Work Text:
1: XIV
When Adam is 14, Valentine’s Day's on a Tuesday.
Adam’s dad shows up after work with a foil-wrapped chocolate rose from the dollar store and gruffly gives it to his mom.
Adam’s mother is so gratified she barely pays attention as Robert Parrish proceeds to get completely and totally shit-faced.
When Adam asks her if he can have the foil from the rose when she’s done eating it because it’s pretty, she shakes her head. She puts it in the old glass vase in the kitchen while Adam’s dad bellows at her for not being fast enough with his beer, and never touches it again.
♡
On this day, Ronan’s dad fills the entire house with roses, each a different color and a different scent. Behind the stairs to the attic, Ronan finds one that’s the color of the stream behind the Barns and smells like his mom’s apple cake. This is the one he likes best.
It’s only later when they’re wading through knee-deep swathes of stinking dying roses that they finally start ripping them out of the house by the armful, pricking themselves on thorns until they’re all a little bloody, and thinking maybe this wasn’t Niall Lynch’s best idea ever after all.
2: XV
Ronan is in ninth grade when their little corner of Virginia gets hit with the biggest snowstorm in recent history.
Ronan’s only 15 and he barely remembers last year, so he only knows this because he reads the headline over his brother’s shoulder as Declan checks the weather.
His older brother looks a little worried. He cancels his dinner date with girlfriend.
To be honest, Ronan feels bad for Maddie. This is back when Ronan actually liked the girls Declan was dating. (This is back when Declan actually liked the girls he was dating.)
So Declan bites his lip and looks a little constipated when Aurora and Niall sweep out of the house in a wave of perfume and cologne.
“At least take a coat, Ma,” he says finally.
“My dear Declan,” Aurora walks over in her very high thin heels that leave very sharp staccato sounds in the air.. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” She kisses them each on the cheek, which makes Ronan scowl and wipe away the lipstick mark she’s left on his cheek. Ronan doesn’t get high heels
Declan lights a fire and sits Ronan and Matthew with their backs to the window so he can keep an eye on the unrelenting snowfall while distracting his brothers with card games.
As usual, Matthew falls asleep, so it’s Ronan and Declan who stay up waiting, playing 25 with a deck that’s missing both the queen and king of hearts, and gambling with a big bag of raspberry chocolates that Declan’d meant to give to his girlfriend.
They run out of chocolates and Ronan feels a little queasy. Ronan finally peeks out the window, and sees that the snow’s already stacked up a few inches above the bottom frame. He puts a hand out like he could reach through the window and see what so much snow feels like, but his palm meets cold glass and goes no further.
They’re both a little worried. More than a little. Declan picks up the house phone to call them, but it rings and rings with no answer. He calls the restaurant, but that just ends with a shake a head too. “They said they left over an hour ago.”
“We should go look for them,” Ronan says.
“They’ll be back. Don’t worry about it, little bro,” Declan pokes at Matthew gently. When he doesn’t wake up, he hoists him onto a nearby armchair.
“We have to go look for them,” Ronan insists.
“They’ll be back,” Declan repeats more stridently.
“They’re stuck out there! Do you want them to die? Dad didn’t get you a car so you could leave him and Mom to die.”
“Ronan, watch what you’re saying,” Declan says sharply.
“You’d be happier if they didn’t come back, wouldn’t you,” Ronan crosses his arms. “Then Dad wouldn’t get mad at you for dating Maddie and embarrass you in front of your Aglionby friends and you could have the BMW and all the-“
“Ronan!” Declan grabs Ronan and digs the fingers of one hand into his shoulder. It hurts. Ronan freezes, eyes wide, scared. Declan freezes too, and takes his hand off Ronan slowly, one finger at a time.
“I’m barely 17. I just got my license, and neither of us knows how to drive in snow. Don’t be an idiot.” Declan says again. “Dad wouldn’t want us to help him anyway. They’ll be back.”
He drapes one of Aurora’s hand-crocheted blankets around Matthew’s sleeping form.
♡
Ten miles and half a world away, Adam and his mom are huddled together for warmth, wishing someone had gotten around to fixing the radiator.
3: XVI
When Adam is 16, he learns how to fix things, because no one’s going to do it for him.
“Fuck,” he hisses, jerking his hand back from the ripped piece of sheet metal that’s now dripping with a red liquid. It takes a while for him to recognize his own blood.
His boss Garrett rushes over, grabbing Adam’s hand so he can press a clean rag to it. “Shit, son. We gotta get this rinsed out.” Adam looks down at his work coveralls and thinks that they’ve got to get these rinsed out, too, before the stain starts to set.
“Get up. I can’t afford workman’s comp on your ass,” Garrett lends Adam a hand, pulling him to his feet. He frowns. “I hope you’ve got your tetanus shot up to date.”
“I’m fine,” Adam mutters. “Thanks, Garrett.”
They walk away from the car Adam was working on, dripping little trails of red all along the way. Garrett grabs a slightly greasy plastic container from the shelf over his desk and dumps its various contents unceremoniously onto the table. He studies a slightly faded package of butterfly bandages and nods to himself.
While Garrett bandages him gently - those mechanic hands surprisingly good at fixing humans as well vehicles, he asks, “You need a ride to the hospital?”
Adam studies his newly bandaged hand. He definitely can’t ride his bike in this state, let alone work. He wonders how much this is going to cost him because at this rate he’s definitely not going to be able to afford Aglionby at the end of the year. “I don’t need to go the hospital.”
“Look, son,” Garrett says. “Your hand isn’t gonna fall off or anything, but you still need stitches.”
Adam glances away, embarrassed. “I can’t.”
Garrett wipes his hands on his flannel shirt, then puts them on his hips. “My wife is a nurse. It’s the next best thing.”
Another shake of a head. “I’m fine.”
“Look, let my wife fix your hand so you don’t die of gangrene, I’ll handle your comp for a few weeks because that’s what I’m required to do by law, and maybe you can come in extra at the end of the month and help me out with the paperwork for the big Neerman job, okay?”
“Garrett,” Adam says. “I can’t let you guys do that for me,”
“Well, you know I hate paperwork.”
“Okay,” Adam says quietly. He doesn’t have much of a choice. How is he ever going to explain this to his father?
“Here, happy Valentine’s Day,” Garrett hands him a heart-shaped peanut butter cup.
♡
It might be called a prank war, but no one was actually supposed to end up on the ground bleeding.
“You’re a fucking shitstick, Noah!” Ronan yells, clutching his injured hand. He’d just been opening his door when he’d realized someone had taken all the hinges off, and the whole thing had come crashing down on top of him and he’d come crashing down on top of a stray glass bottle. Fucking embarrassing, to be honest.
“Maybe this is why we don’t leave glass lying around everywhere willy-nilly,” Gansey says coolly, rushing over with a first aid kit. “Whoa, this is deep. We might have to go the hospital.”
“I don’t want to go to no goddamn hospital,” Ronan mutters as Gansey helps him up and tows him towards the kitchen.
Gansey shakes his head and rummages around in the cupboard. He sets a new bottle of whiskey in front of him. “Here.”
Ronan narrows his eyes questioningly.
Gansey holds up a needle and a lighter.
“Jesus, Gansey.”
“If I were you, I’d drink up,” Gansey informs him gamely as he sterilizes the needle with fire.
“Of fucking course you would know how to do stitches,” Ronan scowls.
Noah finally shows up and hovers dramatically, eyes huge. His bedside manner is appalling. “I’m sorry, Ronan.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ronan spies a bag of Hershey’s kisses lying on the counter. He grabs a handful and throws them at Noah, who manages to duck around the entire shower and grin. “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.”
4: XVII
It’s his first Valentine’s Day at Aglionby, and Adam still has no clue how rich people come up with all these schemes to spend money, how rich people can make everything about charity.
He studies the wall by the where everyone hangs their posters and ads:
Singing grams! Can’t sing? Let us serenade your loved ones in your stead. (proceeds benefit the closest children’s hospital)
Or if you want to go with something less embarrassing, you can buy:
Truffles (proceeds benefit cancer research)
Edible arrangements (proceeds benefit the soup kitchen)
Hand-dipped chocolate covered strawberries (proceeds benefit the animal shelter)
Roses (proceeds benefit disadvantaged kids everywhere)
And so on and so on.
It goes without saying that they all advertise delivery to both the nearby girls’ schools too. Adam’s been accosted in the halls too many times by people asking if he had a sweetheart at St Magdalene’s he wanted to send chocolates to.
“This is literally so dumb,” Adam can’t help but to say aloud.
“I don’t know, I think it’s all a little romantic,” responds Gansey. “Love is in the air.”
“Romance is dead,” says Ronan.
“Ronan bought a singing gram.” Noah offers. Adam furrows his brow. He didn’t know Ronan had his eye on anyone.
“I bought one for Declan.” Ronan shrugs. Oh. Well, that’s not what Adam was expecting.
“Um, can I ask why?” Adam doesn’t really know Ronan well yet. There’s lots of weird stuff about his past that he only brings up through unself-conscious but oblique references, but he does know that Ronan hates his brothers’ guts. That one's obvious.
Ronan shrugs again. “It was anonymous. My brother gets embarrassed so fucking easily. I want to see his ass squirm to the beat of Call Me Maybe.”
“Right,” Adam says.
“I also bought him truffles and a dozen roses and shit. I'm trying to see how many things I could send him before his girlfriend gets too jealous and dumps his ass,” Ronan admits.
“Ronan, that’s terrible!” Gansey shakes his head. “How can you treat your brother like that?”
Ronan raises one eyebrow. “The question is: how could I resist?”
“That’s a lot of money to spend on someone you hate,” Adam adds.
“It’s for charity,” Ronan smirks.
“Oh yeah, charity,” Adam says wryly. “If someone bought me one of these ridiculous things, I’d probably throw up.”
♡
Well, Adam must’ve jinxed himself, because during lunch, someone dressed as Cupid, tighty-whities and all, swoops by in tie-on fairy wings and a blonde wig and sings him a custom singing gram that rhymes “Parrish” too many times with “cherish”. Adam really thinks if he looks at the Cupid’s slight stomach flab any more he’ll actually throw up.
As soon as Cupid has moved on to the next poor sucker, along with the attention of everyone in the room, Adam turns to Noah. “Was it you?” he demands.
“Me what?” says Noah.
“Don’t what me. Did you buy me a singing gram?” Adam asks again.
Noah shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”
Adam narrows his eyes and turns to Ronan. “Wasn’t Ronan either,” Noah adds.
“What, you don’t think there’s someone out there that genuinely wants to be your valentine?” Ronan asks innocently. His smirk kind of ruins it.
“Who would want to be my valentine?” Adam grumbles, stabbing at his salad. “Literally who?”
“Adam,” Gansey frowns paternally. “Of course there’s someone who wants to be your valentine. There’s someone out there for everyone.” Gansey is the kind of person who believes in soul mates. It should be annoying but it’s Gansey.
“Parrish,” Ronan drawls, he leans across the table, close enough that this will probably end in someone’s sleeve in Adam’s salad dressing. “Who wouldn’t want to be your valentine? Who wouldn’t want someone to cherish, like you, ooh ooh Parrish?”
Adam rolls his eyes. “Are you saying you want to be my valentine?”
Ronan sits back in his seat with a dull thump. “Sorry, you’re a little too late,” he smirks. “Noah already asked me to be his.”
“Try again next year, Adam,” Noah says, patting him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry Adam,” Gansey declares. He pats Adam on the other shoulder. “I’ll be your valentine this year.”
5: XVIII
The next year is their first year with Blue, and though she prefaces the holiday by explaining that it’s a dumb heteronormative tradition that forces people to show their love through consumerism, she also gets really into it and shows up at Monmouth with a giant box.
The majority of the contents of the aforementioned box turns out to be glitter.
“Oh my god, you’re making us all make valentines,” Adam realizes.
“No, we’re all going to exchange valentines,” Noah says gleefully.
“Unless any of you acquired a secret girlfriend-“ Blue frowns. “or boyfriend or significant other in the last week or whatever, it’s time that we did something nice for each other, for friendship.”
♡
It turns out Gansey’s unconventional childhood means he’s never seen a glue gun in his life, Noah gives up trying to be corporeal and spends an hour sprinkling glitter all over the room instead, and Ronan storms off to his room where they hear the sounds of what sounds like hardcore Irish love ballads emanate from behind the door.
Adam tries. His hearts end up more than a little lopsided, but they’re still recognizably heart-shaped. Gansey’s are, let’s just say creative.
But whatever he wrote on Blue’s – as they exchange one of his creative valentines with one of Blue’s little pieces of modern art – it makes her blush enough to match the red ribbon laced up the sides of her shirt and Adam doesn’t really want to know.
Even Ronan contributes, but as soon as he joins in, Chainsaw on his shoulder, Blue crosses her arms. “Ronan, did you dream these?”
“I made them,” Ronan scowls. Chainsaw kerrahs in agreement
“You promised,” Blue scowls back.
“Hey, maggot, I never signed up for arts and crafts time. You ask me to do something, I do it my way.” With that, Ronan brushes glitter dismissively off his shirt, sending Noah an annoyed glare.
“Oh my god, Ronan, you cheater,” Blue dramatically stomps a little.
“Cheater, cheater pumpkin eater,” Noah joins in.
“Like you can talk,” Blue says.
“What can I say, I’m a ghost,” Noah shrugs. He holds up a piece of construction paper in one hand and passes his other less corporeal hand through it. “I’m no longer capable of participating in these earthly activities.” Blue and Ronan roll their eyes simultaneously.
Meanwhile, Gansey’s eyes are still fixed on Blue’s valentine, cradling it like it’s precious, and Adam rolls his eyes at how lame all of his friends are. He rips open the envelope Ronan just gave him instead.
I think it’s sexy when you come to Monmouth after work and you smell like motor oil
Adam feels his face instantly flush and he’s probably holding onto the card looking as stupid as Gansey. It’s Ronan’s handwriting, jagged and sharp but with surprising loops on some of the letters, like a botched kind of elegant cursive. But why would he write something like this? Could this be a joke?
Adam looks up at Ronan, who seems to be still engaged in an eye roll contest with Blue. He’s not paying attention to Adam at all. He definitely doesn’t look like a person who’s just made a confession. Something here is off. Adam sneaks another look and sticks the card in his back pocket. He’ll figure this out later.
♡
But later, when Adam opens the card again in the privacy of his apartment in St. Agnes, it says something else:
To me, you’re more magical than Cabeswater
He closes it, opens it again:
You’re really beautiful when you’re concentrating hard on something and you forget to be worried
“Holy shit,” Adam says aloud, then feels bad for cursing in a church. Ronan’s just given him a magical Valentine’s Day card, and Adam doesn’t know why he was expecting anything else. Everything in Ronan’s life is magical.
He puts it away and tries to focus on schoolwork, but not even ten minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door. He’s a little afraid to open it, and just stands there for a few heartbeats, trying to think of what to say, what to do.
Ronan’s sitting by the door, long legs sprawled out in front of him. He looks up when Adam finally opens it. “It has come to my attention that Cabeswater just fucked me over again,” he scowls.
“I wanted to ask you about that,” Adam admits, feeling his own heart start to beat faster inside his chest. He’s known, he’s known for a long time now, but the more he thinks about it, the less sure he gets. It's something that should only exist in peripheral vision.
He holds out a hand to help Ronan stand up, then passes the card over. The simple shiny red design on the front catches the dim light from Adam’s single desk lamp.
Ronan opens it carefully, so carefully it’s like he’s waiting for a night terror to crawl out of it, or like it’s one of those toothy monster books from Harry Potter and then hands it back to Adam like it’s bitten him.
I think you deserve so much more than this place.
“I fucking hate Valentine’s Day,” Ronan averts his eyes, kicking at the loose floorboard by the door with one boot. ”All I asked for was some normal fucking valentines.”
They stand there awkwardly for another few heartbeats, because it’s obvious now it wasn’t a joke, and Adam doesn’t know what to do. He’s known, but it’s always just been a guess, a hypothesis, a theoretical. This is far too real.
“Before I came to Aglionby and made friends with you guys, I never had a chance to celebrate Valentine’s Day,” Adam admits. “I was too poor to go and buy those dumb little paper valentines for everyone in my class, so after a while they figured it out and I stopped getting any too. I never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or even good friends at all and I definitely never had the time to make any holiday special.”
Ronan doesn’t say anything. But if Ronan had shared some of his confessions with Adam, even if it wasn’t intentional, it’s only fair that Adam shares some with him too.
“One year, me and my mom almost froze to death because our radiator was broken and we had nowhere else to go. Another year, I spent the whole weekend overtime in the garage and I was so exhausted I could barely see what I was doing and I almost cut my hand off.”
He holds his hand out to Ronan, palm up as a gesture of peace, and also so that Ronan can see he still has the scar. “I’m honestly grateful to have all of you here now.”
“Enough with the show and tell, Parrish.” Ronan scowls, but he takes Adam’s hand gently so he can study the scar there that cuts through his life line. His hands are a little cold, but the skin there is soft, softer than Adam’s. “I’m not your goddamn therapist. Why are you telling me this?”
In answer, Adam holds out the valentine Ronan had dreamed for him. When it falls open, they can both see it says:
Next time, I want to be the one to stitch you up
“This is too much,” Adam says. He doesn’t need this window to Ronan’s head, to Ronan’s heart. It’s too much and it’s not fair to Ronan.
“Fuck you, Parrish, if you don’t-“
“Wait, Ronan. That’s not what I meant,” Adam interrupts. He still feels like he’s overstepping Ronan’s privacy, but it’s hard to explain. It’s always been easier to show. “Here,” he says, grabbing a lighter from his desk drawer.
He holds the flame up to the card, hoping it’ll burn like the real paper it’s pretending to be. They both watch as it’s consumed by fire, leaving a trace of ash on Adam’s hand.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ronan mutter. He crosses his arms and looks almost angry.
“I wanted to,” Adam says simply. Ronan’s expression softens a little, so maybe he understands.
Finally Ronan holds out his right hand. “I’ve got a scar kind of like yours,” he explains, voice the tiniest bit unsteady. A year ago, Adam wouldn’t have been able to tell, but now they know each other so much better. “But it was an accident. A prank gone wrong.”
“Noah?” Adam asks. He takes the offered hand, tracing over Ronan’s scar with the lightest touch like Ronan had done for him. Ronan flinches the slightest amount, but he doesn’t withdraw his hand.
“Who else?”
Ronan looks so beautiful in the worn corners of Adam’s St. Agnes’ apartment, shadowy and the tiniest bit holy, like maybe the prayers of the church below really should be leaking into this little marginal space. He looks like he fits right in, like he belongs here, in Adam’s home.
Adam really wants to do something about it.
“We’ve led very different lives,” Adam says. They bear very different scars, but they’re scarred all the same. “And we’re going to keep living very different lives.”
Adam very slowly puts his left hand, the one with the exactly two year old scar over Ronan’s right hand, so their injuries line up. He’s trying to say something here, but even he doesn’t know what he means. There’s something bigger than him here, something bigger that’s the both of them together.
College acceptances loom over them, February means one month to go until March and hearing back from Yale, Harvard, Stanford, hearing back from UChicago and Dartmouth, from Georgetown. It’s everything Adam’s been waiting for, but right now it seems a little less daunting.
“It’s going to be hard,” he continues, “I mean, it’s February already and everything, but-“
“Stop,” Ronan says. Adam moves to step back, to give Ronan his space, but Ronan holds tight to the hand Adam’s put in his, laces their fingers together. His grip is tight, but not too tight. “Can I fucking kiss you already?”
“Oh,” Adam says. Ronan had to go and beat him to it.
“That’s not a yes,” Ronan scowls, his eyes dart down and he looks almost shy, but Adam knows Ronan already knows the answer.
“Yes. Please,” Adam says. Please. It’s something neither of them ever says, because Ronan is rude and Adam hates begging. But that’s the very reason Adam feels okay saying it now.
Instead of prolonging it any more, Adam just leans in.
Their first kiss is slow, with Ronan’s hand keeping the barest of contact on Adam’s jaw. His hand is warmer now, but the skin is still so, so soft.
Their second kiss is still slow, but they’re no longer afraid to touch each other. Adam feels like as long as Ronan is around, he’ll never want for warmth again.
By the time they separate, they’re both breathing hard, and Adam never wants to let go of Ronan. Ronan grasps the front of Adam’s jacket tighter, like he’s feeling the same way.
“So, uh, do you want to be my valentine this year?” Adam asks Ronan, breathless.
Ronan laughs. “Fuck you, Parrish, I’m going to be your valentine every year.”
+1: XIX
It’s a good thing Valentine’s Day is on a weekend this year, because they have time for a long, leisurely dinner.
When Ronan shows up at his door, Adam notices three things.
1. He’s brought flowers (“Just take the fucking roses, Parrish”)
2. It’s starting to snow (“Don’t worry, I checked the weather and it’s probably not going to stick”)
3. Ronan is wearing really nice pants. It’s very different from his usual uniform of ripped jeans and denim, even if he’s still wearing all black and his leather cuffs.
“Oh,” Adam says. He can’t stop staring. “Am I underdressed?”
“Who cares?” Ronan snorts. “Fuck dress codes.”
Adam rolls his eyes and leans in to brush his lips over Ronan’s. Ronan grabs the front of his shirt so their lips can meet again for a more heated kiss.
“But, uh, if you wanted to put on a button down shirt,” Ronan adds. Adam finds his eyes stuck on Ronan’s lips, which are shiny and well-kissed. That was him. He did that. “I did make a reservation.”
Adam takes the roses. They’re beautiful and unnecessary but he appreciates it all the same. “Gimme a sec to change, then.”
There’s a card attached to the roses. “Wait,” Adam says, reading the words scrawled in Ronan’s jagged cursive handwriting: I still think it’s sexy when you fix my car. He closes the card and opens it again and it says: I wish you’d let me take you out every day because you deserve it. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Probably,” Ronan says shortly, like it’s nothing. To Adam, it’s everything, but he knows better than to make a big deal out of it, so he lets Ronan grab his hand to distract him, lets himself be led back into the dorm. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Wine and dine, sixty-nine. Let’s do it.”
Adam gives him the side eye as they step into his bedroom. He opens the door to his closet so he can find a proper shirt.
“What, I was just talking about the price,” Ronan smirks innocently. Adam knows better than to trust that smirk. “The restaurant has a Valentine’s Day special. 69 bucks. Plus drinks, of course.”
“Oh my god, Lynch,” Adam rolls his eyes.
Ronan shrugs. “It’s not inaccurate.”
“Not to mention that’s too expensive,” Adam adds. He can’t help it.
“That’s why I’m telling you beforehand, so you don’t make a fuss when the bill comes.” Ronan raises an eyebrow. “Consider yourself warned.”
“I wouldn’t!” Adam protests. He finally finds a decent shirt that’s not too wrinkled, and pulls the t-shirt he’s wearing over his head.
“Don’t lie to me, Parrish.”
“I wouldn’t. It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ll let you do whatever you want, I promised,” Adam reminds him.
Ronan takes the discarded t-shirt from Adam’s hand and tosses it over his shoulder. It lands on his bed and not on the floor, thankfully. “Whatever I want?” Ronan asks with a fake-innocent smirk.
Adam sighs exaggeratedly. “I thought you said we had a reservation?” Ronan is pressed up behind him now. His hands are moving up Adam’s bare torso, from his hip up the curve of his shoulder blades and back down. Adam shivers despite himself. Ronan looks a little too good in these pants.
Ronan shrugs. “We’ve got time.” And well, Adam’s still busy all the time, the rush of college all-consuming as it’s supposed to be, but if anyone could make him feel like he has all the time in the world it’s Ronan.
Adam gives in. He always does.