Ronan Lynch was tipsy. No, scratch that. Ronan Lynch was flat out drunk.
It started with Gansey mentioning the guy that had been helping him with the Pig. Adam Something-or-Other ―Ronan needed to pretend he didn’t know who Adam Parrish was or why he felt blinding rage at the prospect of him spending time alone with Gansey, otherwise he’d go insane.
Most of the time, Ronan could put up with the many people who wanted to take Gansey from him because Gansey wasn’t interested in them. He was polite, conscientious and fucking infuriating around those strangers, but then he’d come home ―home: Monmouth, not DC―, take his stupid tie off, change his contacts for his glasses and settle with a book or mini-Henrietta, occasionally telling Ronan about something he found interesting.
Adam Parrish though? Gansey talked about him the way Gansey talked about Glendower. There was a reverence to it that made Ronan furious. It was more than curiosity, more than vague interest: it was Gansey slipping into the comfortable Gansey that was only Ronan’s when he was around. It was Adam coming along to Nino’s after school. It was Adam coming home with them, sitting next to mini-Henrietta and talking to Gansey about this and that. It was Adam’s long fingers resting in the back of Gansey’s headrest as he rode in the back of the Camaro, getting a laugh out of Gansey with the ease of someone who had been there for ages. Adam was new, Adam didn’t have a right to make Gansey laugh like that, Adam didn’t have a right to look good while robbing him of Gansey’s company.
“Adam’s thinking about applying to college out of state,” Gansey looked focused on applying glue to the base of a new traffic light for mini-Henrietta. “Do you think he’d come to DC next time I go home?”
Ronan’s brow furrowed when Gansey said home meaning his parent’s, but what truly bothered him was the part that implied Gansey wanted to go with Adam and not Ronan.
“Why am I not invited to DC?”
Gansey blinked at him, pushing his glasses up his nose with his ring finger, accidentally leaving glue on his hair. Ronan held Gansey’s eyes for a moment, taking a bite from his cold pizza slice as he did so. It amused him when Gansey’s eyes did a brief take of his mouth.
“You want to come to DC?” Gansey’s surprised tone was enough to warm Ronan’s insides. Gansey knew him. Gansey knew Ronan had been avoiding DC and Declan like the plague.
“Well, I haven’t been since the Incident,” Ronan shoved more pizza into his mouth, Gansey looked at him for a moment longer than felt comfortable, but Ronan didn’t budge. He shook his head and placed a new traffic light in a busy intersection, careful not to leave glue on the pedestrians next to it.
“You need to be specific, Ronan. There have been multiple incidents in DC.”
Instead of replying, Ronan stood up and went to the fridge for a beer. When he came back, Gansey had moved on from traffic lights to the trees lining the street across. He leaned forward with a mechanical pencil and a small ruler, tracing a soft, dotted line to mark the position of the trees. His t-shirt -an old of Ronan’s- rode up when he sat back up. Ronan’s eyes followed the strip of pale skin out of their own volition.
“I think Adam would fare well in DC. Mom would like it if a brought a friend too.”
Friend.
Ronan’s mood soured then, a nose-dive into possessive jealousy. He took a long gulp of his beer, the familiar bitterness gave him a rush, the same rush he felt when he raced. Suddenly, Gansey’s friendship hurt. He wanted to put a thousand miles between them, cut him out and cauterize the wound before the whole limb because unsalvageable. But because Ronan was Ronan, he used fire first.
“When will Project Adam be done so we can go back to having conversations that are not about him?”
“What are you on about?”
Ronan crossed his arms in front of his chest, bracing for things to get ugly. He wanted Adam’s Southern drawl, alluringly long fingers and beautiful blue eyes out of their lives. For Gansey’s sake. This had nothing to do with Ronan.
“Why can’t I go to DC?”
“We can all go. There’s a fundraiser happening every other weekend. We can go together next time.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then, Ronan?” Gansey’s bleary eyes looked up, exhaustion evident in every one of his movements.
Ronan thought maybe there was no point, but he couldn’t tell Gansey that, he didn’t want to give Gansey more reasons to prefer Adam’s honied disposition to Ronan’s bitter nature. He patted his front pockets, relieved to feel his car keys there, and left without saying another word.
His car purred to life under his hands and Ronan threw a last glance at Monmouth before grabbing the half-empty whiskey bottle on the passenger seat. Ronan drank fast and drove faster with one destination in mind. If Gansey had Adam, Ronan would have someone too.
***
Ronan Lynch thought it took a special talent to always find his way to exactly the worst-case scenario. This time, it was leaning against Kavinsky’s car, his fifth ―sixth? ― beer in hand, listening to Kavinsky go on and on about Skov’s new RX-7 and what a nice ride it was. Ronan’s visits to Kavinsky had become more and more frequent the longer Adam was in their lives.
It wasn’t Adam’s fault but Ronan needed to blame him for his misfortunes. If he didn’t, he’d think about the bruises Adam couldn’t hide well, about Adam’s badly-cut, dust-colored hair curling at the nape, about Adam almost nodding off in Latin, already tired during their first period, his chin resting on his chapped hands. Ronan couldn’t afford to think of Adam that way.
Kavinsky was a balm, a distraction, a timebomb. Ronan knew he had to stop it ―whatever it was―, before Kavinsky did… something. He didn’t know what, but it was the kind of something that eventually exploded in his face. Ronan’s drunken brain couldn’t put words to what was happening, if anything was happening. Were friendships supposed to feel like walking down a road doused in gasoline carrying the matches to set the entire world on fire?
“Are we hitting the roads or nah?” Kavinsky took a long sip from his beer and Ronan couldn’t help the heat rising to his cheeks watching him swallow. Once empty, Kavinsky threw the bottle across the road with more force than necessary, it exploded in dozens of shards illuminated by the headlights of his white Mitsubishi.
“I’m too drunk to drive,” Ronan slurred. He was certainly in no shape to be behind a wheel and neither was Kavinsky.
“Don’t be a pussy and get in the fucking car. These roads are emptier than the Feltville streets.”
“What the hell is Feltville?” His eyes took in the country road they were at. Wherever Feltville was must suck ass.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Lynch.” He didn’t get to ask anything else because Kavinsky was already getting in his car, slapping the roof of his car as he went. “Get the fuck out of the way or I’ll run you over.”
Ronan lingered until Kavinsky’s car roared to life when he turned the key in the ignition. He stumbled the way to his car, aware that this was a Bad Idea even for him. When the BMW came to life, the hum of the engine went from the top of his fingertips all the way to the tip of his toes. Ronan spotted the Mitsubishi accelerating, already turning the upcoming curve of the Henrietta-bound Road and pressed his foot on the pedal. He was vaguely reminded of his father and the many times Ronan sat in the passenger seat while they drove far away from the Barns, no destination in mind, only them and the open road. Not even the alcohol could dull the pain that flared in his chest at the thought.
Ronan glanced at the dashboard and watched the needle go from 40 to 50 to 60. He passed Kavinsky and pushed his foot deeper into the pedal, burning rubber down the country roads with a fury he was intimately familiar with.
It figured Gansey would eventually make new friends, real friends that didn’t need the amount of patience or babysitting that befriending Ronan required. It didn’t mean Ronan had to be gracious about it.
And Gansey was stupid about it too. He didn’t realize he was baring his entire soul to people who didn’t deserve it, people who didn’t understand the kind of exotic creature Richard Gansey the third was. Adam didn’t know about Gansey’s allergies, about his panic attacks, about his unrelenting insomnia. Adam didn’t understand the epic high and lows of having siblings, or the Gansey family dynamics, or the need to hide your authentic self from prying eyes. But Parrish was smart, he could learn the ropes, insert himself in Gansey’s life like barbed wire, encrusting deeper the more one tried to remove it.
Ronan hated him.
His eyes could barely focus on the road and the car, but the headlights in his rearview mirror came closer, pushing the last of Ronan’s anger into the pedal, quickly going from 60 to 70. His heart beat faster and he was pleased when Kavinsky’s car couldn’t keep up.
Later, Ronan would blame his thoughts about Adam Parrish for his carelessness, but that was a part of Ronan’s character that went further back than Adam, all the way to his father’s lifeless body on his front porch.
He spotted the sign that announced the last curve before Henrietta up ahead and Ronan thought he could see two sets of headlights catching up to him, but it was gone a moment later when his stomach tightened as the car drove over a slight slope.
Driving through a curve over 70 miles per hour was a bad scenario in itself. Driving through a curve over 70 miles per hour while drunk enough to see double was a terrible combination. It could’ve been a bump in the road, a shadow moving the wrong way for his drunken brain to catch up. Perhaps, it was God deciding He had had enough of Ronan’s antics. All Ronan knew was this: he was driving through a curve a moment, swerving the car into the side of the road the next.
No matter how fast he braked, no matter the logic ―or lack thereof―, behind dream cars, the car skidded along the pavement for a few yards before it collided against a tree. Ronan didn’t have the common sense to protect his head with his arms and it hit the window with a dull thud. He blinked a couple of times but it was useless; he lost a few precious moments to the darkness behind his eyes.
Ronan came to with Kavinsky’s loud pounding on his window.
“Lynch, for fuck’s sake, open the goddamn door!”
He felt dizzy and disoriented. Nausea made its way up his throat, and before Ronan puked on himself, he pushed the door open and immediately fell to the floor, emptying the contents of his stomach on Kavinsky’s shoes.
“Lynch, you piece of shit, these are my favorite Adidas.”
Kavinsky’s voice barely registered with the ringing in his ears. He retched until his stomach couldn’t anymore, bile and spit running down his chin.
“Hey, hey, Lynch, look at me.” When Ronan didn’t make a move, Kavinsky kneeled by his side and turned his face in his direction. “Say something, you dumb fuck.”
Ronan wanted to tell him where to shove it but he didn’t have the strength to do so. Instead, he moved to sit with his back against the wheel and let his eyes close. “Don’t fucking fall asleep.”
“Leave me the fuck alone, K.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“If you call an ambulance, I will cut your dick off and feed it to the wolves.”
“There are no wolves in Virginia.”
Kavinsky stayed silent for a moment, staring at Ronan until he made a decision. He went into Ronan’s car and grabbed his phone, thumbing the screen and bringing it to his ear.
“Dick, listen to me carefully. Ronan crashed his piece of shit car and now he’s bleeding on the side of the road. He doesn’t want an ambulance and I don’t want his puke in my car. Come pick your dog up.”
Ronan chest fills with the same unbridled anger Adam’s new addition to Monmouth provoked. He wanted to yell, kick, punch ―he didn’t need Gansey to babysit him―, but he barely had enough strength to keep his eyes open. He was slipping into a comfortable slumber when he felt a kick on his right leg.
“Lynch, Dick is on the way. You better not die before he gets here.”
Ronan shook his head and the pain that shot through his skull felt nothing short of extraordinary. He couldn’t remember a blow to the face that left his brain rattling inside his skull like this. The left side of his face was wet and he thought it was humiliating to cry in front of Kavinsky, but when he wiped his cheek, his sleeve was stained with blood.
A detached part of his mind thought there was nothing good about a bleeding wound in the head. He heard once that head injuries bled profusely and, for once, he was inclined to believe it. The trickle of blood rushing down the side of his face felt like enough proof to his addled brain.
Seconds became minutes and Ronan wasn’t sure how long he’d been at the edge of consciousness, Kavinsky’s foot occasionally digging into his thigh to keep him awake, when he heard the familiar sputtering of the Camaro down the road.
“Dick the Third! Fancy meeting you here,” Kavinsky greeted.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Who says I had anything to do with this? I was just passing by, saw a car wreck and decided to help the driver but he refused my help. So, I did the next logical thing and called his owner to pick him up.”
Gansey was on his knees in front of him a moment later, Ronan struggled to focus on his face but tried to keep his eyes on Gansey anyway. It was a testament to his drunkenness how beautiful his friend looked and how willing Ronan was to tell him so. If he had any strength to do it, Ronan would punch a mirror in frustration.
“Ronan.”
Gansey had many Ronan’s in his arsenal. Some of them were exasperated but fond, some of them were disheartened yet hopeful. This Ronan was all worry and something else Ronan couldn’t put words to.
“Dick.”
Ronan felt more than saw Gansey inspect his injuries with his delicate fingers.
“Ronan what the hell? You need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine by any definition of the word.”
“Just. Put me in the Pig. I’ll clean up and it’ll be fine then.”
“Ronan―“
“Gansey.”
His friend heaved a long-suffering sigh that could probably be heard all the way to DC. Its familiarity kept Ronan afloat a moment longer.
Gansey stood up and Ronan faintly heard him exchange words with Kavinsky. His eyes closed out of his own volition. Ronan wondered if he was missing the moment Gansey ripped Kavinsky a new one, but the thought was fleeting, slipping from his fingers as his consciousness blurred at the edges.
He felt someone shake his body but Ronan couldn’t articulate the words to ask them to stop. He bolted awake when his cheek stung with the force of a slap.
“Ronan.”
He followed Gansey’s voice and blinked at him dumbly. Gansey used the sleeve of his sweater to clean his face with shaky hands. Ronan’s mind was slow to catch up.
“Did you just slap me?”
“You wouldn’t wake up! I’m sorry, Ronan, but I’m taking you to the hospital. Don’t fall asleep.”
The panic in Gansey’s voice was a bucket of ice-cold water on his skin. He opened his eyes and saw his friend’s frightened eyes, searching his face for a response.
“I’m fine,” but he knew he wasn’t.
“Stay awake.”
He was in and out of it for a few minutes when he heard Gansey say, “Please, please, stay awake. I’m going as fast as I can.”
Ronan was barely aware that he was moving, he could hear voices in the background, yelling instructions but he couldn’t place them. Ronan had the distinct feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, concerned with Gansey’s frantic tone: he couldn’t do that to him. Not to Gansey.
“God, don’t let me die before I tell him.” Ronan hoped God would listen, he just needed one thing.
“What was that, Ronan?”
“I need to tell Gansey―” he raised his voice, aware of the medical personnel moving him around.
“Hey, hey, Ronan, I’m right here.” The warm, soft hand squeezing his own caused Ronan to snap his eyes open, catching Gansey’s form framed by the bright hospital lights. His foggy brain could’ve sworn God was sending him a sign. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I don’t want to go like this.”
Ronan didn’t hear Gansey’s response as he was wheeled away.
***
The first thing Ronan became aware of was the hospital bed. His entire body felt like it had been put through a spin cycle in the washing machine, painful in places he never thought he could feel pain. The bed was uncomfortable against his back, not enough padding to keep his aching bones comfortable.
The second thing Ronan became aware of was the warm hand holding his own, heavy and reassuring.
“Gansey?” his throat was too dry to carry the sound. He weakly squeezed the hand and the person immediately paid attention.
“Ronan? Are you awake?” Immerse relief coursed through him with the realization Gansey was there by his side. Ronan felt a paper cup pressed against his lips. “Just a sip, Ronan, come on.”
He fought the fog in his mind and willed his eyes open. The harsh light in the room made him squint, but he tried again until he could look at Gansey. Ronan held his gaze while he drank small sips of water, his stomach wasn’t too thrilled about it.
“You look like shit,” Ronan had to believe Gansey heard his raspy voice because he frowned.
“You’re in no position to say that, Ronan.” Despite the pain in his body, Ronan managed a feeble smile. He didn’t have to say anything, because Gansey continued as if he couldn’t see Ronan’s face. “Jesus, what the fuck were you thinking?”
Ronan’s stomach felt warmer hearing him swear. It was mesmerizing to have the opportunity to witness Gansey let go. He wanted to hear it again.
“I just needed some air.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but how could he explain to Gansey what had pushed him over the edge? This wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. “When can I go home?”
If Gansey caught the almost lie, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he said, “Declan wants to take you to DC.”
“I’m not going.”
“He’s not going to let you stay here.” Gansey’s detachment was almost clinical, as if he knew he was unable to stop Declan.
“He’s not my father.”
“He’s your legal guardian.”
“Well, he can fuck off.”
“I promised him I’d take of you. Look at you now. I’ve done a terrible job of it.” Ronan had a hard time identifying the emotion in Gansey’s voice. It could’ve been defeat but Richard Campbell Gansey III didn’t do defeated.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” He was too tired to invoke the right amount of rage, the best he could do was sullen exhaustion.
Gansey’s eyes searched his face for something. Whatever it was, it caused Gansey to pinch his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger in deep thought. Ronan’s eyes followed the movement of his regal hands and the familiar gesture threatened to pull him apart at the seams.
In the end, Gansey said: “when we got to the hospital you said you needed to tell me something.”
Ronan couldn’t recall what happened immediately after the car crash, but he remembered Gansey’s voice urging him to stay awake, Gansey’s hand wiping blood from his face. Now, his friend’s hands were clean, but the sleeve of his sweater was still stained with Ronan’s blood.
Ronan also remembered he had been about to say things he couldn’t ―shouldn’t― put words to. He put the thought away, locking the box and throwing away the key. He’d rather keep his secret to himself before risking Gansey’s hate or disgust. The idea of Gansey hating him was unbearable; Ronan would sooner take this to his grave than goad God into proving him right.
Ronan pretended this was the world where Gansey knew, a place where Ronan could wake up next to him time and time again mapping the contours of his body, unafraid of nightmares and the spoils he inevitably dragged with him into the waking world, Gansey’s protection extending all the way into the darkest corners of his dreams.
“Can I come to one of those lame fundraisers with you?”
Gansey shook his head with a tired smile at the elusive answer, then he brought Ronan’s hand up to his lips. His fingertips tingled where they rested against his friend’s mouth, warmth spreading over his body threatening to set the hospital ablaze. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Gansey and Ronan let himself imagine a world where he was like everyone else ―not a secret of a secret of a secret― and he could allow himself the feelings he kept under lock and key.
“Let’s talk about this when we get home. You need to rest.”
Home. Monmouth, not DC.
A hesitant, hopeful smile spread over Ronan's lips. Maybe there was still a way for them.