Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining again in Henrietta.

Adam Parrish noticed it the moment he woke up—not because of the sound, but because of the silence that came with it. Rain stripped the world down to its bones. It smothered everything else, left him alone with his thoughts, and he had never been very good company for himself.

Adam Parrish hated the rain.

In St. Agnes, the rain always found a way inside. It crept through the cracks in the ceiling and dripped down without warning, dark spots blooming across his textbooks like bruises. He learned to stack his books carefully, to sleep with one ear open, listening for the telltale plink that meant he’d been careless again. The leaks never happened where you expected them to.

The rain brought cold with it, and wind that cut through his jacket no matter how tightly he zipped it. On bad nights, he ran the shower longer than he should have, letting the hot water steam his bones back into something functional, all the while calculating the cost. Everything always had a cost. Rain just made it harder to pretend otherwise.

It dragged darkness behind it, too—thick clouds blotting out the sun until the day felt like a lie, until his head started to tilt and spin and he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Afternoon masquerading as night was a cruel trick, and Adam had never liked being fooled.

Rain meant stillness. No hunts for Glendower, no wandering the woods with Gansey’s voice crackling through walkie-talkies. No extra cash from fixing a friend’s car, no excuses to be anywhere but where he already was. It turned Henrietta into a place you were stuck inside of, not one you could escape.

The trailer park turned to sludge under the downpour. Mud crept everywhere—onto doorsteps, into homes, tracked in by little children who ran laughing through it, their knees and hands stained brown. Adam watched them sometimes, feeling something twist unpleasantly in his chest. They reminded him too much of himself, of a life that never quite washed clean.

Later, when he left Henrietta for college, the rain followed him.

At Harvard, it trapped him in the dorms with roommates who didn’t know how to be quiet. They laughed too loudly, played music while he studied, existed in ways that felt intentional and careless. Adam clenched his jaw and tried to pretend the noise didn’t crawl under his skin.

He hated walking across campus in the rain. No matter how careful he was, water seeped into everything—his shoes, his sleeves, his backpack. Damp paper, damp clothes, damp thoughts. He arrived at class already exhausted, already irritated, already counting the hours until he could retreat somewhere dry and alone.

Adam Parrish hated the rain.

And yet.

At Boyd’s shop, rain sounded different.

It struck the tin roof in a steady rhythm, pinging and drumming until the noise filled the space completely. It echoed off the metal ceiling and wrapped around him, loud enough to swallow everything else. No highway traffic. No crying baby next door. No raised voices slurring into rage.

No father.

Adam Parrish loved the rain.

He loved how it turned the world gray—not quite day, not quite night. Just gray. A pause. A place where nothing demanded too much of him. Gray was merciful that way.

He loved how the temperature dropped, how storms broke the back of summer’s relentless heat. The wind felt like a reprieve instead of a threat when he chose to stand in it, when the rain slicked his hair to his forehead and soaked through his clothes and made him laugh despite himself.

The sound of rain was predictable. Each drop followed the last, steady and sure, and Adam found comfort in that. He could map it in his mind, anticipate it, let it lull his breathing into something even and slow. There were no surprises in rain. Not really.

There were no bugs, either. No gnats clinging to his skin, no mosquitoes whining in his ears. Just the rain and the earth and the way everything seemed briefly, blissfully still.

Sometimes the rain grew louder, sometimes softer, and Adam listened to the changes with careful attention. It was one of the few things he could hear clearly in both ears, the sound balancing itself without effort. That alone felt like a small miracle.

Rain meant Ronan.

It meant hiding away at the Barns, the two of them cocooned beneath a mountain of blankets while the storm raged outside. Ronan’s warmth pressed against his side, solid and grounding, a reminder that Adam wasn’t alone unless he chose to be. The rain gave him permission to stop choosing solitude.

It meant Opal bursting inside, covered head to toe in mud, a wild grin on her face. Ronan would curse loudly, complain about the mess, but his hands were gentle as he wiped her clean. She’d wedge herself between them afterward, dragging blankets and laughter with her, building a fort against the storm.

Rain meant rest.

Just for a moment, Adam could stop worrying—about money, about school, about work, about the constant, gnawing fear that everything he loved was temporary. The rain made promises it always kept: today could be quiet. Today could be enough.

It meant that tomorrow, the earth wouldn’t look so parched. His mother’s little garden would lift its head, leaves bright and eager. She’d hum to herself while she worked, dirt under her nails, hope growing where it always did.

Tomorrow, Cabeswater would be green and overflowing, energy buzzing through it like a child who’d eaten too much sugar. Alive. Thriving. Impossible.

Tomorrow, Gansey would call.

They’d rush off to the forest, gadgets beeping and flashing, magic humming just under the surface of everything. They’d find something incredible—something impossible—and Adam would feel, once again, like the world was bigger than the things that hurt him.

Adam Parrish hated the rain.

Adam Parrish loved the rain.

And somehow, both things were true.

Chapter Text

Hello, it’s pouring right now, so here’s an Adam Parish head cannon. 

Adam Parish hated the rain. 

1. He hated the silence of everything else, how it left him alone with his thoughts.
2. He hated the leaks in his St. Agnes apartment, how it dripped down without warning and ruined his textbooks. 
3. He hated the cold and the wind, how he had to use hot water to warm himself up, putting a strain on his bill. 
4. He hated the darkness that it brought along, making it seem like night when it wasn’t, playing with his head. 
5. He hated that he couldn’t go anywhere, no hunts for Glendower, no extra cash fixing a friend's car.
6. He hated how muddy the trailer park got, little children running around covered in it and getting it onto everything else. 

And later, when he left Henrietta, to college. 

1. He hated how his roommates at Harvard were stuck in the dorm with him, making noise and distracting him from his studies. 
2. He hated how he had to walk across campus to get to class, how the water would seep into his backpack, his clothing. 

Adam Parish loved the rain. 

1. He loved the sound it made on the roof of Boyd’s shop, the pinging sound echoing off the tin ceiling. 
2. He loved the silence of everything else, how the rain drowned out the sound of cars from the highway, the crying baby next door, his father’s screams. 
3. He loved the color - or the lack thereof, - how it wasn’t quite night, but it wasn’t entirely day either. It was just grey. 
4. He loved how the temperature dropped, the storm and winds a reprieve from the punishing summer heat. 
5. He loved how repetitive the drops were, the sound predictable and soothing. 
6. He loved the absence of bugs, no gnats or mosquitos caught in his hair or sucking at his skin.
7. He loved how he could hear when it got louder, or softer, signaling the strength of the downpour, and how it was one of the few things he could hear in both ears. 
8. It meant that he could cuddle with Ronan at The Barns, hidden under a mountain of blankets.
9. It meant that Opal would come inside covered in mud, just like the children from his old life used to, and Ronan would bluster, but then gently clean her up and she would join them in their fort. 
10. It meant that just for a moment, he could give himself a break, and allow himself to stop worrying about finances, or school, or work. 
11. It meant that tomorrow, the earth wouldn’t look so parched and barren, his mother’s little garden would perk up, and she would hum to herself while tending it. 
12. It meant that tomorrow, Cabeswater would be green and flourishing and overflowing with energy, like a little child who’s eaten too much sugar.
13. It meant that tomorrow, Gansey would call him, and they would hurry off to the magic forest, gadgets beeping and flashing, and they would find amazing things.