language of GanseyandRonan. 

Eventually, Ronan relaxed back into the leather of the Pig’s seating. Adam saw Blue release her grip on his shirt– he hadn’t noticed her grab it before, probably to try and keep him in the car if he really tried to jump. Henry had his arm around Blue’s shoulders, and he squeezed her in comfort. She easily leaned into him. Adam felt a pang in his chest. It wasn’t necessarily for Blue and when they had been like that (he was quite happy with Ronan, despite his tendency to be a flight risk), but rather it was a longing for the time when he could do that whenever he wanted; a longing for when he could just throw his arm around Blue, or sit so close to Gansey for so long that they had sweat marks from where they were touching, or lay on Ronan’s chest and have Opal climb up and fight Chainsaw for a place on top of them, the four of them all falling asleep together. Adam missed the easiness of those touches, craved them with a barely contained ferociousness that wanted to burst out of his chest and seize the three of them and tuck them up inside behind his ribs, so they could always be close.

“No more chick music,” Ronan said, crossing his arms. Blue smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘chick music?’ It’s better than listening to your noise!” 

“Nah, see, there’s three types of chick music,” Ronan said, putting up three fingers to count. “There’s Gansey’s whiney chick music, Cheng’s girl power chick music, and your angry chick music.” With each type of music he put a finger down until he was finally flipping Blue off. She grabbed his finger and bent it backwards. Ronan cursed, and moved to retaliate, but Henry put his hands between them in a poorly thought out attempt to separate two people who were sitting right next to each other. Adam frowned and looked to Gansey, waiting for him to say something, but Gansey just sat there and watched through the mirror. It was like he was waiting for something.

“Whoa, okay, I signed up for ringside, not splash zone. Cool your fucking jets,” Cheng said, and then paused. He looked between Blue and Ronan, then snapped. “I got it. Lynch, give me your phone.” 

Ronan laughed rudely. “Like hell.”

Henry was unbothered. “Give me your phone,” he repeated, “And I’ll find one of your own playlists that has listenable music to put on. Can’t complain about your own taste, right?”

“I think you underestimate Ronan’s ability to complain,” Blue said. Ronan glared at her, but ultimately handed his phone over to Cheng, who grinned like a winning politician. Adam saw Gansey smile softly. Adam understood; he was giving them a chance to play nice. It was a test and they had passed. Adam couldn’t help but feel a little proud of Ronan– he wasn’t exactly known for playing well with others, especially those he felt he had to fight for the attention of his people. He’d done it with Adam and with Blue, and now Henry was slowly working his way out of probation. 

“Are we all settled then?” Gansey asked. After an affirmative, he got them moving again. They had an hour more till their first stop. 

It wasn’t long before Cheng cheered and reached for the aux cord. Adam handed it to him, and suddenly the Pig was filled with noise.

“ALL THE! SMALL THINGS! TRUTH HURTS! TRUTH BRINGS!”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when do you listen to pop punk?” He asked Ronan.

“I don’t,” Ronan said, borderline offended. “Where the hell did you find this?”

“It’s one of your playlists,” Henry insisted. “Look, see: ‘Casper the Friendly Ghost.’  You have a thing for early 2000’s nostalgia, Lynch, that’s nothing to be ashamed of! Makes you seem more human, honestly.”

The words felt heavy in the car. Adam’s heart skipped a beat. Something about Henry’s words made him feel…something that he couldn’t quite name. Like he’d lost something, but it had been gone for so long he couldn’t remember what had been lost to begin with. Adam leaned his head on the window and, as he listened to the music, he imagined a figure on a skateboard riding alongside the Pig.

_____

The Dowsing Machine’s radar sounded like a radio losing its mind. An alarm, a call to arms; it was like a bubble popped as soon as the blinking red dots progressed to the fifth and final light on the box. Gansey screeched the Pig to a halt on the side of the road. The five of them couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Flat roads, the usual fare of the American South, felt strange in the Pig; it almost seemed like the car bounced and jolted even more without the rolling, winding turns of the Appalachian Mountains underneath them. Adam’s legs, stomach, his heart- all of him felt like butterflies trapped in jelly, furiously beating their wings to explode forth. 

“I budgeted for small detours; not long enough to do a thorough investigation, but enough to get a feel for the area and mark it down on the map for further research,” Gansey said, readying his old set of dowsing rods and double checking his shoelaces. Adam’s eyes lingered on his hands- a slight tremor was just barely perceptible. It worried him for a moment, then Gansey looked back up at him with the full force of his smile. Adam couldn’t stop a matching grin from spreading on his own face. How long had it been since they’d last trotted through some forgotten woods on the side of a highway, searching for the impossible? 

Gansey led the way, and Adam and Ronan fell easily into position on either side of him. Beneath the sound of their footsteps, Adam heard Cheng and Blue a few steps back.

“And what exactly are we looking for, again?” Henry asked.

“Anything,” Blue said, “that makes you think, ‘are you sure that’s how that’s supposed to look?’”

A ten minute walk brought them to a river. More precisely, it was the remains of one; the water was low and still, red clay and dark rocks cutting through and staining the liquid around it a thick, vibrant orange. The bed was a decent width, long enough that a bridge had been erected. The bridge was dilapidated, chunks of concrete hanging off or missing somewhere further down the river. It was covered in so much graffiti that what could have been a colorful mosaic was just muddy and gray. The steel beams making up the rails and scaffolding were a brilliant, fiery rust that glittered in the sunlight. Gansey’s dowsing rods brought him forward, pointing him to the very center of the river bed by the bridge. Ronan seized his shirt before he actually stepped into the mud.

“Dude,” Ronan said. Gansey looked at him with owlish eyes.

“What?”

“You wanna walk into an empty river at a magical hotspot?”

“Of course he does,” Blue said, crouching by Gansey’s feet and dipping her fingers into the clay of the bank. “That’s how you find magic, right? Walk into it and say, ‘Hello-o, anybody home?’”

Adam shrugged. “Worked out pretty well the last time,” He said.

“If you call giving your body to a sentient forest ‘working out well,’ then sure, be my guest,” Ronan snarked, releasing Gansey’s shirt and turning his annoyed gaze to Adam instead. Henry lifted a finger, pretending to do math in the air.

“Wasn’t that sentient forest from your brain, though? Or part of your brain?”

Ronan shrugged. “Sure.”

“So, Parrish walked into the middle of your brain-forest and gave you his body? Am I getting this all right?”

A beat of silence, a gust of wind, the flap of a bird’s wings was heard. And then,

“It wasn’t like that-”

“Cabeswater was-”

“You trying to fucking-”

“Oh my god-”

“HEY-” 

Splash

“Ronan!”

_______

Henry Cheng was lucky that Gansey kept towels in the trunk of the Pig. He wasn’t so lucky, however, that the Carolina clay didn’t seem to want anything to do with the towels. 

(Ronan and Adam had made an agreement to not think too hard about Adam’s deal with Cabeswater, one night on the roof of Ronan’s childhood home. They chose each other, and that was that. No deals, no magic; just them. That was all that mattered. If anyone else wanted to ask questions, Ronan and Adam were both prepared to deal with them using whatever means felt right at the time.)

The five young adults climbed back into their orange chariot, and after one false start they were off again. Adam drew a star over where he approximated the location of the bridge to be on their map. He’d have to look at the newspaper archives back at the school library for any signs of strangeness around Anderson, South Carolina. 

Adam made more notes on the map as they rode further south, a tin can with poor ventilation packed with sweaty, magically-inclined teenagers. They made a few more stops over the course of three hours for snacks (“There really is no problem that some chocolate can’t solve.” “What about domestic terrorism?”) , stretch breaks (“You’re just gonna let Lynch wander off down the road like that?” “Oh, don’t worry, he always comes back. Plus Gansey got him chipped ages ago.”) , and some light shopping (“Gansey. Dick. Come on.” “No! That sign is public property! There is a reason it is being left there, someone is probably coming out to repair it as we speak.” “Exactly- it’s public property. Aren’t we the public?” “Ronan-” “It’s not like we’re breaking it, it was like that when we got here.” “Jane-” “Possession is three-fourths of the law or whatever. Finder’s keeper’s, Gansey-man.” “Henry-” “Y’know, it would be a pretty great decoration for Monmouth.” “...”)

Thirty minutes and one lightly rusted stop sign in the Pig’s trunk later, the Dowsing Machine began to scream.

“Make it stop!” Blue shouted over the noise, covering her ears.

“I cannot stop driving at the moment, Adam-?” Gansey said. Adam made a face and covered his good ear. He lifted the box, but there were no obvious ways of controlling its volume. 

“Ronan, how the hell do you turn this thing down?” Adam shouted back. Ronan shrugged, only a vague look of displeasure on his face. He seemed to not mind the noise, or at least was dead set on pretending he didn’t mind it. 

“I don’t make shit to be turned down. If it’s loud, then we’re near something. That’s how this shit works,” Ronan said.

Adam was about to tell Ronan to start making his shit with off buttons, but was interrupted by Gansey roughly jerking the Pig to the right. All of the air rushed out of Adam’s lungs as they rode the exit’s tight loop. Blue screamed in the back, being violently smushed in between Ronan and Henry. Henry tried to throw his arm over her, but was mostly smashed into the door and so only managed to partially put his arm across her legs. Ronan, being on the outside, did however successfully throw his arm across Blue.

“Fuck!” He yelled.

Once they were out of the exit and on I-95, Gansey steadied the car. Everyone leaned back into the Pig’s worn leather seats and took some deep breaths. Silence settled over them, save for the noise from the Dowsing Machine. It continued steadily, though less aggressively now. 

“What,” said Blue, “the fuck. ”

“Well,” said Gansey, “I had a hunch.”

“A hunch,” said Henry.

“Yes,” said Gansey, “A hunch.”

They all waited for him to continue, and he obliged.

“Well, I figured, if the alarm was getting louder as we were approaching the exit, then perhaps we were coming upon a trail of some sort. Following the line, so to speak. That, or something was trying to tell us to take this way. Either way, the exit was coming up, and I couldn’t exactly lose the chance, could I?”

“There is such a thing as taking another exit and turning the car around,” Adam said. He was still gripping the door and the center console– less for safety than for emotional support now. 

“Sure,” Gansey said, “But–”

“Fuck that,” Ronan said. He was looking at Gansey with wide, sparkling eyes. “That was insane, reckless, and inconsiderate. Do it again.”

Gansey made a face and did not do it again. Instead, he stayed in the slower lanes, paying attention to the buzzing of the Dowsing Machine. He turned the music off to have as little interference as possible. With nothing to listen to, Gansey’s passengers began to entertain themselves by seeing how many out-of-state license plates they could spot. Adam kept a tally score on the margin of the map. Twenty minutes in, Ronan and Blue began punching each other when they called out a state name. 

It was another forty minutes before the Dowsing Machine began increasing in volume again. Gansey sped up as he noticed, a secret smile growing on his face. Only Adam, sitting up front next to him, was privileged to see it. The sight made his chest tighten and his heart race. It felt like something was happening.

The buzzing grew, and this time Gansey was prepared to take the next exit coming up.

“Adam, where does route 278 spit out to on the coast?” He asked. Adam trailed the lines on the map with his finger.

“Looks like Hilton Head,” Adam said.

“Great,” Gansey replied, and took the exit. “In my bag– my notebook –I have some places written down. Look for Hilton Head.”

Adam did as he was told. The leather journal looked even more worn than the last time he had seen it. Adam took a moment to run his fingers along the new cracks and creases, savoring the texture and trying to ingrain it in his memory. He flipped through and scanned the last few pages until he found the list. He read it out to the group.

“‘Zion Cemetery slash Baynard Mausoleum’ and ‘Mary Kirk Monument’.”

“Great, more dead people,” said Ronan.

“It’s a leyline,” Blue said, “There’s always going to be dead people.”

“You just mean ghosts, right?” Henry asked. “Not like, zombie-dead people or ghostbusters-slime apparitions?”

“The Ghostbusters fought ghosts, it’s in their name,” Ronan said.

“Okay, but Ghostbusters ghosts are slimy in ways that other ghosts very much are not,” Henry replied.

“We’ll just have to see how slimy it is when we get there, I suppose,” Gansey said. Blue wiggled in her seat in the middle of the backseat.

“Three hours in this car has made it plenty slimy already,” She said.

“Then maybe you should wear some goddamn antiperspirant, or is deodorant still frowned upon in feminist circles,” Ronan chided. Blue gave him a dirty look.

“I’ll rub my hairy feminist armpits in your face if you don’t shut up,” She snapped. Ronan raised his arm and began trying to shove Blue’s head under it. She pushed him away as much as she could in the tight seating, spewing profanity.

“I think the kids need some air and a walk,” Henry called up to the front seats as Blue squished him into the door and Ronan’s arm narrowly missed hitting him in the face. 

“If everyone could refrain from shoving armpits in peoples faces for the next– Adam, how long–?”

“About 45 minutes.”

“For the next about 45 minutes, then we will stop at a drive thru and get everyone the cold sugary drink of their choosing. Capisce?”

“And if the sweatlicker ends up in my armpit anyways?” Ronan asked, arm still raised.

“I’ll start biting,” Blue said.

“She’ll start biting,” Gansey affirmed.

Ronan squinted down at Blue. She bared her teeth at him and bit the air between them. Ronan shifted away from her and lowered his arm.

“Your shots better be up to date,” He told her. She smiled up at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out.”

—----

The South Carolina air was rich, hot, and thick this close to the ocean. And they were close; Adam could look through the trees surrounding the cemetery and see the beach. The salty smell in the air reminded him of ozone before a rainstorm up in Henrietta, but more bright and fresh as opposed to the mineral-rich earthiness of the Appalachian air. Adam closed his eyes, taking in the sounds around him. Birds, wind through leaves, the distant roar of waves, Ronan slurping loudly beside him. He felt a chin settle onto his right shoulder.

“See any faces yet?” Ronan asked. Adam opened his eyes and looked at the marble monument in front of him. Apparently there was a legend that a woman’s ghostly face would appear in the marble if you looked at it, sometimes. Adam had been circling the hunk of rock for about 10 minutes, and so far he’d seen the equivalent of jack and shit. He squinted at the marble, and then suddenly reeled back into Ronan.

“Oh my god,” He said.

“What?” Ronan said, holding Adam steady. He looked between Adam and the monument with concern.

“Oh man,” Adam said.

“What?!” Ronan said.

“I saw- I saw a face!” Adam said emphatically.

“What did it look like?” Ronan asked. Adam looked up at him with wide eyes.

“It looked,” Adam said, serious as a heart attack, “Like a bitch.”

They both paused for a moment, and then Ronan pushed Adam away from him. Adam started laughing.

“Your face–” 

“Fuck you.”

“Your fucking face–”

“Shut the fuck up. Die. You’re the bitch. Fuck you.”

“Ro–”

“Fuck you, fuck this. Eat my entire ass.” Ronan flipped Adam off and walked away to join the rest of their friends. Adam braced himself on the monument to catch his breath. Messing with Ronan was truly one of his favorite pastimes. He watched his boyfriend stalk off across the cemetery to the mausoleum where Gansey, Blue, and Cheng were snooping around. Gansey had said something about suspected vampirism among the family that was buried inside. Adam didn’t think that was very likely, and had said as much, but was then reminded of sentient forests, dream things, and psychics, and he had promptly thrown his hands up and shut his mouth. Far be it from him to try and draw a line somewhere between real magic and fantasy bullshit. Until Adam saw an actual vampire with his own two eyeballs, he was keeping them squarely in the “fantasy bullshit” category. Even Blue had backed him on that one.

The sun was hot on his neck, and sweat was rolling down his forehead. Adam swept his damp hair out of his face and walked to the cemetery fence closest to the beach. The sand was sparkling, actually sparkling in the sunlight, and the surf rolled back and forth. It tugged at something in Adam’s chest. He’d never been to the beach before. It was a frivolity, Adam had told himself; something that other kids, other families, got to do. Weekend beach trips were for Raven Boys that didn’t have work in the morning. 

“Tantalizing, isn’t it?” 

Adam jumped and turned his head. Gansey was beside him. He hadn’t heard him come up.

“Oh, shoot. Wrong side, aren’t I?” He said with an apologetic wince. “Sorry about that. We’re done with the Baynard’s. Nothing much going on with them I’m afraid, aside from the whole being dead situation. Ronan very helpfully informed us of the ghost face that, and I quote, ‘flew up Adam’s ass’?”

Adam snorted and grinned. Gansey smiled back at him. 

“You should’ve seen his face,” Adam said.

“I wish I had,” Gansey agreed. “He was truly in a state when he came over. I’m afraid whatever evil may have been hanging around there was frightened off by his approach.”

“Old people, babies, and evil vampire spirits. You need something scared off, Ronan’s your guy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that. You and Blue each have your more, er, off-putting moments.”

It could’ve been taken as an insult, but the way Gansey said it was endearing. It made Adam feel seen; every part of him, even the strange and off-putting parts. 

“Thanks, Gansey. You’re pretty off-putting yourself.” Gansey made a face like he was about to object, but Adam gave him a look and gestured to the cemetery that they, a couple of 18 and 19 year olds, were currently hanging around in. Gansey sighed.

“I suppose we are all a little off-putting,” Gansey said, and then he smiled. “But I also suppose that only off-putting people are truly worth having around, don’tcha think?”

Adam smiled back. He couldn’t agree more.

The boys returned to the rest of their friends and, after a very brief vote, they all headed back to the car and made for the beach. It was a short ride, barely worth the gas, really. Towels and a single, giant umbrella were retrieved from the Pig’s trunk, shoes were removed, and the five teens hopped and raced across the burning concrete to the equally burning sand. 

Adam breathed the ocean’s smell deep into his chest. It was familiar, he realized. The smell tugged on his memories of scrying in Columbia, the liminal beach on which he always appeared. He wiggled his toes in the wet sand– this was familiar too, in the same way. The scent, the sand, the rolling of the waves, they all pulled at something in the back of his brain. Adam willed the pressure away, envisioning the bubble that Persephone had taught him as his first form of psychic protection what felt like years and years ago. All he wanted to do now was feel the Atlantic Ocean for the first time, in this moment, with his friends. His family.

Gansey sprayed Ronan down with sunscreen, making him splutter as it hit his face. Adam and Blue held hands tightly and stepped into the waves together, smiling at each other and reveling in the joy of experiencing a small but profound freedom with someone they loved. Henry rushed forward and picked up Blue, carrying her further into the ocean and then unceremoniously tossing her into the water. When she surfaced, she grabbed Henry’s legs and lifted, causing him to fall backwards into the water. Adam laughed at them, then felt his own legs– no, his entire body –being lifted. Ronan and Gansey had each grabbed a leg and lifted him like rugby players. Adam scrambled to grab onto something, and ended with one hand latching into Gansey’s hair and the other palming Ronan’s head for dear life. Threats were tossed about, cursing flew and bribes were made, but inevitably Adam was raised by his legs and dumped into the ocean. They all splashed each other, wave-jumping and playing chicken and just being alive under the slowly clouding South Carolina sky. They were teens, just real teenagers, for a moment in time.

Resting on a towel and chugging a water bottle, Adam shivered as a strong breeze blew in from the east. His body, warm and wet, began to crowd with goosebumps. He looked up at the sky. Sunlight was breaking through in small patches that were quickly being swallowed up by dark clouds. The filtered light painted the beach around him in muted colors, shades of gray. Adam’s hands tingled. Without much thought he grabbed his backpack and fished out the tarot deck Ronan had dreamt for him. Adam pulled a card.

On the card, a clock tower that reminded Adam of Big Ben was rising out of a cloud-covered ocean cliff and towards an equally cloud-covered sky. Lightning crackled through the clouds, and a bolt struck the top of the clock’s spire, breaking it in half. Black, formless birds swarmed around the scene in a panic. Nausea settled like mud in Adam’s stomach. XVI was written on the top of the card above the image; below it, The Tower .

Thunder rumbled, and for a split second Adam thought it came from the card. He felt the wind pick up around him, and heard Ronan call from the water, “Parrish! Pack it up!”

Adam had the bag zipped and ready by the time his friends returned from the surf’s edge. Everyone was scrambling to get dressed and back to the car before the rain started. Adam couldn’t really match their urgency, though. His mind kept drifting back to the card he pulled– the Tower, the beach, the similarity to his scrying beach, the mirror storms in the card and real life. 

As the rest of them headed to the car, Adam paused and surveyed the skyline around them. Even after Ronan grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt and led him to the Pig, Adam only got in out of reflex. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he knew it was something . 

Adam looked out every window as Gansey drove them from the beach, attempting to outrace the brewing storm. Raindrops started to hit the metal roof of the car, slowly building in intensity. To the right of them were houses, big and fancy; to the left of them, a lush golf course with someone running across it.

“Slow down,” Adam said to no one. Gansey immediately obeyed and started scanning the area around them himself.

“What is it?” Gansey asked. Adam leaned over the dashboard, over the Dowsing Machine whose screaming had become nothing but white noise to him. He squinted. 

“Turn left,” Adam ordered, “As soon as you can. Here. Now! Cut her off!” Gansey didn’t hesitate, turning down a shitty single road that cut through a wall of palm trees. The view ahead of them was of an old, giant oak tree and a skinny, white tower. Adam’s heart pounded.

“Cut who off?” Blue asked. Adam scanned the area, then snapped and pointed.

“Her,” He said. “Gansey, pull over!”

As soon as the Pig ground to a stop on the partially gravel road, Adam launched himself out and towards the tower. He barely registered the sound of doors opening and closing behind him, or the sound of his name being called, or the sound of thunder growing louder around him. The only thing he could focus on was the figure running down the field towards the white pillar in front of them.

She was fuzzy, like she was partially shrouded in mist. Her hair was dark, pulled back and seemingly wet. Her dress also looked exceedingly damp, clinging to her even though it had only just started raining. It was such a light blue it was almost white, with a high collar and long sleeves. It was a design that looked out of place– or out of time. 

Adam put himself directly in her path. She was still blurry, even as she came closer, until Adam felt a hand on his elbow and suddenly everything became sharper. The woman, or girl, she didn’t look much older than them, looked pale and frantic. Strands of her wet hair flew around her and she panted as she ran, wild-eyed. She had a cloth bag slung over her shoulder that she clasped tightly. 

Blue dug her nails into Adam’s arm. “I see her,” She said, as though the wind had knocked it out of her. It was all the confirmation Adam needed.

“Hey!” Adam yelled. “Stop!” 

The girl’s eyes went impossibly wider. “Leave here! Get out while you still can!” Her voice carried on the howling winds, like she was part of them.

Adam and Blue could barely make out other voices through the gusts, calling for them to come back to the car, that the storm was picking up, that they needed to go. 

The girl made to rush past them, toward the tower, but Adam reached out and grabbed her arm. All at once time stood still; the rain around them fell more slowly, the winds but a gentle breeze. Like they were inside a bubble, just the three of them; Blue, and Adam, and the girl in blue. 

Adam found himself lost in the girl’s eyes. They were brown, maybe, or more like they were the memory of brown eyes; something was faded about them, clouded in gray like the sky being overtaken before a storm. Adam was struck by how much fear was held in them, and desperation and shock. They were all still for a moment, all staring at each other.

“You can touch me,” the girl said, soft and bewildered.

“Who are you?” Blue asked. The girl shook her head.

“I’m not important. Let me be, let me go, I need to light the way! They’re counting on me!”

“Who is?” Blue asked.

“All of them! There’s too many, they need help, I’m the only one who–”

“We can help,” Adam said. It was pure instinct, pure muscle memory. He knew how this part went. The girl shook her head again, pulling slightly against his hand.

“You can’t, it’s too dangerous. The storm, the build-up, it’s too much!”

“She’s right,” Blue said, pulling on his arm, “Adam, the storm’s getting worse–”

“Adam?” The girl said. She was finally still, looking at Adam. 

“Yes,” Adam said. He looked back. She seemed younger, smaller; she looked tired down to her very soul.

“Help me,” She whispered against the storm. Adam wasn’t sure how he heard it.

“Tell me how,” He said.

“I promised I’d keep it lit, after you– after he died. It’s been so long, I’m only one person, I can’t do it alone anymore, there’s too many of them–”

“Let me help you. Let me try,” Adam said. He heard Blue vaguely yelling something about needing to go, something about the storm and thunder, something about getting to safety. He knew she was probably right, but in the little bubble that was him and the girl in blue it all felt like an afterthought.

“ADAM!” 

“I have to go,” Adam told the girl, “But I’ll come back and help you as soon as I can.”

“Promise me,” She said. Adam slid his hand away from her elbow til he was grasping her hand tightly. He jerked his hand, arm, whatever out of Blue’s– he didn’t want her caught in it too, when he said,

“I promise.”

I will be your hands; I will be your eyes; I will be your mechanic and fix what is broken.

(It was nothing he hadn’t done before.)

Deep bass thrums of thunder rolled around them. Palm trees shook and bent. Animal screams and bird screeches sounded from all sides. 

In one moment the girl was gone and a flash of light nearly blinded Adam. He was suddenly absolutely drenched. Hands grabbed his shirt and arms; in a blur of movement he was in Gansey’s car once more, sitting between Blue and Ronan. As soon as Ronan closed the door they were off, Gansey trying with all his and the Pig’s combined might to outrace the storm system. Gansey and Henry were saying things, but Adam’s ears were swimming with water– Like he was still right next to the beach, listening to the waves charge in and drift out.

Ronan’s hand jerked Adam’s chin to face him. He looked wild and scared.

“Don’t you ever keep me out of your fucking forcefield bullshit again,” He said.

“Tamquam,” Adam said, breathless. Ronan’s grip on his face gentled.

“Alter idem, you asshole.” Ronan kissed him, briefly but fiercely. All of his worry, desire, and adrenaline poured into Adam, and he willingly and gladly received it. When they parted Ronan leaned back against the leather seat and threw an arm around Adam, tucking him close against his side. Only then did Adam notice the fingers digging into his other arm. He turned to Blue, and was immediately struck by how much she resembled an angry, bedraggled, wet cat.

“You look like a wet cat,” He said. Her fingers, all of them, dug into his arm harder.

“You did it,” She said, shaking from rage or from being soaked to the bones. “Again. And alone. You shook me off.” 

It was an accusation. 

“I had to,” Adam replied. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Blue’s face twisted up.

“You always do,” She said. Adam pulled against her till his arm was free. He put it around her and pulled her into his side, like Ronan had done to him. Blue leaned into him and wrapped her hands tight in the fabric of his shirt.

He knew she was right. He was Adam Parrish, army of one. At the end of the day, he was the only person he could rely on to do what had to be done. He wasn’t sorry for it. 

Raindrops whipped against the car window, leaving shapes that made the hairs on Adam’s arms and neck stand up. He breathed out with the thunder and shivered with the lightning. In and out, just like the clouds, just like the tide. Adam, exhausted, smiled to himself as he leaned against his boyfriend and closed his eyes.

He was the Magician again.