Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adam Parrish was not nervous. 

There was no need to be nervous, because he was completely prepared, as was the Adam Parrish way. After completing his undergrad at Harvard, Adam got his paralegal certificate and worked for a year while preparing for his future—law school. That meant getting a recommendation letter from every professor and internship that could remember his name, studying for and taking the LSAT— 178 Parrish? Can’t believe Elle Woods wiped the floor with your ass— and applying to every law program that he could afford to. In the end, he had gotten into Harvard, Columbia, Yale, UCLA, NYU, and Georgetown, all with generous scholarships. But NYU was the only school that offered him a full ride, his entire future on a silver platter, free of charge—the decision was practically made for him. 

At least, that’s what Ronan said. Adam wasn’t so sure, and the argument was one of the scariest he’d ever had with Ronan, because it was the only argument they’d ever had where the outcome may actually affect their relationship. Adam and Ronan were always solid and sure. They had stupid arguments and petty disagreements, but those never mattered, because they were something bigger, more important—something more. The second Ronan finally closed the distance and kissed Adam in his childhood bedroom, their fates were sealed. Adam went to Harvard, and there was no question about whether he was coming back. Ronan couldn’t follow him to Boston, but of course, they were still good; it was hard, but it was worth it. And then, Adam did come back. He was a paralegal at a disability rights legal center in Richmond and they were finally living in the same place, waking up in the same bed at the Barns everyday. Adam had no intention of fucking it all up by leaving again.

—“You’re going,” Ronan insisted, his harsh tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s a full fucking ride, even drop outs know that’s a big fucking deal.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t,” Adam replies, because it is, objectively, a ‘big fucking deal.’ A full ride through law school is not something that many people get, and Adam had assumed that he was going to come out the other side with debt since he shut down the offer for Ronan to pay before he could even get the words out. “I’m just saying that it’s far away and I have other options. I could go to Georgetown and come back every weekend.”

“Or, I could come with you, and you can see me every fucking day,” Ronan said with finality.

That silences Adam—he hadn’t even thought to ask Ronan to come. He’d spent the last five years planning and preparing for his future—his and Ronan’s future together—and it always ended with Adam coming back here to the Barns, to Ronan, so they could start their lives together. The idea of them leaving together, starting a life together somewhere else, wasn’t a dream he’d allowed himself since he was a naive nineteen year old. “That didn’t really go well last time,” Adam said hesitantly. 

Ronan’s jaw tenses at the reminder of what happened Adam’s freshman year—when Ronan came to Cambridge excited and hopeful for a future they both ached for, and left to return to an empty house that was beginning to feel more like a prison. He shows remarkable restraint in not telling Adam to fuck off. “Things are different now,” Ronan implores. “The ley line’s stronger, as long as we keep tending to it, I’ll be fine.” 

Adam squinted at him, considering. After what happened at Harvard, Ronan dedicated all his time and energy to looking for a cure for the nightwash. The unfortunate truth seemed to be that there wasn’t one. The best solution they’d found was to strengthen their ley line, which connected to another line that spanned the entire east coast. The downside was that it merely gave Ronan a slightly bigger cage. The upside, Adam supposed, was that he could live in a place like New York. 

But that wasn’t the only issue. “I can’t make you leave the Barns for me,” Adam said, turning away from Ronan’s piercing gaze, swallowing thickly. 

Ronan exhaled an angry breath through his nose. “You aren’t making me do shit, Parrish. But if you don’t want me there then fucking fine—”

“That’s not it!” Adam interjected quickly, panic making his heart stutter at whatever the end of that sentence was about to be. “You can’t just leave your home to follow your boyfriend across the country.” 

“Fine,” Ronan said, his voice gruff, but level. “Then I’ll follow my husband across the country.” 

It takes Adam a moment for him to process what Ronan had just said, but when he does, he feels as if the wind is knocked out of him. He stares at Ronan, eyes wide, and Ronan meets his gaze unwaveringly, patiently waiting for Adam to collect his thoughts. All he manages to get out is, “Did you just fucking propose to me Lynch?”

In lieu of a response, Ronan shifts in his chair and roots around in his pocket. He flicks something with his thumb, making it spin in the air between them, and Adam catches it reflexively. When he looks down at his palm, he’s holding a small ring. It’s silver, but not too shiny, with three curving, intertwined lines making up the band connected to small leaves. Adam could tell as soon as he touched it that it was a dream thing. He looks up at Ronan, mouth agape. 

Ronan snorts at him, forcing his mouth shut with two fingers at his chin, making Adam glare at him. “Hope you weren’t expecting me to get down on one knee.” 

Adam takes a deep, steadying breath. And then another. He studies the ring, running his fingers over the delicate branches and smiles, feeling the love and wonder and something quintessentially Ronan that emanates from all of Ronan’s dream things. “When did you dream this?” Adam asked, glancing up at him. 

Ronan shrugs, but a light pink rises on his cheekbones. “Right after our first date,” he answers quietly.

Adam’s brain short circuits. “Why—”

“I was waiting for it to be time,” Ronan interrupts, his voice still quiet, but firm. “It’s time.”—

Adam walked into the lecture hall half an hour early for the first class of the semester—Contracts. He did his due diligence, having read all the assigned reading up to the midterm and reading practically everything that Professor Marotta-Wurgler had ever published. Adam Parrish did not half ass things; he put all he had into everything he did. In this room, he would be the best—he had to be. 

The lecture hall was empty when Adam got there, so he sat in his usual seat and opened his laptop to read over the syllabus, even though he practically had it memorized. People filtered in gradually, some of them sitting in their seats quietly, reading something over on their laptops like him, others chatting with their seat neighbors, voices laced with equal parts excitement and anxiety. 

Adam’s startled out of his reverie by a light tap at his shoulder, making him jump in his seat, jostling his laptop. “Shit!” He exclaims, moving quickly to steady his laptop before it falls. 

“Sorry,” someone says from his left side, his deaf side. Adam turns around all the way in his seat to hear the speaker of the voice better. He sees a man standing to the left of his seat, looking alarmed at startling him, his dark brown eyes wide. “Sorry,” the man repeats, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Adam takes in the medium brown skin, dark curls, and the large, serious-looking man in a dark suit behind him, and Adam’s brain supplies him with the information that the man standing in front of him is the First Son of the United States. He, of course, knew who Alex Claremont-Diaz was, but he only knew the details about him that he needed to know for his education. He took a sociology class his senior year—Law and Justice with Doctor Sheer—where they often debated current events, one of which being whether a leak in the White House email server was likely to affect the election and what it meant about Claremont’s administration. Adam read only the assigned articles so he could form the correct response. Adam hadn’t learned anything personal about the man or his alleged boyfriend, the prince. He was far too busy to worry about celebrity gossip. 

“It’s alright,” Adam replies reluctantly, unsure of what exactly the First Son wanted from him. He waited a few seconds for Alex to say something, and when he didn't, Adam raised his eyebrows at him expectantly. “You need something?”

“Oh…yeah,” Alex replies, rubbing the back of his neck anxiouslyly. Adam clocks a subtle accent to his voice, not completely unlike his own. A syrupy sweetness rounding out his vowels, but with r’s a little harder than his own Virginia drawl—Texas, Adam recalls, Ellen Claremont was Texan. “I kind of…need your seat.” Adam raises his eyebrows impossibly higher, his forehead wrinkling. “It’s just for you know,” he says, motioning back to what Adam assumes is a secret service agent at his back, “security.” 

Adam looks to the emergency exit, only about five feet from his own seat. This is the seat that Adam has sat in every year, in every lecture hall since he was a freshman at Harvard. Front row, furthest to the left—it put his deaf ear against the wall, so he could hear everything the professor said with nothing to muffle the sound. He imagines what Ronan would say in this moment—‘fuck off,’ or ‘you need this seat so us plebeians can be your bullet shields?’ “There’s another emergency exit over there,” Adam replies with a little more tact than his husband seems to be capable of, pointing to the other door, opposite the one that Adam is sitting next to. 

Alex’s eyes flick up and he releases a deep sigh; Adam suspects that he’s holding back an eye roll. “There’s a person in that seat,” he explains, sounding exasperated.

“There’s a person in this seat,” Adam says slowly, emphasizing every word. This time, Alex does roll his eyes dramatically, but Adam thinks he sees a flicker of amusement on the face of the secret service agent that clears away quickly to return to its stony expression. “If you need a specific seat so badly,” Adam continues, his voice level, “you should consider getting here earlier.” He turns in his seat to signal that he was done having this conversation, looking at his laptop without registering the image on the screen. 

Adam hears Alex huff and grumble as he walks away. The sound of Alex’s conversation with the girl in the far right seat is lost in the noise of the room, and they are all settled in as the professor walks in, letting the lecture hall door fall shut loudly behind her. 

———

Adam is exhausted when he steps through the door of his and Ronan’s Flatbush apartment, leaning his head back against the door as it closes. He pulls off his work boots and lines them up neatly next to Ronan’s dirt smudged ones haphazardly resting near the mat by the door. Adam looks around at his apartment, small and modest, but sun soaked and intimate. He and Ronan weren’t decorators. Most of their walls were bare, save for books and odd dream things on shelves and photos of their friends. There’s a diverse array of plants along the wall under the windows, meticulously cared for by Adam, and sworn at by Ronan when he runs into them every time he exits the bathroom. He sees Ronan as he passes the kitchen on his way to their bedroom, chopping an onion without shedding a tear—what a freak. 

Adam was already shedding his grease smudged coveralls when he stepped into their room. He deposits his dirty clothes in the overflowing hamper and steps into the bathroom, rubbing out his sore muscles. Adam looked for a paralegal job when he first moved to the city, but couldn’t find one that would accommodate his law school schedule. He was adamant that he pay half their rent and utilities, so he defaulted to what he knew and found a job at a garage. It paid better than Boyd’s ever did—New York had too many cars and too few people who knew how to fix them—and the work was easy, mostly oil changes and body damage from fender benders. He didn’t hate it as much as he used to, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was moving backwards and always had his eye out for another job. 

Adam sauntered up to Ronan, wrapping his arms around him from behind and pressing a kiss to the edge of his tattoo visible on his bare shoulder. He leans up to rest his chin on Ronan’s shoulder, his damp hair dripping onto Ronan’s dark tank top, and looks down at the basil that Ronan is chopping on the cutting board. 

“How was your day?” Adam asked, his chin pressing further into Ronan’s muscular shoulder. 

Ronan releases an amused snort. “Fucking awesome,” Ronan said. “Had a workshop for a bunch of kindergarteners and one kid took a bite out of a tomato like it was an apple and fucking threw up.” Adam imagined it—Ronan watching as a five year old vomits on a tomato plant—and laughs loudly. “What about you?” Ronan asks, stretching his neck to look at him over his shoulder, “How was your first day?”

Adam shrugs, releasing Ronan from his grasp and crossing the small kitchen to get water from the fridge. “Fine,” he answers, “the classes seem hard, but nothing I can’t handle. The professors are great.”

“I don’t want to hear your nerd shit Parrish,” Ronan says. Adam snorted, knowing that it was a blatant lie. “Anything exciting happen?” Ronan asks, turning to him with his dark brows raised. 

“Nope,” Adam answers, cracking open his bottle of water and taking a sip. “Nothing to report.”

Chapter Text

Adam Parrish is slowly becoming the bane of Alex’s existence. 

It all started with that first day in Contracts, when he wouldn’t give up his seat even though there were three empty ones right next to him. And of course, he had to be a jerk about it, saying that Alex should just come to class earlier. 

So Alex got there earlier. The next class, he got there ten minutes early, and the guy was sitting in the same seat, reading from a book that isn’t even assigned for another two months. Then he got there twenty minutes early, and Adam was there, typing away on his laptop. Alex got there thirty fucking minutes early, and he walked through the door as Adam was sitting down. Fuck, who the hell gets to class half an hour early? This guy was intense. 

So then, Alex is waking up at the ass crack of dawn so that he can get to his 8:30 Contracts class at 7:45. “Alex,” Henry grumbles as Alex turns off his alarm, face still buried in his pillow. “What are you doing?” 

“I have to go to class,” Alex answers, stepping into his chinos and shimmying them up his legs. 

Henry lifts his head from the pillow, squinting at the digital clock on Alex’s bedside table—it reads 6:04 a.m. “Your class doesn’t start for hours,” Henry whines. He looks annoyed, which is fair, because Alex feels annoyed. Since Alex started law school and Henry started at the shelter, they’d perfected their morning routine. Henry woke first, as he always did, the perfect bastard, and went to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot and kettle. Alex showers while Henry gets dressed, as he is one of those weirdos who showers at night, and by the time Alex gets to the kitchen, a perfectly made mug of coffee waits for him on the counter. He sips his coffee while he makes him and Henry breakfast, since Henry can’t cook for shit. Eventually they kiss at the door like an old married couple and go about their days, knowing that they’ll return to their home, where one or the other will be waiting, later that night. It’s so fucking domestic and adorable and Alex would find it disgusting if he weren’t so happy and in love. He is not pleased to be disrupting this routine. 

“I have to get there early,” Alex says casually. 

Henry squints, glaring at him suspiciously. Alex is sure that he intends for Alex to feel chastised, but his look is undercut by the cute way that Henry’s hair flops over his eyes in the morning and the fact that his cheek is still smushed into the pillow. “Is this about seat guy?” Henry asks, his tone as suspicious as his glare. 

“No,” Alex lies. 

“Oh my God,” Henry says. “It is about seat guy!” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “Fine it’s about seat guy—Adam.” Alex looks up to meet Henry's judgemental gaze. “It’s stupid that he refuses to give up one of the two seats that I need. That lecture hall seats like 200 people!” 

“Sure,” Henry scoffs, sounding deeply skeptical. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he scored two points higher than you on the first test.” 

“How do you know about that?” Alex asks as he fastens the final button on his shirt, resisting the urge to point out that it was only one point. He walks around the bed to his dresser to grab socks, and Henry flips over in bed to track his movement. 

“Because you told me. Because you talk about seat guy—Adam—all the time.” Henry shoots up in bed and smirks at him. “Are you having a homoerotic academic rivalry with someone else?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. “Should I be concerned?”

Alex laughs and shakes his head at him. He sits down on the edge of the bed, giving Henry a quick good morning kiss before putting on his socks. “You’re ridiculous,” Alex says, and then adds, “And I’m pretty sure he’s married.” 

Henry quirks his perfect brow at him, a gesture that Alex despises because he is incapable of lifting just one of his brows no matter how hard he tries. “And how do you know that?”

“He wears a ring,” Alex says, shrugging in an attempt to be casual. The judgement in Henry’s gaze does not subside. “Two actually,” Alex tacks on needlessly. 

“That’s creepy,” Henry says, pointing at him. “You’re being creepy, love.” 

“Shut up,” Alex says, refusing to admit that maybe, it was a bit creepy. Adam Parrish was just interesting, in that he was a puzzle that Alex was desperate to solve. He had so many questions, and he needed answers. Adam Parrish was mysterious, and Alex was annoyed that he couldn’t read him like he could most people. He seems like a pile of contradictions. Adam is fine boned and handsome, but in an interesting way that Alex would almost describe as pretty, but there was a chilliness in his dark blue eyes and an ever-present hardness to his jaw. Adam always gave exactly the correct answer in class, and he was confident and almost cutting when anyone dared to challenge him, but a wariness washed over his face whenever one of their classmates attempted to chat with him after class. What was a guy like that doing getting married before the age of 25, and wearing a delicate, beautiful engagement ring that seemed incongruous with his hard exterior? And why the hell was he so attached to that fucking seat?

Alex finished tying his shoe and stood up from the bed. He leaned over and kissed Henry one last time before saying, “I have to go. Have a good day.” 

“You too,” Henry replied. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Alex said, glancing back at him over his shoulder as he stepped through their bedroom door. 

Cash meets him outside, on the steps on their brownstone. Cash was a probate professional and would never say that he was annoyed at the early hour, but Alex doesn’t miss the obscenely large cup of coffee and perturbed look on his face. 

Cash walks into the lecture hall first, like always, to check the room. When he steps through the doorway, Alex hears him release a loud, amused laugh. Alex’s brow furrows and he pushes off where he was leaning against the wall to step into the lecture hall. When he does, he freezes. Sitting in the empty lecture hall, in the same seat as always, sits Adam fucking Parrish. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Alex mutters under his breath. Adam turns his head at the commotion near the door, locks eyes with Alex, and fucking smirks. 

Alex huffs and curls his hands in tight fists as he stomps toward his usual seat with Cash at his back. When he sits down, he glances over at Adam. The other man is sitting silently, looking down at the textbook as if Alex weren’t there, but that damn smirk was still on his face. 

As Alex roots around in his backpack for his laptop, he comes to two realizations. One: he is being fucked with. Two: Adam Parrish is an asshole. 

———

Alex got over the seat thing eventually; after a month or so, everyone had settled on their unofficial assigned seats anyways. Thankfully, he didn’t really see Adam Parrish that much. Contracts was the only class they had together the first semester, and he always packed up quickly and left immediately after class, gamely avoiding anyone that vyed for his attention, and he kept to himself when Alex saw him hunched over a textbook or laptop in the library. So, Alex tried to put the man out of his mind.

Tried was the operative word here, because he failed. Adam only became more of an enigma as the semester dragged on. He always got the highest grade on every test, and he kept a straight face despite the blush that rose on his sharp cheekbones every time the professor made this announcement. He seemed completely calm and collected usually, but at times, Alex caught him fidgeting with his hands, turning the wedding ring around his finger—that’s another thing that still just didn’t make sense. He had a simple band of silver above a much more delicate and intricate ring that Alex had since observed were intertwined vines. It seemed too fanciful for a man who brought a used laptop to class that whirred loudly whenever it was on for more than an hour. Alex was thrown for even more of a loop when Adam burst through the door of the lecture hall looking disheveled, still early, but later than usual, wearing an oversized black shirt. He’d never seen Adam in anything but business casual—dark academia if you listened to June—and he came to Contracts with a shirt that said ‘this machine kills fascists’ written on an acoustic guitar. Every time Alex attempted to piece together all the facts that he’d learned and noticed about Adam Parrish, his head hurt at the effort. 

Winter break was a welcome reprieve. But then, he walked into his second semester Constitutional Law class. Sitting in the front row, on the far left side of the room, sat Adam Parrish, his usual calm and focused expression on his face, uncaring of Alex’s presence. 

It was honestly surprising that he hadn’t seen Adam more last semester—One Ls had to take basically all the same classes, so there were plenty of people he saw multiple times a day. But this—Constitutional Law with professor Oliver Westbrook—was an elective. A smaller class that Alex was looking forward to shining in—he knew the Constitution inside out and backwards. He was hoping he’d be able to be free of Adam Parrish, with his compulsive need to be right and his annoyingly perfect grades that Alex could never beat. 

Professor Westbrook was a proponent for the Socratic method. On Tuesdays he would lecture, and then at the end of class, he’d give the class a topic, and they’d have to research legal precedent and be prepared to be called on. On this particular day, the topic was the Criminalization of Poverty in the United States, and Alex was extremely prepared, as always. He had the passages from the Constitution, past cases that ended unjustly, and examples from other countries to contrast. 

A few people got called on right away, and they said something rambling and underdeveloped, based mostly on opinion. Professor Westbrook was always encouraging, and didn’t chastise them directly for their clear lack of research, simply telling them to put more time into it. When Alex was called on, he stood up, and spoke clearly and confidently. He started with stories of injustices—a 2016 case, in which a woman from St. Louis was jailed and had to pay a $10,000 fine for stealing a $8.74 tube of mascara and another woman, who was sent a bill for her time in jail, and then was jailed again for not being able to pay—examples of the U.S. legal system being built to keep poor people poor. Then he brought up a recent case from Italy—where they decided that a homeless man that stole food was not guilty of a crime, because he had taken the food ‘in the face of the immediate and essential need for nourishment.’ He had to bring it back to the Constitution to wrap up his argument that the government has an obligation to remedy the issue. When he brings up the Constitutional references to ‘the General Welfare,’ he hears a loud snort from his left, and stops talking. 

“Something to add Adam?” Professor Westbrook asks, turning his attention away from Alex and towards the man in question. 

“Not something to add, no,” Adam says, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand, obviously embarrassed at the attention. Then, he straightened and said in his usual sure tone, “I was just wondering if Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s blatant misunderstanding of the Constitution was intentional, to serve the argument he’s attempting to make, or if that was just a happy accident.” 

The lecture hall went quiet, but Alex can hear people shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Alex can feel his face and chest growing hot with his anger. Alex leveled Adam with his most volatile glare, and was even more pissed off that Adam met his eyes calmly, challenge in his expression. 

Professor Westbrook thankfully interjected before he could tell Adam to go fuck himself, and said, “Well stand up Adam. I think we’d all like to hear what you have to say.” His tone was pleased and his mouth was ticked up at the corners—one thing Alex had learned about him in the first few weeks of class: Westbrook loves a good debate. 

Adam rose from his chair easily and spoke, turning to the side so his back was to the wall, facing the room. “The two references to ‘the General Welfare’ in the Constitution are in the Preamble and the Taxing and Spending Clause,” Adam starts, speaking with a level voice that isn’t monotone, but not quite animated, as if he were reading the words from a book. “One,” he said, holding up a single finger, “No binding law is enumerated in the Preamble. In the 1905 case of Jacobson v. Massachusetts, Justice Harlan wrote that, quote, ‘it has never been regarded as the source of any substantive power conferred on the government of the United States, or on any of its departments.’” He pauses to take a breath, maybe for emphasis, and Alex wants to scream. He was right of course, Alex knew that the preamble wasn’t binding, but it sets out the goals of government and Constitution—shouldn’t that fucking mean something? Also, how the fuck did he have that case, and its opinion, already fucking memorized? Another detail to add to the list: Adam Parrish has a memory to rival Nora’s.

Adam continues, putting up a second finger, “Two: the understanding of the General Welfare Clause contained in the Taxing and Spending Clause adheres to the interpretation given by Associate Justice Joseph Story in his 1833 Commentaries on the Constitution of the United States. The summary of that commentary held that the General Welfare clause was a limit on Congress' power to levy taxes but was also a grant of power to spend tax revenues for ‘general welfare’ purposes.” He pauses and takes a deep breath through his nose, then turns to look at Alex specifically. “It doesn’t apply to any of the cases that you mentioned.” 

Alex bristles, his jaw tensing and his shoulders drawing up; he does his best to keep his outrage from his face. “So what,” he says, “you think the government should punish poor people for just doing what they need to survive?”

Adam’s eyes squint at him slightly, the only indication that he’d registered what Alex said. “I didn’t say that,” Adam retorts, his voice significantly calmer than Alex’s despite his efforts, “But what I think the government should or shouldn’t do isn’t relevant.”

“Please—” Alex scoffs.

“If you got lost on the way to your ethics class,” Adam interjects hotly, “the philosophy department’s in the Silver Center.” 

Alex opens his mouth, completely unconscious of whatever he was about to say—it probably would be ‘go fuck yourself.’ Before he can get a word out, Professor Westbrook interjects, his palms facing out in a calming gesture. “Okay, let’s keep it civil you two.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the heavy wooden desk at the front of the room, and much to Alex’s chagrin, turns to Adam. “Care to explain your point,” he says, and then adds, “without the sass with time.” 

Adam’s mouth forms a tight line, and he nods stiffly, apparently appropriately chastised. He turns back to look at the room. “The Constitution is not just a list of guidelines that you get to pick from,” Adam says, not loudly, but loud enough for everyone to hear him clearly. “It is a contract. As citizens of this country, we are bound by this contract and we have assumed, from birth, an obligation to respect and follow its terms, even when those terms are unjust.” Adam then turns his head, his eyes falling on Alex. “I’m not saying that punishing the poor is moral, but the immorality of that act will never make a hungry man stealing bread legal.” 

Alex is fuming. He has heard that same shit a million times from Republicans and people with the ‘pull yourselves up by your bootstraps’ attitude, who don’t understand that poor people commit crime because they are at a disadvantage. But he doesn’t say any of this, because Oliver Westbrook fucking smiles. “Thank you Adam,” he says, and Adam sits back down in his seat. Alex stands for only half an awkward second before following suit. 

Professor Westbrook straightens and takes a few steps away from the desk he was leaning against to address the entire group, “These two have so helpfully illustrated something that you will learn in this class as well as throughout the rest of law school: the law is not always fair, and in fact, it is often extremely unfair. This may be a harder lesson for some of you than others, as I’m sure there are a fair number of you who came to law school with the hopeful notion that you would change the world. My advice: if you want to make the law fair, run for office; if you want to enforce the existing law indiscriminately, you’re in the right place,” he pauses, looking at the crowd determinedly, letting his point sink in. “Class dismissed. I’ll see you all on Tuesday,” he said brightly, turning away and casually collecting his things as if he didn’t fuel at least seventeen impending existential crises. 

Adam starts packing his textbook and laptop into his bag, and Alex marches over before he has the chance to run off like he always does. “Do you have a problem?” He asks, his tone acidic. 

Adam stands up and turns towards him slowly. When he registers Alex standing behind him, he asks politely, “Sorry, did you say something?” 

Alex huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms, a little petulantly if he’s honest. “Do you have a problem?” He asked, adding extra emphasis to each word. 

“No?” He said, furrowing his brow, as if he was confused. “Why would I?”

How this guy can be simultaneously so smart and stupid confounded Alex. “What you said? Literally three minutes ago?” 

Adam sighs deeply, lifting his heavy bag to his shoulder. “It is not wisdom, but authority that makes law,” he says, his tone making it clear that he’s quoting something or someone. At Alex’s blank look, he supplies, “Thomas Hobbes.” 

“I know,” Alex said. He did not know, and Adam’s raised brow told him that he knew that. “Whatever. So what? You uphold the law and poor people rot?” 

Adam bristles slightly at that, his jaw tensing, feet shifting, anger sparking in his eyes. Alex wishes that he would break his composure and scream at him. But he doesn’t. His face clears as quickly as the expression rose on his face, turning on a dime. “What I personally believe doesn’t matter. I was right.” 

“That all you care about?” Alex asks, goading him. “Being right?”

“In this room, yes,” Adam answers easily. 

“But—”

“If you’re done,” Adam interrupts, “I have work.” He doesn’t actually wait to see if Alex has more to say, simply turning on his heel and climbing the stairs to exit the lecture hall.

———

Alex shuts the door hard when he steps into the brownstone later that afternoon, alerting David that he’s home. The beagle trots up to him happily, snuffling at his hand, and Alex rewards his efforts with a few pats. 

He kicks off his shoes to leave by the door, and stomps to the couch, where he finds Henry already home, typing something on his laptop with Bake Off playing quietly as background noise. Henry looks up at him with a questioning look, and Alex falls heavily onto the couch, dropping his head onto Henry’s lap; Henry moves his laptop to accommodate him without complaint, depositing it on the side table. “Nice to see you too,” Henry says sarcastically, immediately running his fingers through Alex’s hair. Alex leans into the touch gratefully, feeling soothed and cared for. If he were a cat, he’d be purring. 

He simply hums in reply, and Henry asks, “Everything alright, love?” The concern evident in his tone. 

Alex grunts as David hops up on the couching, his paws digging into his intestines as he settles on Alex’s stomach. “I have had the worst day,” Alex replies, a little more dramatically than is probably warranted. 

Henry hums. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks patiently. 

Alex groans, throwing his head back, making it press more firmly into Henry’s thigh. “I fucking hate Adam Parrish.”

Chapter Text

Adam did not hate Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

Adam got this job during winter break, when he was checking for new listings online for jobs that might be able to work around his busy schedule. He saw one listing that caught his eye: Henry Foundation Shelter for LGBTQ+ Homeless Youth—Legal Center. The position was part-time with flexible hours, required someone with a bachelor’s degree and a paralegal certificate, legal experience preferred. It was kind of perfect, exactly the kind of position he was looking for, and he could work for a cause that he believed in. 

The interview with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor went well. He was a fucking prince apparently, which Adam expected to put him off—rich white boys with far too much privilege still give him hives after his time at Harvard and Aglionby. But, since he got married, he has become the co-owner of a very large inheritance and an obscenely large piece of land—he guesses he is a rich white boy with far too much privilege now, so he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. It helped that Henry was surprisingly down to earth, obviously cared about his job, and seemed interested in Adam’s work with disability rights back in Richmond. 

Adam got the job, and it was easy work that felt important—guiding trans youth through the name change process, applying for grants, assisting some of the older kids in emancipation. It didn’t hurt that it paid better than any garage he’d ever worked at. 

“Hey,” Juliet, the other paralegal that he shared an office with, said, looking up from her desktop monitor. Adam looked up as well to show that he was listening. “You going to that thing tonight at Henry’s?”

‘That thing tonight’ was a party, or a ‘get together’ as Henry called it, at Henry and Alex’s apartment in Brooklyn. Apparently it was a gathering to get to know all the new volunteers and employees that had been hired recently, which included both Juliet and Adam, since the legal services that the shelter provided were fairly new. Juliet had become one of the closest friends he’d made since coming to New York, as the newness of their department forced them to collaborate quite a bit. She was a lesbian woman who’d recently moved to New York after her girlfriend, who she’d moved to Indiana to be with, broke up with her. She had purple hair, a bright, kind smile, and wanted to meet Ronan desperately— this man sounds fake Adam. Gay farmer with a back tattoo that wears all black and has a pet raven? What dystopian YA novel did you steal all that from?

“I guess,” Adam said, shrugging. At first, he was unsure if Alex would want him there. Adam didn’t have a strong opinion on the First Son, but he had an opinion about most things. He was smart, but naive. Alex Claremont-Diaz seemed like the kind of person who believed the best of people until he was proven wrong—he assumed that the world was made of mostly good people who did their best to do mostly good things. There was nothing wrong with that type of person, Adam guessed, he just didn’t understand it. Maybe Adam envied it—he’d had to learn far too young that people could be inherently cruel. So no, he didn’t hate Alex. Hatred was a time consuming emotion that Adam never had the luxury of indulging in—he allowed Ronan to hate all the people that had slighted Adam for him. He did assume that Alex didn’t care for him though, but since he was apparently alright with Adam coming to his home, he must be, at the very least, indifferent to him. “What about you?” Adam asks Juliet. 

“Yeah,” Juliet answers, shrugging, “I don’t really have any friends here yet, and at least Henry can afford good booze.” Adam snorts. “Are you bringing the husband?” She asks hopefully, wagging her eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Adam sighs. “He’s coming, but hopefully no one mentions that Henry’s a prince.” Juliet looked confused, her face scrunching, and Adam smirked. “He’s Irish Catholic. He hates the entire royal family on principle.” 

“I’m adding that to the list of absurd facts I know about him,” Juliet jokes, pretending to write something on a notepad sitting atop her desk. At leas he thinks she was pretending. “I better get to meet him finally. I am going to make that man my best friend.” 

Adam smiles, thinking that there was a decent chance of that. Juliet was happy and kind and didn’t try to hide it, but weird, with a dark, wry sense of humor. He had no doubts that they would get along. “An introduction will be made,” Adam assured her, and Juliet beamed. 

“You should bring your tarot cards,” Juliet suggests, pointing at him, as if she just thought of the idea. 

Adam usually didn’t tell people that he was a psychic, not because it was a secret, but because people would think he was lying. When Adam went to Harvard, he pretended to be someone he wasn’t and came out of it with no long-lasting friendships. Over the years, he became more comfortable with who he is, and also who he was, and he stopped bending over backwards to hide it— people can’t know you if you don’t let them know you, Adam . So Adam constructed a mental list—his being a psychic was not a secret, Ronan’s dreaming was, the ley line was not a secret, Lindenmere was, and so on. 

So when Juliet saw the tarot cards that he always kept on him and she asked what they were, Adam told her the truth. She didn’t assume he was lying or crazy, she took it in stride. “It’s not a party trick,” Adam replied flatly, glaring at Juliet. 

“Whatever,” she accepted easily, standing from her desk and shoving the remainder of a danish in her mouth while she collects her things to leave. “See you tonight,” she attempted to say around the pastry, as she opened the door to their office. 

———

“Okay Lynch,” Adam says, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on Ronan dress shirt. He’s wearing nice slacks and a black button down that stretches across his chest and broad shoulders—he looks fucking good. Adam wishes he could forget this and drag Ronan back to their empty apartment to take full advantage of their otherwise free Friday night. “These are my coworkers, and my boss, so be nice.” 

“I will be perfectly fucking civil.”

“You’re not inspiring confidence,” Adam said, giving him a flat look. “I like this job,” Adam reminds him, as if he hasn’t told Ronan about it every day since he started. 

Ronan’s face levels into something calming and reassuring, the way it always does when he removes his gruff exterior, usually only for Adam, their friends, and Matthew. He grabs Adam’s hands, pulling them from his shoulders and runs his fingers over the fine bones of his fingers, pausing over his rings. “It’s going to be fine, Parrish,” Ronan reassures him. That’s right, Adam supposes. Ronan Lynch had grown up—they both had. He was still an asshole, and he didn’t love meeting new people, but Adam has introduced him to several different groups since high school, most of them relatively painless. Adam nods, and leans in to give Ronan a soft, short kiss, and Ronan places one hand on his cheek. Adam allows himself to lean into Ronan’s gentle touch for a moment, takes a deep breath, and rings the bell. 

They only have to wait a few moments for the door to swing open, warm light and raucous laughter spilling out the door. Standing in the doorway, the edges of his form made fuzzy by the light at his back, stands Alex Claremont-Diaz. When he turns to look at Adam and Ronan standing on the steps, his face falls, and then morphs into confusion. “What the fuck,” Alex asks, the confusion of his face seeping into his tone, “are you doing here?”

Ronan snorts, turning to Adam. “Warm welcome,” he comments ruefully. Adam fights off the smirk threatening to rise onto his face.

“How the fuck did you find out where I live?” Alex asks, his voice still confused, but a bit more annoyed and angry. “Really, what the fuck Adam?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’m here for…” he says, gesturing to the ‘get together’ raging inside. “Henry invited me?”

Alex shook his head, crossing his arms against the March chill coming in through the open door. “No, it’s a work thing.”

Adam furrows his own brow, now confused himself. Does Alex not know that he works at the foundation? Surely Henry would have told him, unless Alex talks about Adam way less than Adam talks about him. He’s saved from this painfully awkward interaction when Henry appears, putting his arm around Alex’s waist. “Everything alright love?” He asks, looking down at his boyfriend. When he glances up at Adam and Ronan still standing awkwardly on his front steps, he smiles, small, but pleased. “Adam! You came. Please come in,” he says, stepping back to let Adam and Ronan inside, dragging a gaping Alex with him. 

They all got inside and Henry closed the door, immediately offering them drinks. As they wait for Henry to retrieve Ronan’s beer and pour Adam’s wine, Adam takes in the interior of Henry and Alex’s brownstone. The first thing that he notices is that it’s fucking huge, not bigger than the Barns, but his own apartment could fit in here several times over. The second is that it’s extremely well decorated. Adam used to see minimalist, ugly houses and think that money was wasted on the rich, but that is not true in this case. The furniture is tasteful and well placed, clearly expensive, the living room is decorated in cool tones, dark greens and deep blues, and their shelves are stuffed full of books—Adam squints to read the titles, finding that he’s read a fair number of them. 

Henry comes back with their drinks in hand and they both accept them with thanks. Henry settles himself back against Alex’s side, not touching but their proximity intimate, and he motions to Ronan with his own glass of wine. “Is this your partner?”

“Husband,” Ronan clarifies, and sticks his hand out to shake. Adam looks down at Ronan’s hand that Henry is now clasping in his own, and back up to Ronan’s face with a bewildered look. Ronan’s raised brow in return tells him ‘you told me to be fucking nice.’

“This is Ronan,” Adam adds, because apparently niceness doesn’t include introductions. 

Ronan looks at the other two men expectanly, eyebrows raised high, and when they don’t say anything, he crosses his arms, “Am I supposed to fucking guess?” Well, that didn’t last long, Adam thinks as he elbows Ronan hard in the ribs. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Adam says, smiling politely at Alex and Henry’s surprised, and slightly confused looks. “He means your names,” Adam clarifies, used to interpreting Ronan’s vitriol for strangers. 

Henry and Alex share a look, and Adam holds back a snort. They’re probably not used to people not immediately knowing who they are, but they’ve also never met anyone quite like Ronan Lynch. Ronan didn’t read the news and didn’t keep up on celebrity gossip or politics; he only knew who to vote for because Adam told him. The current Queen of England could be standing in front of him, and Ronan would tell her to get the fuck out of the way. “I’m Henry,” the man in question says, and then he motions to Alex, “and this is my boyfriend Alex. It’s nice to meet you Ronan,” he says politely.

“Okay, enough,” Alex says, apparently fed up with politeness. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He implores , glaring at Adam. 

“Alex—” Henry starts, eyes wide, shocked at his boyfriend’s rudeness.

“And why didn’t you,” Alex says, turning on Henry and jabbing him in the chest with his finger, “tell me that you hired Adam fucking Parrish?”

Henry furrows his brown and stammers as Adam laughs, realizing the source of the confusion. Alex snaps his head around and glares at him—how he ever thought Alex was indifferent to Adam’s existence, he didn’t know; this guy fucking hates him. “It’s Lynch actually,” Adam explains. “We got married back in June, but it took a while to change my last name. The school hasn’t changed it on the roster yet.” He turned to Ronan then, knowing that he’d want an explanation, “This is Alex, from my Constitutional Law class.” Ronan simply nods once to signal that he remembered him. 

They were interrupted by someone exclaiming, “Oh my God!” Loud enough that Adam immediately puts his hand to his right ear and grimaces. He turns to see a blur of purple as Juliet launches her body at Ronan. Ronan catches her instinctively, but turns to Adam with a perplexed look, the small woman still in his arms. “Shit you’re strong,” Juliet comments, releasing Ronan and patting his solid shoulders. “Can I see your tattoo?” she asks hopefully. 

Ronan steps away and crosses his arms, turning to Adam. “Juliet,” Adam supplies.

Ronan nods and smirks, remembering everything that Adam’s told him about his office mate, then turns back to the woman on his right. “I don’t usually take my shirt off in public,” he comments flatly. 

Juliet frowns at him, her disappointment evident, but Adam mouths ‘I have a picture’ to her, and she accepts the compromise easily and moves on. “Do you really have a pet raven?”

Ronan smiles, equal parts amused and endeared, as he uncrosses his arms and casually snakes his left arm around Adam’s waist; Adam shuffles closer to lean into the familiar position. “Her name’s Chainsaw,” Ronan says, nodding. 

She eyes him suspiciously and asks, “And you’re actually a farmer?” the skepticism is clear in her tone. 

“Yeah, back in Virginia,” Ronan answers, humoring her and her interrogation, “I work for a farming non-profit here in the city.” 

Juliet flicks her eyes to Adam then, suspicious look firmly in place. “This can’t be real. This is an actor you’ve hired,” she accuses, pointing her finger between the two of them. 

“I can show you our wedding photos,” Adam defends. 

“I need a fucking drink,” Alex says, who Adam had kind of forgotten was still standing there. He had his fingers to his forehead, rubbing the skin harshly as if he had a headache. 

Once he’d walked away, disappearing into the kitchen, Juliet turned back to him. “What did you do to upset the duke?” Juliet asked, her eyebrow raised at him. 

“They’re not married,” Adam pointed out, rolling his eyes. “He goes to law school with me and now I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

Ronan snorts. “Yeah, well I’m really sure he hates you. He’s looking at you like you pissed in his cereal and kicked his puppy.” 

Juliet scrunches her nose in disgust. “Well that’s a visual,” she notes. “So Ronan,” Juliet says companionably, drawing out the vowels. She props her elbow on his shoulder, which is quite a stretch with their mismatched heights. “I’m going to learn everything about you because we need to be best friends.” Ronan gives Adam a pleading look, and Adam just laughs. “Let’s start now—”

———

The night was going surprisingly well. Adam hadn’t had the chance to get to know most of his coworkers apart from Juliet, and he was relieved to find that he liked them—they were kind, funny, and delightfully queer. They were all interested in Ronan’s work, which Ronan was always happy to talk about. When they decided to move to New York, it was initially unclear what Ronan was going to do there. That is, until Gansey told them about a non-profit that his mother endorsed—they grew produce in the city’s abandoned spaces, teaching kids about where food comes from and then distributing the fruits of their labor to shelters and underfunded schools around the city. All of Adam’s coworkers were thrilled by Ronan’s knowledge of agriculture, most of them city kids through and through, and his knowledge of a random smattering of other topics—dead languages, ancient literature, and linguistics among them. 

After their fair share of socializing, Ronan settled into Adam’s side on the green sectional in the living room, one arm around his shoulders, one petting Henry’s dog’s head. Adam smiles at him softly. Ronan was hard to get to open up around people, but he turned soft around animals. Children, he just treated like tiny adults, which Adam found endlessly amusing. “We should totally get a dog,” Ronan said.

“We should not,” Adam argues, turning his head to look at Ronan, their faces only centimeters apart. “I think I’m more of a cat person anyways,” he comments, tipping his head to the side in contemplation. 

“Of course,” Ronan said. “You basically are a cat.’

“I am not,” Adam protests.

“Hey, nothing wrong with being a cat. Fucking love cats,” Ronan murmurs, locking eyes with Adam, close enough that Adam feels the breath on his lips. “We’ll get a cat.” Adam hums, staring back into Ronan’s icy blue eyes. They both startle slightly out of their reverie when someone sits on the otherwise empty couch. The movement jostles Ronan’s leg, making David grumble before settling back into Ronan’s warm lap and closing his eyes, content with Ronan gently stroking his head. 

Adam turns to see Henry, looking shy despite this being his couch. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pauses, and Adam nods to say that it was alright. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about the…misunderstanding earlier,” Henry says, looking over to where Alex is talking animatedly to Juliet. After the initial awkwardness, Alex apparently opted that ignoring Adam completely was the best route; Adam was happy to follow his lead. 

“It’s okay,” Adam reassures him, smirking at Henry. “I’m not sure what he’d told you,” Henry’s awkward shrug told him that the answer to that was ‘everything,’ “but I actually enjoy our arguments in class.” 

“Really?” Henry asks skeptically, leaning his head to the side. 

“Yeah,” Ronan interjects, his asshole grin firmly in place, jostling his side. “Parrish lives for an academic rivalry.” 

Adam turns to Ronan, eyebrow raised, “And what would you know about it Lynch? We never had an academic rivalry.” 

Ronan raises his eyebrow back at him, “Tell that to your shitty Latin grade.”

Adam smiles, “Tell that to your shitty Latin grammar.” 

Ronan glares at him, but his eyes hold no mirth. Adam almost leans in to close the space between them, when he remembers that this conversation initially involved another party. Adam looks back to Henry and coughs into his hand awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says, and Henry raises his hand as if to say ‘it’s okay.’ “I just mean that everyone in that class is an idiot,” Adam says, shrugging, “but Alex, at least, has more than two brain cells to rub together.” Which was an understatement really—Alex was smart, Adam’s only real competition. It was obvious that he knew the law like the back of his hand and enjoyed debating it. He and Alex hadn’t had any skirmishes in Constitutional Law since the first one because, loathe as he was to admit it, Alex was usually right. 

Henry lets out a small, amused laugh. “I’ve heard similar sentiments from Alex,” he replies companionably. 

Juliet and Alex walk over from where they were having a conversation near the back door to join them on the couch, with Alex sitting on the other side of Henry, on the long part of the sectional, and Juliet plopping herself down on the other side of Ronan, in between Ronan and Henry. She runs gentle hand down David’s spine and looks up at Ronan. “Did you have any animals on your farm?” Juliet asks. “Besides the raven, I mean,” she adds, one side of her mouth quirking. 

Ronan smiles softly at the memory of the Barns, still stroking David’s head, who was well on his way to falling asleep. “We had cows, some chickens, but livestock was more my dad’s thing,” he shrugs. “I’m more into agriculture and stuff,” he answers, slurring his words slightly. Ronan rarely got drunk anymore, but he was a bit tipsy. Adam would never tell him, but he loved tipsy Ronan—he was a little more forthright and sentimental and his voice took on a soft quality that Adam absolutely did not find adorable. 

“Wait,” Henry interjects, giving Ronan a puzzled look, “you actually were a farmer?” Ronan nodded. “What brought you to the city?”

“Adam,” he answers simply. No one says anything, obviously expecting more than a word, so he shrugs and continues, “He was going to law school here, so we got married and moved here together.”

“If you don’t mind me saying,” Henry goes on hesitantly, “I was surprised to see people so young married.”

Ronan turns his head to look at him, signaling that he was growing tired of answering questions. It wasn’t the first time they’d gotten this comment, and it wouldn’t be the last—they got married just before Adam turned 24. Most people their age were still figuring their lives out, and so were they, they were just doing it together. “We’ve been together for over six years and we were already living together,” Adam explains, giving the logical explanation that he offered each time. Then he shrugs, “It just felt like the right time for us.” 

“Six years?” Alex asks, looking back and forth between them, and Adam nods hesitantly. “Damn, did you marry your fucking high school sweetheart?” 

“Um,” Adam says eloquently, glancing at Ronan, who is smirking at him, sharp brow raised. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Alex shakes his head and mutters, as if to himself, “Why don’t you make any sense?”

Adam leans his head to the side curiously, studying Alex. “You say that if you know me,” Adam challenges, and Alex looks back at him, unflinchingly meeting his gaze. 

“Adam, your work in Richmond was so interesting, but we didn’t get to talk about it much in your interview,” Henry interjects innocently, sipping his wine casually, even though it is an obvious attempt to change the subject. “You said it was…disability rights?” 

“Yeah,” Adam said, unable to restrain his smile. He loved that job—it felt important, the clients were nice, and it gave him a chance to practice his signing with a few actual deaf people. “I was just a paralegal, so it was mostly paperwork and drafting memos for me, but they mostly defended people in employment discrimination cases.” 

“ You worked in civil rights?” Alex asks, extra emphasis on the ‘you.’ 

Adam tried not to get irritated, he really did, but Adam couldn’t figure Alex out—he and Adam had barely interacted before tonight’s party, yet Alex acted as if he had a lot of unpleasant preconceived notions about him. “I repeat,” Adam says slowly, “you say that as if you know me.” 

“I know that you’re a dick,” Alex shoots back easily, tipping his head back to sip his drink. Henry turns to him, eyes wide and the corner of his mouth pinched. 

Ronan snorts, and then grumbles when Adam jabs his sharp elbow into his ribs. “I won’t argue that point,” Adam says because, well, can’t argue with facts. “I just don’t get why you think that.” There was of course, the seat thing, Adam recalls. Adam could just explain why he needed that seat specifically, his ear was on the ‘not a secret’ list, but he had no intention of awarding someone who was being such a jerk with honesty. That was months ago for God’s sake. 

Alex’s jaw clenches and he raises his dark brows at Adam. “What you said in class?” Alex says, as if Adam should have connected these dots on his own. He hadn’t—it wasn’t personal. Adam couldn’t think of anything as impersonal as the Constitution. 

Adam studied Alex, who was glaring at him, challenging him to argue back. Though Adam was usually a calm person, or at least, he had remarkable self control, he spoke anyways, saying what he wanted to say the first time Alex questioned him. “Are you actually upset about what I said,” he asks, fake innocence in his tone, sipping his drink casually, “or just that I was right?”

Alex scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That shit again?” he asks indignantly. “All people like you care about is being right.”

“People like me,” Adam parrots bitterly, an amused smile spreading over his face. As if Alex actually knows anything about him, as he seems to believe he does. Adam almost can’t believe that Alex Claremont-Diaz—child to two lawyers and politicians, son of the most powerful person in the country, and the boyfriend to actual royalty—is taking the moral high ground on the issue of poverty in America, as if it’s something he could possibly know anything about. Adam sighs, and gives into the temptation to throw caution to the wind. He sits up and meets Alex’s eyes, Ronan’s arm falling away from his shoulders, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table with a quiet clink. “Tell me Alex, you went to Georgetown right?” Adam asks. The man’s brow furrows at the non sequitur, but hesitantly nods in reply. “What was Georgetown’s yearly tuition?”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t know,” Adam interrupts, nodding his head toward Alex, “because you didn’t have to pay for it.” Alex simply looks back, his expression neutral. He doesn’t protest, so Adam guesses that his assumptions are true. Adam would bet money that Alex didn’t even think about tuition before applying to his chosen colleges. “And I’m betting that you’ve never even seen a FAFSA form, because your parents’ income is too high to qualify.”

“That’s not—” Alex starts, shaking his head. 

“And how much was your rent in college?” Adam asks, not allowing Alex to protest. He knows he’s being an asshole, but Adam feels that Alex has earned it after all his bullshit tonight. “Oh, right, you didn’t pay rent—you lived with mommy and daddy until you were—what?—22, 23?” Adam pauses to give Alex a chance to answer. He doesn’t, simply clenching his jaw and meeting Adam’s gaze. “And how much is your rent here?” Adam asks, motioning to the room to mean the brownstone as a whole. “I’m guessing you don’t have any, because your boyfriend bought this place with family money, I assume.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Juliet is shifting awkwardly, suddenly finding her nail beds to be the most interesting thing in the world. Henry is flicking his eyes anxiously between the two of them, nervous at the trajectory of this argument. Alex’s expression is restrained, his mouth a flat line. “What’s your point?” Alex asks, not angry, as Adam had expected, but sounding almost curious. 

Adam sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts, and then opening them again to lock eyes with Alex. “My point is, ‘people like you’—rich, privileged liberals—love to get up on your high horse and say politically correct shit about poverty—” Adam starts, trying not to let his frustration seep through. This is the same shit that he had to deal with at Harvard—rich kids bravely declaring ‘poverty is bad’ and expecting to be applauded and patted on the back. Before, Adam held back his comments, afraid to reveal himself as someone who used to live in a trailer park and skip meals to make rent. Adam’s childhood is in a grey area between ‘secret’ and ‘not a secret’ that he has mentally named ‘not a secret, but I don’t want to talk about it.’ At this moment, he is too pissed off to really give a shit, and evidently, Alex is going to make assumptions about him no matter what he says, so he continues. “—even though you actually don’t know shit about it. All the while doing absolutely nothing substantial to change any of it, because it’s never been you, and you know it never will be.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Adam swallows thickly, realizing that he just told off his boss’ boyfriend, in his boss’ house—sixteen year old Adam Parrish would punch him in the face for this. His line of vision narrows as leaves rustle in his periphery, and the sound of running water fills both his ears. He wasn’t bound to Lindenmere, not the way he was to Cabeswater, but Lindenmere adored him, favoring him as all of Ronan’s dream things seemed to. When he was distressed it would attempt to soothe him, just as Cabeswater used to. He willed it away now, using the blocking methods that Blue used to protect herself. 

He felt Ronan’s large hand pressing into his back, but it fell away as he stood quickly, staring resolutely at the wall over Alex’s head. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Adam says politely, his accent making a rare appearance. When no one says anything, Adam walks briskly to the door, and it’s only a few seconds before he hears the sound of Ronan following him out. 

Chapter Text

Adam was not used to Ronan being on his left. 

Now that Adam’s first year of law school was over, they really had no excuse to get out of Mrs. Gansey’s latest fundraiser, which Gansey insisted they come to. The insisting was not convincing, Blue’s creative threats of violence however, were. So now, Adam and Ronan are surrounded by people in a large ballroom in the Ganseys’ opulent home. They had been forced to come to many fundraisers and parties much like this one, half to support Blue, who often became distressed at the nitpicking and thinly veiled insults that she was forced to endure, and half to amuse Blue, as rich, white Republicans tend to be scandalized at the sight of the youngest Gansey with his abnormal, opinionated girlfriend and his queer friends. Adam had to admit that he too was entertained by the way the old conservatives reacted to Ronan, with the tattoo peeking out of his rumpled dress shirt and his menacing glares, and how they looked at Ronan’s arm that he refused to move from its rightful place around Adam’s waist. But there was a downside, which is that these parties were loud. After some trial and error, they’d decided that Ronan would stand on his left so that Adam’s hearing ear was to the room, and Ronan would sign to him anything that he needed to say. It was strange—moving to Adam’s right side was something that Ronan did almost reflexively. The universe felt out of balance with Ronan on his left. 

Standing in front of them both was Blue, sticking out in a room full of suits and ties in a dress that she got from a thrift store and modified herself. “You guys going back to the Barns after this?” Blue asked, taking a sip from her champagne glass. 

“Yeah,” Ronan answers, signing with one hand while he talks to ensure that Adam knows what he’s saying, his other arm holding Adam, his hand resting atop his hip. “Matthew’s pissed off because we haven’t been back since Christmas, even though he’s fully fucking capable of visiting.” 

“Well you better stop at Fox Way,” she tells Adam, though her tone makes it clear that it’s not a suggestion. “Mom wants to make sure you’re keeping up with your exercises.” After what happened to Cabeswater, Adam didn’t think there was anything special about him, at least, not until Maura and Calla sat him down and informed him otherwise. They told him that he was psychic, always had been, but he needed practice. They gave him exercises, ways to focus more and open up to allow premonitions to come to him, and to allow him to have more control while scrying. He’d honed his psychic abilities and he’d discovered that he had a particular penchant for scrying. He could stay in longer, wander farther from his body, and he had an ability that Maura and Calla said they didn’t even think possible—scrying into dream space. Adam liked that he had a unique ability, like Calla’s psychometry, something that no one else could do. 

“I’m doing them,” Adam informs her flatly, finishing his own champagne and snatching another from a passing tray. “And we were planning to go anyway. I have to check on the ley line and I could use their help.” 

“As if we could ever visit Henrietta without going back to your coven, Maggot,” Ronan said, his tone affectionate despite his words. 

Blue rolls her eyes fondly and points out, “They’re not witches,” a reflexive reply at this point. 

Gansey walks over, dragging his feet wearily, and sighs deeply as he accepts a champagne glass from Blue, kissing her cheek in thanks. He turns back over his shoulder anxiously, and Adam follows his line of sight, but couldn’t tell who he was looking at. He turns back, and his face turns shy. “Blue—” he starts hesitantly. 

“No,” Blue interjects, her voice firm. 

Gansey sighs deeply and tips his head back, closing his eyes, resigning himself to an unpleasant conversation. “My mother is insisting that—”

“I don’t care,” Blue insists, pausing between the words for extra emphasis. “I refuse to be paraded in front of the Republicans like a prized heifer.” 

Gansey touches her cheek, stroking her unruly bangs away from her face. “What if I promised,” he says gently, “that you don’t have to be nice.” Blue glares at him. If looks could kill, Gansey would have died a third time. Gansey sighs and tries again. “What if I promise that you can grill the governor of Maryland about his environmental policy?”

They have a similar argument at every event—Blue is considered a de facto member of the Gansey family, and that comes with certain expectations that even she can’t evade. Blue sighs deeply, accepting her fate. She passes her glass to Ronan without preamble, who throws his head back as he swallows it all in one go, depositing the glass on a nearby empty table. She turns and throws her arms out. “Lead the way my liege,” she says sarcastically, making Ronan snort. 

“I’ll catch up with you two later, alright?” Gansey informs them, his expression hopeful. Adam nods needlessly and holds his fist out to bump, which Gansey touches his knuckles to companionably, before leading a disgruntled looking Blue away. 

Adam releases a deep breath and surveys the room, accepting that he needs to talk to people and make connections, despite the strong urge to resign himself to the wall and make fun of people’s hair pieces and girlfriends young enough to be their daughter with Ronan. He looks to Ronan, who signs, “Into the trenches then?” as if reading his mind. Adam smiles, and soon finds himself shaking hands with a state senator whose name he couldn’t quite remember. 

Adam cycles through a few conversation partners, with Ronan a constant, but mostly silent presence at his side, most of them unpleasant. When Adam is talking to a congresswoman from Georgia about green energy, attempting not to use a cutting tone to rebuke her very incorrect opinion, Ronan exclaims, completely out of the blue, “Oh my God.” He tips his head back and laughs loudly, completely uncaring of the fact that the congresswoman, as well as Adam, are looking at him like he’s a maniac. “Your arch nemesis is here,” Ronan signs to him by way of explanation. The congresswoman looks between them, and Adam shoots her an apologetic look before she walks away. 

Adam turns toward Ronan fully and says, “I don’t have an arch nemesis.” Ronan just smirks at him, so Adam turns away to search the room, and holds back a groan when his eyes find Alex Claremont-Diaz, a fake smile plastered on his face as he speaks animatedly to an independent from New Jersey. “He is not my arch nemesis,” Adam says, stressing every word. 

“You yelled at him—”

“I didn’t yell,” Adam interjects. 

“—in his own goddamn house,” Ronan says, pointing to him to stress his point. Adam rolls his eyes at him, refusing to admit that he may have done that. “Not that I’m complaining,” Ronan says lowly, one side of his mouth lifting in a small smirk, “I think it’s hot when you get uppity.” 

“I apologized,” Adam defended. Ronan gives him a skeptical look, knowing as well as Adam did that he and Alex silently agreed to politely ignore each other for the remainder of the semester. Adam huffs and corrects, “Well, I apologized to Henry.” Adam couldn’t believe that he risked his job out of a need to be right, but thankfully, Henry had forgiven him without a second thought— I know better than anyone how frustrating Alex can be when you’re on his bad side.

“It’s fine,” Adam says, more to himself than to Ronan, sighing deeply. “There’s a lot of people here, we can just avoid—”

“Hey Claremont-Diaz!” Ronan yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

“Shut the fuck up Lynch,” Adam grounds out, but it’s too late. Several people turn their heads, annoyed at Ronan’s extremely loud outburst, including the man in question. Adam knows Alex sees them when he throws his head back and groans at the sight of Ronan waving at him innocently, large shark grin spreading across his face.

“I fucking hate you,” Adam mutters, as Alex approaches them, a woman that bears a strong resemblance to him in tow. 

Ronan shrugs, unrepentant, as he settles back into his left side, hand snaking back around his waist. “This party was getting boring.” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex growls as he reaches them, looking exasperated. 

“Alex!” The woman chastises, swatting Alex lightly on the shoulder before turning to Ronan with a sweet smile. “I’m June, Alex’s sister,” she says, holding her hand out to shake.  

Ronan looks down at her hand, and back up at her, eyebrow raised judgmentally. Adam takes pity on her and sticks his own hand out toward her, which she takes gratefully. “Adam Lynch. This is my husband Ronan.” 

June turns back to Alex and whispers, he guesses much louder than she realizes, “ The Adam?” Alex just levels a glare at her, which she must take as an answer because she laughs. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Adam.” 

Ronan snorts, clearly pleased. “It’s all true—he really is that much of an asshole.” He notices both Alex and his sister glance at the hand that Ronan was signing with while Adam elbows him in the stomach, making him grunt. 

June covers her mouth with her hand to hide her small laugh. “Well from what Henry told me,” she says, glancing at Alex, who is taking a sip from his glass, pointedly avoiding her gaze. “Alex has kind of been an asshole too.” 

Ronan turns to him, raising his brows. He signs, “So much in common already—I think it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He doesn’t say it out loud, because one thing that Ronan likes most about learning ASL is his ability to talk about people right in front of them. 

Adam flops his head to the side in an annoyed gesture. “I’m taking Chainsaw in the divorce,” he signs back, making Ronan narrow his eyes at him, feigning annoyance. 

“Is that sign language?” Adam hears Alex ask. He turns back to see him looking between him and Ronan, his brows drawn together in consideration. 

“Yeah,” Adam answers hesitantly, and looks at Ronan. Ronan raises his eyebrows at him, the look equal parts questioning and encouraging. He knows that Ronan wouldn’t judge him if he lied, but he also never hesitates to remind Adam that he has nothing to be ashamed of, though he usually phrases it with a bit more vitriolic flair. “I’m half deaf,” he explains casually, and Ronan squeezes his hip with the hand slung around his waist, “I can’t hear out of my left ear.” 

June accepts the information easily, simply nodding; her brother is not as polite, his face doing something complicated. “Your left…” he says to himself, shaking his head slightly. His face clears and Adam sees as realization blooms. “Oh my God, I am an asshole,” he says, looking at Adam. 

“Finally he admits it,” Ronan signs, and Adam’s face tightens as he holds back an amused grin. 

“What—” June starts.

“The seat ,” Alex implores, and turns to him, “I spent months wondering why you were so attached to that goddamn seat.” Adam smirks at him, amused that he spent so much time fixated on something so insignificant. Adam, of course, noticed the annoyed little huffs and grumbles as Alex came to class earlier and earlier each day to find Adam sitting in the same seat. Adam was equal parts relieved and disappointed when he finally gave up. “I thought you were just being an ass.”

“It’s alright,” Adam said, lifting his hand placatingly. “It was fun to see you get all flustered about it,” he added, one side of his mouth ticking up and shrugging one shoulder.

Alex rolls his eyes and mutters something that Adam doesn’t catch. “I apologize for my idiot brother,” June says, stepping forward to pat his elbow softly. “Something I find myself having to do often,” she jokes, a small grin on her face as she jostles Alex playfully. 

June’s hand is barely there a second, and as she takes her hand away, Adam sees…something—a drawer, a book, a lamp, a bed. Since honing his abilities and strengthening the ley line, things will come to him at random like this, when he’s not trying to see something. It’s been happening most of his life, he’s since realized, he just didn’t have the ability to interpret any of it. This particular vision is too vague, so he shouldn’t say anything, but he makes a note to himself to find Blue later and hopefully she’ll make things clearer—it feels important somehow. 

There’s a beat of silence, undeniably created by Adam when he failed to reply to June. Thankfully, the woman seems to have far more social skills than he does, and picks up the slack. “So Adam,” she says congenially, “Henry said you worked as a paralegal at the shelter. How are you liking it?”

Adam breathes a sigh of relief at the easy topic of conversation. “I love it,” he answers honestly. Though he knows that the job at the shelter is only temporary and he’ll leave it once he's done with law school, he’s ecstatic that he found something so great for the time being. He smiles genuinely at June, who smiles back at him, just as genuinely, and adds, “It’s nice to work somewhere that feels important for a change.”

Both June and Alex’s faces screw up in matching looks of confusion and careful consideration, and Adam kicks himself for his word choice. “Weren’t you working in disability rights before?” June asks, tone curious, head quirked to the side—she wasn’t kidding when she said she’d heard a lot about him apparently. 

“Actually,” Adam starts hesitantly, hating how much honesty he is allowing to slip out tonight, especially to his not-arch-nemesis and a woman he’d only just met. “My last job was at a garage.” Their identical eyebrows drew together, forming the same considering look. They really did look very similar—his only frame of reference for siblings were the Lynches and the Ganseys. Helen and Gansey did not look similar at all. Declan and Ronan, however, looked very much alike; Adam guessed that if they were stripped of their respective armor, the Lynch brothers would be nearly identical. They, however, wore their features very differently. The Claremont-Diazes were similar in both looks and mannerisms, likely a result of a close life-long bond, Adam guesses. There was a long moment of silence, very awkward silence. Ronan squeezed his hip again, and then rubbed his thumb in small, soothing circles over the fabric of his dress shirt. Adam needlessly added, “As a mechanic.” 

The more the silence dragged on, the more Adam dreaded their reactions, but thankfully, neither sibling had the chance to say anything. He’s saved by, of all people, Henry Cheng. “Ah the Lynches,” he exclaims, patting Adam hard on the shoulder. 

“Cheng,” Ronan replies flatly. Adam and Ronan didn’t hate Henry Cheng, not like they did in high school, but they certainly weren’t as close to him as they were to Gansey and Blue. Gansey and Blue and Ronan and Adam were a family, and Henry was their eccentric uncle that showed up at random times without announcement and with copious amounts of alcohol. 

“I’ve been appointed the task of collecting Gansey’s court,” Henry informs them. “He and Wendybird have already taken refuge in the back garden and they have demanded your presence.” Henry turns and cocks his head to the side, studying June and Alex, who are apparently studying him back. “And do bring your pretty friends,” he adds, smirking at the two.  

“We’re not friends,” Alex says as June says, “We’d love to come.” Alex glares at her, and the two have an indecipherable silent argument that Alex apparently loses, turning back to Henry and sighing, “We’d love to come.”

Chapter Text

Alex is following some guy apparently named Henry Cheng through the Ganseys’ giant home, his sister at his side. 

He didn’t know who these people were or what Adam fucking Parrish is doing here— Jesus fucking Christ I swear this guy is fucking haunting me— but he’ll do almost anything to get away from that party. His mom sent him and June to the Ganseys’ fundraiser in her stead as a bipartisan gesture, and Elizabeth Gansey is one of the few Republicans that his mother can stand. If Alex had to guess, the Ganseys would probably self identify as ‘socially liberal, fiscally conservative,’ which is complete and utter bullshit, but she serves the best food. 

“So why do you hate this Adam guy so much?” June whispers to him as she holds the kitchen door open for Alex. “He seems fine to me.”

“He’s a jerk,” Alex answers simply, shrugging at her as they follow the three men through the busy kitchen. If Alex is honest, the more he learns about Adam, the more he realizes how little he actually knows about him. His hatred is hanging on by a thread at this point, but he’s clinging to it stubbornly. “I already told you what happened.”

“Yeah, but,” June says as she steps around a stressed caterer, “I think you’re overreacting. It sounds like you were a dick too, and it’s not like anything he said was untrue.” Alex huffs. What Adam said was true, objectively speaking, and his little rant only made Alex even more curious about Adam, as did the fact that Adam was half deaf and fluent in ASL, had a husband that sounded and looked like a cryptid, somehow knew the fucking Ganseys, and, apparently, used to work as a mechanic at a garage. “Is this another ‘I hate him, but I don’t really hate him’ situation?” June asks when he doesn’t say anything back, “Because I was under the impression that you and Henry were monogamous.” 

Alex flips his sister off as they reach the back garden. The garden, like the rest of the house, was gorgeous—framed by leafy trees, pathways lined with roses and soft lighting, and three concrete benches forming a semicircle, an ornate fountain behind them. In front of the benches, Alex sees a curiously mismatched group gathered. There was Ronan and Adam, who were weird in their own ways, and also Henry Cheng, who looked like a k-pop star. There were also two people Alex had yet to meet—a short woman, who was wearing the most eccentric outfit of anyone at this party, with olive skin and dark, wild hair barely wrangled by clips. Then there was the man Alex recognized as Elizabeth Gansey’s youngest child and only son—Richard Gansey III, who looked like a history professor. Henry gathers them into a hug, some of them grumbling as they comply, and declares, “Gansey and his magicians, back in one place!” He puts a hand to his chest, his face turning sentimental, “You are all a sight for sore eyes.” 

“How are you a fucking magician Cheng?” Ronan asks, stepping out of the man’s hold, raising a judgemental dark eyebrow.

Henry motions to his head with a flourish, “Have you seen this hair? Please.”

Henry produces a bottle of brandy seemingly out of thin air and passes it around, all of them taking hearty gulps. When Richard Gansey turns to pass the bottle to him, he startles slightly, passing the bottle into Alex’s hand slowly. “Oh,” he says, tipping his head to the side, “you’ve brought people.” He politely says it like it isn’t a question, though it clearly is. 

“Did you two assholes actually manage to make friends?” The girl asked, turning to Ronan, raising her brows and smirking teasingly. 

“Sorry to disappoint Maggot,” Ronan shoots back, smiling down at the small woman. “They’re just strays,” he explains, motioning to him and June with a bottle of whiskey that he’d pulled from behind a bench before taking a swig. He passes the bottle to Adam, who takes it and follows suit. 

Alex scoffs at Ronan’s comment and offers his hand to Gansey, smiling politely. “Alex Claremont-Diaz,” he says, and then tips his head towards June, “this is my sister June.”

Henry shoots up from where he had been laying down on a concrete bench. “Holy shit,” he says, pointing at them, “you’re the President’s kids! I knew I recognized you from somewhere.” June turns to him with an amused glint in her eye. It’s not that Alex considered himself a celebrity, but these days, people usually didn’t need him to introduce himself. It seems that everyone in Adam’s inner circle either didn’t know them, or hardly cared. Henry lowers himself back on the bench. “Your boyfriend is so hot, man,” he says to Alex. “Too bad he has the same name as me. It seems narcissistic to fuck someone with your same name y’know?” Alex snorts and June tries and fails to stifle her laughter in her palm. 

“Since when does your narcissism have limits?” Adam asks, a wry smile on his face. 

“And since when was fucking him even an option?” Ronan asks as he plops down on another bench, pulling an unprotesting Adam into his lap, who loops his arm around Ronan’s shoulders to steady himself. 

Henry tips his head back to look at the couple. “Why Lynch?” Henry asks in a teasing tone, mischievous grin on his face, “Are you interested?”

Ronan rolls his eyes dramatically. On the one hand, Alex is offended, his boyfriend is very hot and the thought of sleeping with him does not warrant that reaction. On the other hand, he’s relieved, Ronan Lynch could definitely take him in a fight for Henry’s hand. “Over my dead body. Or his,” he replies gruffly. Then he lifts the whiskey he’s holding in the air and declares, “Fuck England and fuck the monarchy.” The woman raises a bottle of vodka that she’s procured and whoops in agreement.

Gansey puts his face in his hand, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I actually have to say this,” he says, his tone long suffering, “but no one here has any past, present, or future plans to assassinate a member of the royal family.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Alex says sardonically, an amused grin making its way onto his face, “you’ve never met Henry’s grandmother.” Gansey’s eyes widen slightly behind his wireframes, before he realizes that Alex is joking and lets out a surprised laugh along with the rest of his friends. 

Introductions are made— what the fuck kind of name is Blue?— and the group quickly moves on to catching up, clearly comfortable with one another and excited to be in each other’s presence. Alex has more fun than he’d expected when he came to a stuffy fundraiser at the Gansey home, and he learns even more about Adam, pieces of him slotting into place with what Alex already knew, some assumptions he’d made replaced. One thing he learns is that his experiences with Adam are apparently pretty standard for the man.

—“What do you do Alex?” Gansey asks him seriously, his arm around Blue, his speech a bit slurred from the vodka he had clutched in the other fist. 

“I’m in law school,” Alex answers, looking over at him from where he’d eventually settled on the third bench next to June. 

“Oh!” Gansey exclaimed excitedly. “Do you go to NYU with Adam?”

“Yeah they’re BFFs,” Ronan interjects sarcastically, a sharp grin spreading across his face. “Had a real meet-cute.” Adam swats him on the shoulder, but his mire is undercut by the fact that Adam was nestled against the man’s chest. 

“He did the thing didn’t he?” Henry asks, smiling delightedly. 

“No,” Adam deadpans as June asks, “What thing?”

“When Adam was at Aglionby he used to be fucking militant about being the smartest person in every class,” Henry explains, waving a bottle of liquor around as he talked. Ronan signed something to Adam that Alex couldn’t understand, but it made Adam shoot him an angry glare. “He went fucking feral anytime someone tried to tell him he was wrong.” 

Alex grins at Adam, and Adam turns away as he does, avoiding his gaze. “That is…a somewhat accurate characterization of what happened.” 

“In my defense,” Adam interjects, “I was right.” The comment earns eye rolls and groans from several people in the group, Alex included. 

“You were also an asshole about it,” Alex accuses, pointing at him. 

“Yeah, and so were you,” Adam shoots back. “And you kept trying to steal my seat—discriminating against me for my disability,” he adds drily.  

Alex gapes at him, his face getting hot. He sputters in an attempt to clarify, “That’s not— I didn’t know—”

Ronan laughs loudly, and Adam collapses against him, muffling his laughter into Ronan’s shirt. “He’s messing with you hot stuff,” Henry clarifies, winking at him. —

He also learned a lot more about Ronan and Adam, together. He’d attempted to sneak covert glances at the two when they came to his and Henry’s house, but Adam and Ronan were so much more uninhibited among these people, shedding any armor and defenses they wore out in the world. Ronan talked more, mostly with cutting remarks that had obvious undercurrents of affection, and Adam was a bit less serious, laughing and joking with Gansey and Blue, roughhousing with Ronan, and, at one point, falling on his ass from a tree he was attempting to climb. 

But what Alex noticed most of all is how comfortable Adam and Ronan seemed in each other’s presence. They seemed to have entire conversations with their eyes alone, they always looked at the other first whenever anything of note happened, and Adam treated Ronan’s body like an extension of his own, and vice versa. Alex felt some unnamable emotion pang in his chest—not jealousy, more like longing. He and Henry had been living together for just about a year, and it took a while to adjust to the other's physical presence after so long living so far from each other. Before, they drank up each other’s presence ravenously, knowing that they had so little. Now, they had time. They had to learn how to just be with each other. Alex wondered wistfully when they would become like this—as if they were two halves of a whole entity. 

— “So you guys are enjoying New York then,” Gansey says, addressing Ronan and Adam, with the inflection of a question. “Are you making friends?”

“Christ Mom—” Ronan says sardonically.

“Hush Lynch,” Adam cuts him off, swatting at his chest. He then turns to Gansey to answer his question. “I’m friends with Juliet from work, and she’s obsessed with Ronan. He likes her but won’t admit that he does,” he says, his smile uncharacteristically soft. Ronan grumbles slightly, but doesn’t protest his approval of Juliet. Alex’s mouth quirks—Alex met the foundation’s other paralegal at the party, and he thought she was funny and kind, and she did indeed mention Ronan and her intrigue with the man several times. Alex couldn’t help but agree—who the hell has a raven as a pet?

“Ronan?” Gansey asked expectantly, locking eyes with the man in question. 

Ronan rolls his eyes, but answers obediently. “There are a couple people at the non-profit that don’t completely suck,” Ronan says, shrugging indifferently. 

“Dear God Lynch,” Blue says, dramatically putting her hand to her chest, “that’s practically a declaration of undying love for you. Should Adam be worried?” 

“Mmm,” Adam hums softly, turning towards his husband while still on his lap, their faces centimeters apart, and running his thumb back and forth over the man’s sharp cheekbone. “What do you think? Should I be worried, Ro?” His voice was sleepy and slow with alcohol, his Virginia accent clear as day. 

Ronan hums in return, nudging his sharp nose against Adam’s. The moment is not unlike many others he’d witnessed that night, where the two lock eyes and Alex felt that he should look away. “Never,” he murmurs before closing the space between them, sinking into a deep kiss that Adam returns fully, completely uncaring of the other people present. 

Henry fake gags as Blue protests, “Break it up, you horny animals,” throwing a flower that she plucked at their heads, which bounces off harmlessly. The only indication that they noticed was Ronan’s middle finger raised behind Adam’s back. 

“We can’t take you anywhere,” Gansey comments, shaking his head, but his small smile and tone betrayed his affection.—

And, the most surprising piece of information of all—Adam fucking Parrish—Lynch, he mentally corrects—was a psychic. Or at least, he wanted him and June to think he was a psychic, considering psychics were not real. 

— “Oh my God, I almost forgot,” Adam says as he climbs out of Ronan’s lap, stumbling a little over his own feet as his husband places a hand at his hip to steady him. 

“Christ Adam, you’re drunk as a skunk,” Henry comments, hypocritically drinking from a bottle of vodka. 

Adam flaps his hand at him, dismissing his comment. “As if I could deal with Republicans sober,” he says, as he walks over and stands over Alex and June, looking down at them, but not saying anything. He and June both stare back at him, perplexed. Adam squints at June for a moment, before his mouth forms a frustrated line and he says, “Blue come here.”

“Excuse me?” Blue said, crossing her arms, her tone aggrieved. 

“Sorry,” Adam says, looking away from June, who is turning to Alex mouthing ‘what the fuck.’ “Please, come here,” Adam repeats, emphasizing the ‘please’ that he’s tacked on, and holding out his hand. “I need your energy.”

Blue sighs, but rises from the bench and takes Adam’s hand obediently. Adam turns back to June and looks at her, his face determined, and Alex has had enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Adam’s a psychic,” Ronan answers, his voice flat, as if giving Alex an innocuous and not completely insane detail about his husband. 

Alex laughs, and says, “Sure he fucking is,” his voice reflecting his disblief, as June perks up and says, “Cool.” 

Adam ignores everything around him as he continues to squint at June, his face pinched in focus, and then he lifts his hand, placing it lightly on June’s shoulder. “I know you know that you don’t need to be touching her,” Blue scoffs. 

“Shhh,” Adam says, placing his hand over Blue’s entire face in an attempt to silence her; the girl knocks it away quickly. “Daddy’s working,” Adam says drily, making a few of his friends snort in amusement. 

“Ew Adam,” Blue says, scrunching up her nose and moving her hand to Adam’s shoulder, “Don’t call yourself daddy.” 

“Yeah,” Henry chimes in with a shit eating grin, “that’s Lynch’s job.” Henry squawks as Ronan pushes at his shoulder, making him fall backward over the bench, landing on his back. 

Alex sees Adam’s face level after a few moments, his expression open and unreadable. Then, he looks at June, removing his hand from her shoulder and says, “You’re creating something, something important to you. You’re stuck. You’re missing something that you can’t find.” June meets his eyes and she nods eagerly. “A bedside drawer, that’s where the missing piece is,” Adam tells her. 

June’s eyebrows draw together and she shakes her head. “No,” she says, her voice laced with frustration, “I’ve checked there like a thousand times.”

Adam searches June's face for a brief beat of silence. “Where you’re living now?” It’s a question, but his inflection says that he already knows the answer. June nods, and Adam nods once back, June apparently having confirmed his suspicions. “It’s somewhere else,” Adam tells her, “Somewhere you’ve outgrown, left behind.” 

June turns to Alex then. “The White House?” she asks him, “Maybe Texas?”

“Don’t ask me,” Alex scoffs, and then flaps his hand toward Adam in a flippant gesture, “That was all bullshit.”—

The fundraiser drags on for a few more hours, but the night goes by quickly and joyfully in the back garden as the friends laugh and talk to each other, and to him and June as well, including them into their circle easily. It was Blue jumping on Ronan’s back, him catching her legs with ease, and Henry crumbling like tissue paper under her when June attempted the same. It was Ronan cackling as they all screeched and covered their ears, trying to shield their eardrums from the worst song Alex had ever heard pouring out of the speakers of Ronan’s phone. It was June and Henry, drunkenly stumbling their way through every High School Musical song they knew, dance moves included. Alex can get along with just about anyone. He can plaster on a convincing smile and laugh congenially—a born and bred politician. But Alex rarely meets people he really and truly likes. He likes these people, which is perhaps helped by the fact that they don’t bring up politics or the royal family or ask him and June about their mother’s presidency once. He’s even more surprised to find that he likes Adam, seeing a side of him that is softer and less guarded. The night ends, Adam turning to climb the stairs, Ronan’s arm firmly around his shoulders, and Alex following June and Cash to the door. Adam simply nods to him, and Alex nods back. 

———

“I liked them,” June comments apropos to nothing as she walks down the hall of the White House, leaning heavily against Alex. “Didn’t you like them?” she asks, turning to him. 

“I liked them, Bug,” Alex reassured her. 

June smirked at him. “You like Adam too, I can tell,” she says, pointing at him in accusation as he rolls his eyes. “You just don’t like admitting when you’re wrong.” Alex grumbles but doesn’t protest because they both know that’s true. He may not like admitting when he’s wrong, but he always ends up liking the people who prove him wrong the most—it’s exactly what happened with Henry, after all. “His husband is fucking hot but in like, a scary way,” June says, “I snuck a picture and sent it to Nora, and she agrees.” Alex smirks and makes a noise of agreement—‘hot in a scary way’ was indeed a very accurate description of Ronan Lynch. 

“It’s crazy that he’s psychic right?” June asks him, pulling his arm around his shoulder as they climb a set of stairs. “He doesn’t really seem like the type but,” she shrugs, having made her point and not feeling the need to form a complete sentence. 

No, Adam did not seem the type to believe he was psychic, or to believe in psychics at all. Alex had read him as pragmatic and sensible, which he undeniably was. But maybe the version of Adam that wore that gorgeous engagement ring and married a farmer at 23 and was best friends with someone named Blue was the version that could believe in magic. But Alex snorts at June—some guy she doesn’t even know says that he’s a psychic and her little witch heart just believes it. “He’s not fucking psychic,” he says. “Because psychics are not real.” 

June groans, throwing her head back in a much more dramatic way than the situation warrants. When they reach June’s door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Want to find out?” she asks, looking at him challengingly. 

She opens the door and Alex follows her inside curiously. As she walks in, she turns her head to look over her shoulder and explains, “I’m missing one of my journals—the one from my freshman year of college—that I need for the book, and I have looked everywhere. If your friend,” Alex does not point out that Adam is not his friend, “was right then—”She cuts off as she opens her bedside drawer and roots around inside. After a few moments, she lifts out a small book, a purple journal with June’s name scrawled across the cover, and releases a vindicated, “Ha!” 

Alex’s brain stutters for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation for the book being where Adam said it would be. He gives up and shakes his head. “It’s a coincidence.”

“Sure,” June says, disbelieving, as she flops down onto her mattress and flips through the pages of her lost journal. “Coincidence.”

Chapter Text

Two Ls at NYU are required to do an intensive research project, where they have to research specific topics related to the law and make detailed pamphlets. The project requires at least 50 hours of work, and collaboration is encouraged between people who selected the same topic. Alex signed up for his topic—advocacy of under-represented language speakers’ rights—weeks ago, and hadn’t thought about it much since then, at least until Adam approached him in Property, the only class they had together that semester. Since they’d seen each other over the summer at the fundraiser, they usually nodded at each other in greeting, sometimes offering a smile. Alex liked Adam, at least he’s pretty sure he does, and he was curious to learn more about him after seeing him open up so much. The thing is, Alex had only seen Adam at class and sometimes at the shelter, places where Adam was serious and had single-minded focus. 

Alex startles as a piece of paper is shoved in his face without preamble, and he looks up as Adam talks at him. “That’s my number and availability. My address is also on there; I’m not coming to yours every time,” he says flatly, as if this is a regular occurrence. 

“I’m sorry what?” Alex says, shaking his head in confusion. 

“Did you not check your email?” Adam asks, eyebrows raised judgmentally. “We signed up for the same topic, and I don’t trust anyone else on that list to not fuck up their part,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and looks at him expectantly. “Unless you’re working with someone else?” he asks when Alex doesn’t say anything. 

“No,” Alex says quickly, shooting up straight in his seat. “No, I’m not. We should work together.” 

“Good,” Adam says, nodding once. Alex releases a relieved breath—he couldn’t get a better partner for this project than Adam. He was the top of the department and all of the professors worshipped the ground he walked on, and for good reason; the guy worked harder than anyone; which coming from Alex—the diagnosed overachiever—is fucking saying something. “You can come to our apartment tonight at seven and we can work out our timeline and split up tasks.” 

———

Ronan lets Alex and Cash into the apartment at 6:45 that evening without a greeting; he simply opens the door and walks away, leaving it hanging open. 

Alex and Cash step across the threshold and close the door softly behind them. The first thing Alex notices about their apartment is that it’s warm and smells of freshly baked bread. The second thing he notices is that it’s small. He walks into the living room, which contains a dark green couch that seats two, at most three, people and an armchair of light brown leather. He hears Cash release a small, amused breath, and follows his line of sight to see a poster with guillotine pictured—it reads ‘Royal Parasites Not Welcome in Ireland.’ Alex grins and pulls his phone out of his pocket to snap a photo to send to Henry. They don’t have many decorations; they do, however, have a lot of stuff. He looks at the books on their shelves, recognizing some from their own shelves back at the brownstone, but also some that he can’t read because the titles are written in Latin or Greek—because why wouldn’t they read Greek and Latin? By the two windows on the side of the room there’s a multitude of plants that rival Nora’s collection, some he recognizes, some he doesn’t. There’s normal, homey stuff like photos of Adam and Ronan and their friends, hand knitted blankets, and scented candles. But there’s also weird stuff, like a glass bowl with a mirrored bottom and a small, floating light over the plants, which Alex can’t figure out the mechanics of. 

It’s only a few minutes before Adam emerges from what Alex assumes is his bedroom with damp hair, wearing oversized black sweatpants and a red Harvard sweatshirt—fuck, did Adam go to Harvard?—and they settle into their small table between the kitchen and living room and open their laptops, getting to work. 

Alex quickly learns why Adam is the top of the NYU law program—he’s efficient and intelligent and focused. They only take an hour to work out their research plan, as both Alex and Adam had similar ideas on the direction the project should take, and they were able to start on research right away, working in relative silence on opposite sides of the table. 

After they’d been at it a few hours, Ronan appears and silently sets down a bowl and small plate of bread next to Adam’s open laptop. He disappears into the kitchen and returns only a minute later with another bowl, which he sets down in front of Alex wordlessly. Alex looks up at him with a puzzled look, but before he can thank him, Ronan grimaces over at Adam, who hasn’t looked up from what he was reading. “Don’t be a stubborn ass, Parrish,” Ronan says, his voice gruff. “Eat the damn food.” Alex smiles, thinking about how Henry the gesture is, who silently leaves him glasses of water and mugs of coffee on the desk in the study, and then leaves him to his work with a kiss on the crown of his head. 

Adam squints at Ronan, who glares at him in return, engaged in a silent battle of wills. Eventually, Adam relents, sighing and pushing his laptop to the side. He dips a slice of bread in the stew and takes a bite, looking up at his husband, who smirks victoriously before he retreats back into the kitchen. Alex takes that as his signal that he can start eating as well. He takes a bite of the crusty sourdough, still warm from the oven slathered with melted butter, and the stew and nearly audibly moans—so Europeans are capable of cooking, who knew?

Adam looks over as an iPhone buzzes against the wood of the table and calls out, “Lynch your phone’s ringing.”

“That it is, Parrish,” he hears Ronan call back, tone flat, making Adam sigh. 

“I’m not your secretary,” Adam says with the inflection of someone who has said this many times, and he shoots Alex an apologetic look as he slides his thumb across the screen and puts the phone to his right ear, “Hey Declan.”

Adam listens for only seconds before he rolls his eyes and says drily, “You called your brother and someone picked up, who were you expecting?” He listens for a little longer this time, his brow furrowing as he listens. “Let me ask,” he says, turning to Ronan, who’s emerged from his hiding place in the kitchen. He signs while he informs Ronan, “Jordan wants to know if you’ve heard from Hennessy recently.” Ronan simply shakes his head, and Adam nods and turns his attention back to the phone.  

“He says no,” he informs the caller. After a few more seconds, Adam says, “Well she couldn’t have…” he peters off, flicking his eyes up to Alex before continuing, “I haven’t felt any major surges or dips in the line. Do you want me to find her in a dream?” 

Alex has been trying very hard to mind his own business, but he gathers that this is more of Adam’s apparent ‘magic’ stuff. He’s been resolutely ignoring that detail about Adam; he feels that he’s finally beginning to understand the man, and that is a piece he cannot get to fit. “Okay, well let us know when you hear from her,” he requests, and then after a few more seconds, he looks up at Ronan again and says, “Declan says you need to call Matthew.” Ronan rolls his eyes, signing some response back to him. “He will. Yes, I will make sure he does. Bye.” Adam presses the red button at the bottom of the screen to hang up, and tosses the phone to Ronan, who catches it easily. “Call your brother,” Adam orders. 

Ronan touches the phone to his forehead in a mocking salute as he turns to saunter away. “Yes sir,” he says sarcastically, and Adam shakes his head, a small smirk on his face. 

Alex is about to turn back to his food when he hears a flapping right next to his ear and sees a blur of black in his periphery, making him startle violently, almost falling sideways out of his chair. “Shit!” he exclaims, as he slaps his hand down on the table to steady himself. He puts a hand to his chest, trying to calm down his rapid breathing, and looks up as a large black bird settles on Adam’s right shoulder. The only reaction that Adam gives is offering the bird a small piece of his bread, which the bird scarfs down gratefully. “Holy fuck,” Alex says, disbelief coloring his tone, staring at the pair in shock, “you guys actually have a raven.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, the way that someone else might say ‘duh.’ “Of course we do.”

“You say that as if it’s a normal pet to have,” Alex replies, fully exasperated.

“I won’t dispute that,” Adam says, smirking. He strokes his finger over the bird’s—Chainsaw, he remembers Ronan saying—beak and up over the small feathers on her head, and Chainsaw closes her eyes and leans into the touch. “But Ronan doesn’t go anywhere without his familiar,” Adam says, his tone flat as he allows Chainsaw to nip at his hand absentmindedly. He turns away from the bird after a beat of silence, and looks back at Alex. “That was a joke. Ronan’s not a witch.”

Oh, silly him for thinking that witches are something that Adam, the self proclaimed psychic, may believe in. “Are witches a thing?” Alex asks skeptically, raising his brows. 

Adam squints at him and studies his face—Adam does this often and Alex often wonders what he’s looking for—and cocks his head to the side. “I thought you didn’t think that psychics were a thing?”

“I don’t.” 

Adam smiles wide at him, his expression almost teasing. “Did your sister find her book?”

Chapter Text

Adam isn’t sure how he got here. Well, he knows exactly how he got here, and his name is Alex Claremont-Diaz.

—“Okay,” Alex says, throwing down a heavy book on civil procedure and leaning back in his chair. He lets his head fall back and runs his hands over his face. “We need a fucking break.” 

“No,” Adam said flatly, “We’re almost done.”

“Exactly,” Alex says, pointing at him to emphasize his point, “And this isn’t due for another week.”

Adam glares at him, taking in the way that his leg is bouncing up and down rapidly  and how he seems to be fidgeting with a pen absentmindedly. In the two weeks that they’ve been working on this project, Adam has noticed that Alex swings wildly between hyperfocus and complete inattention, and distantly wonders if his ADHD is diagnosed. Either way, it’s clear that right now, he’s hit a wall after hours of complete and single minded focus, and he won’t be able to get anything more done for a while. Adam sighs deeply, giving in. “Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair “let’s take a break.”—

What Adam doesn’t understand is how a break translated to going to his sister’s apartment, but he isn’t complaining. He liked June when he met her at the fundraiser—she had all the kindness and determination of Blue with the sharp edges sanded down somewhat. She also accepted his psychic ability easily and without question—not what he had expected from the daughter of politicians. 

June’s apartment is a modest one bedroom in SoHo, and it’s beautifully decorated with a wide array of colors. Adam walks slowly around her living room as Alex and June talk in the kitchen. Their sibling relationship wasn’t what he was used to. They weren’t like Ronan and Declan, who spoke harshly to each other, with an undercurrent of love and concern only clear to those who knew how to look. They weren’t like Matthew and Ronan, with childish jokes and playful teasing and roughhousing. They talked like friends, but friends that knew absolutely everything about each other. 

Adam takes in the contents of the room curiously, pinching the leaf of one of many plants hanging in the windows, all of them extremely well taken care of. He runs his finger along the wide and eclectic array of books on their shelves. The books are arranged by color and not alphabetically; it gives Adam hives, but he can appreciate the aesthetic impact. He pauses over a book of the collected essays of Virginia Woolf, the cover a light blue, sitting between the works of Sappho and a statistics textbook. He touches the line of crystals sitting on the windowsill, running his fingers over them and feeling the gentle warmth of their energy—amethyst, malachite, morganite, jade. He pauses over what looks like rose quartz, but doesn’t feel like it, the surface cool to the touch and empty of any energy.

Adam picks the stone up and studies it, passing it back and forth between his hands. He looks up to see three people standing in the living room with him now, one he doesn’t recognize. In lieu of a greeting he holds up the crystal in his hand and looks at June. “Where did you get this one?” he asks her, gaining the attention of Alex and the second woman with whom he was having a conversation. 

She leans her head to the side, and answers, “Etsy, why?”

“It’s fake,” Adam says, placing the crystal back in its rightful place on the windowsill and crossing his arms, “I guess you can keep it if you like the way it looks, but it’s not doing anything for you.” Adam looks up at three blank looks and sighs. “Rose quartz is valued for its healing properties and it’s the crystal of universal and unconditional love,” he explains, reciting the description in the book Calla had given him. “I can’t feel it. It just feels like a rock,” he says, shrugging, trying to appear casual even though it’s a lost cause at this point. “Next time, try using it to scratch glass. Rose quartz is extremely hard; if it doesn’t scratch glass, it’s fake.” 

There was a beat of silence, with each of the three exhibiting different reactions—Alex looked exasperated. Skeptics didn’t annoy Adam as much as they did Blue and the psychics at Fox Way; he almost found them to be amusing, watching the little cogs in their brains turn and try to rationalize the undeniable evidence they’re faced with. June’s small smile was a little disappointed as she handed him a glass of water, probably because the crystal she bought was likely colored glass or resin poured into a mold. The third woman that Adam didn’t know looked amused, turning to Alex with a smirk. “You find the weirdest people Alex. I love it.” She turns to him and holds out her hand to shake. “Nora Holleran,” she says, introducing herself as Adam took her hand. “Alex’s ex and current best friend, June’s current girlfriend.”

Adam tilts his head to the side as he studies the group in light of the unconventional information. Considering that history, you’d expect the dynamic to be awkward, but Adam didn’t think that was the case. Alex had been talking to Nora easily when he came in, and he was gravitating into her space now, indicative of a familiarity and intimacy that only came with mutual comfort. The three were completely at ease with eachother, reminding Adam of the unbreakable triad of Gansey-Parrish-Lynch that used to be a fixture in the halls of Aglionby. “Okay,” he said, releasing Nora’s hand. They squinted suspiciously at his easy acceptance of the information that Adam suspects Nora throws in for shock value. “My husband’s best woman at our wedding was my ex-girlfriend, and her current partner was my best man,” he offers in explanation, shrugging. “Anything I say would just be hypocritical.” 

Nora brightened, smiling mischievously. “Oh I am so glad you brought up your husband. I could climb that man like a tree,” she says, looking a bit wistful. Adam turns his head to the side to hide his amused smirk—he agrees with the sentiment wholeheartedly. “What is he, 6’1”, 6’2”?” she asks Adam.

“6’4”,” Adam answers. 

“God,” Nora groans, drawing out the word. “I bet his dick is hu—”

“Nora!” Both of the Claremont-Diaz siblings exclaim, cutting Nora off well past the point of no return. “That’s enough of that,” Alex says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he throws himself down into an armchair. Once the others settle into the pink couch, Nora locks eyes with him, raising her eyebrows in question, and Adam nods to confirm her suspicions. 

They fall into easy conversation as they sit scattered about the living room. June and Nora ask him numerous questions, apparently curious about his life. Adam answers them simply, giving only enough information to assuage their curiosity. For the most part, he sits, sips his water, and watches the three of them talk. They playfully tease Alex that he finally made a friend that wasn’t them, and Alex doesn’t say that they’re not friends, so neither does Adam. They talk about politics, which Adam really isn’t that interested in but they get very heated about, and they talk about June’s book, which actually does sound quite interesting. Adam smirks at Alex smugly when June mentions finding her missing journal, and Alex rolls his eyes dramatically. 

There’s a familiar comfort and ease that Alex has with these two that Adam hadn’t seen before—every offense or insult is joking, the laughs are easier and louder, the smiles goofier and unflattering. Adam smiles into his glass of water and feels a pang of nostalgia in his chest. He doesn’t miss Henrietta and his old life for even a second, he loves waking up next to Ronan every day, and falling asleep in his arms at night, he loves going to his job and working out problems and teasing Juliet as she regales Adam with the story of her latest failed date, and he loves going to class and taking steps towards a future that he can finally feel done. But he misses the intimacy that he had with Blue and Gansey and Ronan, scattered in the living room at Monmouth or Fox Way, the only moments where Adam ever felt like his age. These are Alex’s people—Adam’s people are 200 miles away in a D.C. apartment. 

They’re only at the apartment for about half an hour when another guest arrives, and Adam looks up from his place on the couch to see Henry walking in. He turns as he shuts the door behind him, and walks into the living room easily, but his steps falter as his eyes fall on Adam. “Oh, hello Adam,” Henry says, surprise in his tone but still polite. “Alex didn’t say you would be here,” he says, flicking his eyes over to Alex, who shrugged, unrepentant. Adam hates this. Henry is his boss, and Adam’s sitting on his de facto sister in law’s couch and he feels distinctly out of place in a way he didn’t a minute ago. He preferred to keep his lives in separate boxes, and he’s done a lot of mingling as of late. 

Henry walks fully in the room and kisses Alex before settling on the floor, his back resting against Alex’s legs, his own legs crossed. As Adam raises his hand to offer a small, awkward wave, he feels…something. He rarely gets premonitions this far from the main line without using his cards, and when he does, they’re either vague or unimportant. This does not feel unimportant. He furrows his brow at Henry and asks, “Is your sister pregnant?”

All the heads in the room whip around to stare at him, and Adam wishes he thought to ask that a little more delicately, perhaps in a way that didn’t make him sound like a freak. Henry raises a single skeptical brow at him and answers, “I sincerely doubt it.”

Adam accepts that easily, and tells him, “Your family is growing.” He said it surely, because he was sure about that part. His sister was the most obvious choice, but there are other possibilities. He continues, “You will be faced with a choice as a result.”

Adam looks around at the reactions his outburst receives. Alex just throws his head back and rolls his eyes—unsurprising, but a little over the top. June is looking at him curiously, and Nora is smiling widely, clearly intrigued and amused. 

“What kind of choice?” Henry asks, squinting at him curiously, but not skeptically. This group was full of surprises. “Which one should I make?”

Adam focuses his mind for a minute and tries to find anything else, but nothing comes to him. These were specific questions, so he needed guidance. He slides down the couch and onto the floor, and reaches for his bag under the coffee table. He roots around his bag and finds his tarot cards. “Here,” he says, taking them out of the green velvet pouch he kept them in and handing them to Henry. Henry takes them reluctantly, but takes them nonetheless. “Shuffle those and think about what you want to know,” Adam orders. 

“Do you carry those around everywhere?” June asks. 

Adam shrugged one shoulder. “Basically,” Adam answered, watching Henry obediently shuffle his cards. The cards are not the ones he inherited from Persephone—those he keeps at home, only bringing them out for important readings at Fox Way, not wanting them to be worn away by use. These are cards that Blue made herself, hand painted, and gave him for his 21st birthday. They’re beautiful and detailed, every brushstroke careful and imbued with affection—they’re the best gift Adam had ever received. 

Henry finishes shuffling and hands the cards back to Adam. Alex scoffs, nudging Henry with his foot, “Please tell me you don’t believe in all this.”

Henry cranes his neck back to address Alex. “I’ve never really given it much thought, so I guess I’m not against it either.” Henry shrugs, turning back to Adam for further instructions, “Can’t hurt.”

Alex rolls his eyes again even though Henry can’t see him do it. Adam smirks at him, but then turns his attention back to the task at hand. He nudges aside a scented candle and a copy of Sense and Sensibility to fan the cards across the coffee table between himself and henry. “Pick a card, lay it on the table face down.”

Henry scoots forward so he’s closer to the table and looks down at the cards, studying them carefully. “Just one?” Henry asks, flicking his eyes up to him. 

“Just one,” Adam confirms, nodding his head a single time. 

Henry runs his fingertip over the cards before selecting one, placing it on the table between himself and Adam. Adam reaches over and flips it, placing it on the table. Everyone leans over and reads the card— Three of Swords. It’s not usually a good card, but it’s reversed, changing the meaning to match the beginnings of the answers Adam had already felt. The card is just a starting point, a catalyst that allows him to articulate more than before. “Family isn’t easy for you. There’s love there, loyalty, but also pain,” Adam says, looking to Henry, who offers no outward reaction. “You’ll be asked to make a choice, given an opportunity to heal.”

“And what choice should I make?”

Adam smiled softly, Henry having asked exactly the question Adam wanted. He wasn’t usually theatrical with his readings, not the real ones at least, but who doesn’t like a little suspense? “You’ll know which one feels right as soon as it’s presented to you, as long as you’re looking to the future and not the past,” he says, telling Henry what he knew as soon as he touched the card. 

Henry just nods, giving Adam no indication as to whether that actually meant anything to him. Alex looked—surprise, surprise—skeptical. “Okay, that’s pretty fucking vague,” he said, leaning back in his chair as Henry scoots back and returns to his former place at his feet. 

“Psychic predictions are accurate, not specific,” Adam says, reciting the phrase that the Fox Way women tell nearly every customer. 

Alex snorts, “That's convenient.” 

“Alex, do me a favor and shut up,” Nora says, flapping a hand at him as if shooing a fly. Alex sticks his tongue out at her. “Can you do another reading?” she asks, looking at Adam as he reshuffles his cards needlessly to return them to their rightful place. 

“It’s not a party trick,” Adam says instinctively, shuffling his cards from one hand to another, but hesitates putting them back in the bag. “But I'll do one for him,” he says, nodding to the secret service agent—Cash, he remembers—sitting silently at his post in the corner. 

“Me?” Cash says, looking up from his copy of some Brandon Sanderson novel that Adam would never have the energy to read. At the same time Alex asks, “Cash?” Both voices are extremely hesitant. 

“Only if you want, of course,” Adam reassures Cash, pausing in his shuffling to address the man. “I just got the feeling like you need some guidance,” Adam says, shrugging, trying to appear nonchalant so as to not pressure him. Psychics cannot feel people’s emotions or read their minds, but Adam also had the ability of keen observation. He had spent the better part of the last two weeks with Alex, at his apartment or at Alex and Henry’s brownstone, which means that Cash has been hovering at the fringes that whole time. It seems like the other people in the room have almost stopped noticing the silent constant presence in their lives. Adam doesn’t have that luxury. He has an automatic reflex to be aware of his surroundings, and a long childhood with two angry parents made him very adept at reading subtle shifts in people’s emotions. 

“I’m on the job,” Cash protests half-heartedly, but gives in when June and Nora heckle him, marking his page and walking over to the coffee table. Alex moves from his armchair and to the couch so he can pull it forward and sit in front of Adam. 

“Same deal,” Adam says, “Shuffle and think about what you want to know.” He hands the cards to Cash and he shuffles them with the efficiency of someone who’s done it many times. When he’s done, he looks up to Adam for his next command. “Pick three cards, lay them face down on the table.”

“Why three for him?” June asks curiously, sitting forward to have a better view of the table. 

“It’s a past, present, and future reading, so, three cards,” Adam answers simply. 

Cash is not as thoughtful as Henry was, simply reaching into the deck and selecting three cards at random, setting them down on the table in a pile. Adam spreads them out so they’re evenly spaced apart. Adam flipped over the first card and restrains from reacting— The Tower. The card is one that he sees often when he helps during his visits to Fox Way—intense and sudden change, release, painful loss, tragedy. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and feelings then tells him, “You lost someone, recently. Someone important to you.” Cash is stone faced except for a tightening around his eyes. Adam gives him a look of sympathy and adds, “A brother.”

Cash clears his throat as he shakes his head, “I only have sisters.”

“I didn’t say sibling,” Adam insists, remembering readings that both Ronan and Adam have gotten about Gansey over the years. “A brother,” he repeats, and Adam can see that he understands. 

After Cash nods for him to continue he flips the next card— The Hermit. Adam sees that the card is reversed and frowns—loneliness, isolation, recluse. “You’re struggling with it,” Adam says, staring down at the card. “It’s thrown you, made you question things about yourself, the world.” 

“So what do I…” Cash starts but peters off. Adam doesn’t really like touching people, especially when he gives a reading, but he reaches over and places a steadying hand over Cash’s. Cash looks up at him in surprise, and nods for him to read the next card. 

He flips the last card and sets it back down on the table face up— Temperance. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, the three cards creating a clear picture in his mind. “Learn from others’ mistakes—lean on the people who care about you, trust them to support you through this,” Adam says, his voice steady and soft. “You’re always there for other people, let people be there for you.” Adam pauses and then adds something that the cards didn’t tell him, but he knows is true nonetheless, “And stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

Cash’s face clears, the first bit of emotion that he allowed to to show bubbling to the surface. Adam sees all of the pain and hurt and self-doubt. But he also nods, thanking him and rising from his seat. He mutters an excuse that Adam doesn’t catch and leaves the room, walking casually toward the kitchen; everyone in the room watches him go silently. 

Once he’s out of sight, Alex turns on him and says, “Fucking Christ, Adam.”

“Sorry,” he says, collecting his cards and shuffling again, “it can get intense sometimes,” he explains, reaching for his bag and putting his cards back where they belong. 

“So you do that a lot?” Henry asks, tipping his head to the side in curiosity and hopefully not judgement. 

“Not really,” Adam answers, rising from the floor and taking Cash’s seat in the stuffed armchair. “I did it a lot in college, but it wasn’t real, it was just reading people.”

“Is that what that was? ‘Reading people’?” Alex asks, air quotes and all. “Because that was fucking personal.”

“No, that was real,” Adam defends, not that he thinks he should have to. He squints at Alex, a bit annoyed; he thought they were past the point where Alex automatically thought the worst of him. “He needed guidance. College kids needed to be told that they’d pass their midterm without studying, which they wouldn’t, or that their boyfriend wasn’t cheating on him, which he was. I told rich, privileged assholes exactly what they wanted to hear, and they paid me for it,” Adam explains factually, his tone not betraying his irritation. 

“I’m in love with you,” Nora deapans, a small, crooked smile on her face. 

Adam smirks back at her. “I’m taken,” he says, lifting his left hand to show her his rings. 

“He can come too,” she retorts, winking at him. 

“So psychics don’t have, like,” he says, completely ignoring Nora, gesturing with his hand, “a code of ethics?”

“Ethical codes are for people that can afford them,” Adam says flatly, staring back at Alex with a challenge in his eyes.  

The tension is broken when June hits Alex in the face with a plush throw pillow. “Okay, break it up before I have to bail someone out of jail,” June says, as Alex sputters and grabs another pillow to retaliate. 

“So Adam,” Henry says in what Adam has come to recognize as his ‘I am changing the subject now’ voice, “you’re from Virginia, if I remember correctly.” Adam simply nods and he asks, “Are you going home for Thanksgiving break?”

Adam shifts uncomfortably and mutters, “I don’t really think of Virginia as home.” When he went to Harvard, Adam promised Ronan that he would come home. As much as he loved the Barns, he didn’t mean the Barns when he said it—he meant Ronan. Home was wherever he was, Ronan had committed to a small Thanksgiving at their apartment. No one says anything for a few seconds, and Adam doesn’t give them a chance to, adding, “But I’m going back to Richmond that weekend for an internship interview.”

Alex perks up at that, his face contemplative, “At Jackson Lewis?” Adam nods, making Alex throw his head back, releasing a sardonic laugh. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head, “Of course we’re interviewing for the same fucking internship.”

“You guys should carpool,” Nora suggests, a glint in her eye. 

“Carpool?” Adam asks, his voice deeply skeptical with his eyebrow raised. 

Alex shrugs and picks at the label on his beer. “It would be better for the environment.” 

“I’m staying in Henrietta to check on things,” Adam says in an attempt to protest. 

“I’ll go with you,” Alex says, smirking at him, “you can give me the hometown tour.”

“Ooh romantic,” Nora teases, smiling wide. “Are you guys at that point in your relationship?” Adam grimaces as Alex leans back to flip her off behind June’s head; Nora returns the gesture with her smile firmly in place. 

Adam sighs deeply, accepting his fate. He was going to stay at the Barns, but he can’t take Alex somewhere with so much evidence of Ronan’s dreaming. He gives one last protest, hoping he’ll abandon the idea. “Really, Henrietta is like, middle of nowhere rural Virginia.”

“Can’t wait,” Alex says, grinning at him. Adam sighs again, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. He hadn’t really expected that to work—he’d learned that Alex doesn’t change his mind once he’s decided something—but he couldn’t help but try. 

“Ooh, does he get to meet the parents? Big step,” June says, joining in on Nora’s joke. 

Adam’s jaw clenches as he tries to keep a reaction from his face. After his experiences in college, he had decided that he wouldn’t lie about his parents—pretending that he had a perfect, loving mom and dad only made thinking about his childhood all the more painful. But his childhood was firmly in the ‘not a secret, but I don’t want to talk about it’ box. Thankfully, he doesn't have to, as Alex is quick to protest. “This joke is getting old,” Alex says, leaning heavily against Henry’s side to glare at the women sitting with them on the couch. 

With the Barns off the table, that really only left one place for them. “I should tell you that we’ll be staying in a house full of psychics,” Adam says, plastering a teasing smirk on his face. 

Alex groans. “Jesus, were you raised in a fucking coven or something?”

“If you want to get out in one piece,” Adam warns, “don’t call them witches.”

Chapter Text

Alex looks outside at the landscape blurring past the car window, spotting the green sign announcing the impending Henrietta exit. He glances over at Adam, finding his hands clenched around the steering wheel of the BMW, making his knuckles white, and his eyes hard in an attempt to not show any outward reaction to the return to his hometown. He seemed his normal self on the long drive down, excited even, but after the interview, he got more and more uneasy the further they got from Richmond. It was subtle—Adam didn’t seem to be one for large reactions—but Alex was watching him closely. 

—Alex was sitting up with his back against the headboard, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. He has a long day tomorrow and really should be asleep, but he’d developed an inconvenient inability to sleep without Henry beside him. Alex glanced up as his boyfriend walked into the room, slapping his phone against his palm absentmindedly before putting it down on the nightstand. He didn’t lay down like Alex had expected, instead sitting on the edge of the bed and turning to him, “Did you ask Cash about what Adam said?”

Alex squinted at him curiously—Adam gave Cash and Henry readings weeks ago, and it seemed that Henry had forgotten about it almost immediately. “I just asked if he was okay, and he said he would be and that he didn’t want to talk about it because it was personal.” Alex remembered the complicated look on Cash’s face that night in June’s kitchen—sad, but decisive. He didn’t know how accurate Adam’s prediction was, but it definitely struck a nerve. “Why do you ask?”

Henry settled further onto the bed, resting his back against the headboard next to Alex and grabbing his hand. “Phillip called me,” Henry said, running his fingertips over Alex’s thumb, “Martha’s pregnant.” Neither of them said it, but they were both thinking about what Adam said about Henry’s family growing. Coincidence. 

Alex hummed neutrally and turned to face Henry. “How do you feel about it?”

“He asked me to be the godfather,” Henry said, not really answering Alex’s question, and giving him about ten more. He again thought about what Adam said—he’d be faced with a choice, he would know which one is right. Alex didn’t really need to ask what he would choose—he knew Henry’s heart. He didn’t get the chance to anyway. “How much do you know about Adam?” Henry asked, completely shifting gears. 

“Um,” Alex said eloquently. How much did he know about Adam? If he were any other person, Alex would say he knew quite a lot about him, but it was becoming more and more evident that Adam was not like most people. He was like a fucking onion—every time Alex had him figured out, there was another layer. “A moderate amount, I guess,” Alex answered, shrugging. 

Henry released a sardonic breath of air. “I remember when you hated him, and you whined that he didn’t make much sense,” Henry said, and Alex frowned, wanting to protest at the use of the word ‘whine.’ He wasn’t a fucking preschooler. “I think I’m beginning to see what you mean.” 

“Care to elaborate?” Alex asked, raising questioning eyebrows at him. 

Henry sighed as if put out by having to say his thoughts out loud. “Well,” Henry started and paused to contemplate, “not that I, as his employer, can tell you any specifics, but his work history is really quite strange. And, if you ask him a question about himself, he answers it in the most straightforward way possible. You ask how he met his husband—high school; you ask where he’s from—Virginia.” Alex didn’t say anything, and Henry seemed to have more to say the more he said. “And did you notice how he said that he didn’t think of Virginia as home and then quickly changed the subject? Or how he avoided any questions about his family?” Alex just stared at him—no, he hadn’t noticed any of that, but Henry always was much more observant than he was. 

“This really bothers you,” Alex observed, his tone nonjudgmental. 

“I suppose,” Henry said, shrugging a single shoulder. “It’s just a lot of mystery for someone we’ve known for nearly a year. I mean, I know Juliet’s cat’s birthday.” 

Alex snorted, but it didn't come out as amused as he was aiming for. He thought he had Adam mostly figured out, and there’s another layer making him, once more, a mystery. Fucking great.—

If you were to look up photos of a small town, Alex is pretty sure Henrietta would be among the top results. It was quaint, nice even, with the trees turned the orange and red and yellow of autumn lining the streets, the houses modest, the streets narrow and unclogged of any traffic. Alex glanced at Adam in his periphery, who was navigating the streets easily, taking in none of his surroundings except for the road in front of him. He relaxed infinitesimally when they pulled up to the curb outside of a three story home, made interesting by its eccentricities. It was sky blue with a large porch and a conglomerate of at least three different architectural styles. The word ‘Psychic’ was hand painted in the front window, ‘By Appointment Only’ underneath in a smaller font. 

Adam opened the driver’s side door, and Alex could see Cash doing the same in the rear view mirror. Taking two separate cars kind of defeated the point of carpooling, but Adam insisted that he needed his own car while he was there, and changing his mind had proved to be impossible. Alex opened his own door, climbing out and following Adam up a stone walk. 

Once they’d climbed the porch steps, Adam paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to see that both Cash and Alex were behind him. “Don’t let Calla touch you,” he ordered. Alex didn’t know who Calla was, but he nodded obediently. “If they offer you tea—no,” he said, before pushing the door open and walking inside. With a furtive glance back at Cash, Alex followed. 

The inside of 300 Fox Way was warm and smelled of herbs. They stepped into a kitchen crowded with four women. One is not much older than him and Adam, sitting at the table typing something on an old cellphone, her long legs exposed despite the chilly November weather and spread out on the chair next to her. She doesn’t react to their arrival, other than looking up briefly and winking at him when they make eye contact. The second is sitting at the kitchen table across from the other woman, a bit younger than Alex’s mother. She was writing something in a notebook, but when they came in, she looked up to glare at him and Cash sharply. The third is at the counter grinding something in a mortar and pestle, and bears a strong resemblance to Adam’s friend Blue, who is the fourth person in the room. 

Blue launches herself into Adam’s arms, and the man catches her easily, wrapping his arms around her in a rare display of intimacy. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Adam said, resting his chin on top of her head. 

She pulls back and swats him on the shoulder, “Yeah, and you didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said, her voice mostly pleased to see him, with a touch of annoyance. “Mom told me, so I planned a visit,” she explained, shrugging as she smiled up at Adam. “Hi Alex,” she adds, leaning around Adam to wave at him; he waves back, a bit more shyly than he would normally ever be. 

The woman that Alex assumes is Blue’s mother brushes her hands off on her jeans and walks over, giving Adam a hug as well, though a bit less enthusiastically than her daughter’s. She pulled back but held her hands on Adam’s upper arms to keep him close. “Well,” she said, raising her eyebrow at Adam, her Virginia accent thicker than both Adam’s and Blue’s, “aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Adam introduced everyone to each other, simply pointing and stating names with no further details. Alex reaches out and shakes Maura’s hand. “Thank you for having us ma’am,” he says politely, leaning into his own Texas drawl. 

Maura smiles at him as she clasps his hand in both of her own. “Any friend of Adam’s,” she replies, releasing his hand. 

Orla, apparently indifferent to his southern charm, interjected, “Did you give the big one a reading?” her voice uninterested as her large nose was still buried in her phone.

“Cash,” Adam reminded her, “and yes.” 

“Good,” Orla says, her tone judgmental, “he needs it.” 

Blue shoots her an acidic glare while her mother just smiles politely. “I apologize for Orla,” she says, and then turns to Cash and places a maternal hand above his elbow, “Things will get better honey.” Maura shuffles back to the kitchen counter and continues grinding something, but turns her attention back to Adam, “Are you doing your exercises?”

“Yes,” Adam says simply, and Maura raises a questioning sharp eyebrow at him. “I am,” he insists, and Maura nods at him, appeased. 

“Have you dumped the snake yet?” Calla snaps, rising from the table and sauntering across the small kitchen to stand near them.

“You were at our wedding,” Adam replied flatly, leveling Calla with a perturbed glare. “And you can stop pretending not to like him. It gets less and less convincing by the year,” he adds, crossing his arms and raising a challenging eyebrow at her. 

“Is he still into men,” Orla chimes in, still spread out at the table, flapping her hand at Adam, “like, exclusively?”

Adam squints at her and answers, “Yes,” firmly, sounding a bit more genuinely annoyed than he had with Calla. “And you were also at our wedding.” 

“So greedy Coca-Cola,” Orla says, smirking up at Adam. “Share with the class.” 

“I wore that shirt one time ,” he mutters under his breath. 

Alex jumps slightly, feeling a light hand at his neck as Calla interjects. “Is he dating a prince? And you brought him here?” she asks, glaring at Adam, who only shrugs nonchalantly in reply. “The boyfriend seems sweet,” she says, her voice raspy, turning back to Alex, “that family though—”

Blue slaps Calla’s hand away from where it was resting over the chain around Alex’s neck. “And you’re done,” she snaps, and then grabs Adam by the forearm. “We’re going outside,” she announces, already marching away with Adam in her grasp. 

Alex looks around at the women in the kitchen and stammers a quick, “It was nice to meet y’all,” before he follows, not wanting to be left alone. 

Alex catches up with the pair as they’re walking through a back door that opens and shuts with a creak. He smirks to himself at the familiar dynamic that Adam had with the women at Fox Way. The welcome in the kitchen reminds him of the mix of concerned checking in and lighthearted teasing that happens at every one of his own family holidays—they may not be his parents, but Alex suspects that they are Adam’s chosen family. He wonders if Adam knows that they see him in the same way. 

Blue doesn’t release Adam’s arm until they reach a tall, beautiful beech tree in the backyard, and Blue sits with her back resting against the trunk, Adam crossing his legs in the grass next to her, his weight leaning back onto the heels of his palms; Alex follows suit, lowering himself to sit on the ground. Once they’re settled, Blue looks between him and Adam and asks, “You didn’t warn him about Calla?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Of course I did,” he said, flapping his hand at Alex dismissively, “he just doesn’t listen.” 

“Hey, that was non-consensual touching,” Alex protests. “What the hell was that anyway?” 

Blue opens her mouth, ready to offer an explanation, but Adam cuts her off. “Don’t bother,” he said, smirking, “he doesn’t believe in witchcraft.” 

Blue huffs and throws a plucked dandelion at Adam, and he blinks reflexively when it hits him in the face. “You spend too much time with Ronan,” she grumbles. “Marriage has made you more insufferable, and I didn’t think that was possible.” 

Alex snorts as Adam rolls his eyes at her. “Speaking of, you didn’t bring Ronan,” she observes, tipping her head to the side questioningly. 

“Thanksgiving is busy at the non-profit,” Adam explains, “and we are allowed to go places without the other.” 

“Are you?” Blue asks sarcastically, smirking. “That must be new.” Adam flips her off half-heartedly.

“You didn’t bring Gansey,” Adam points out in accusation. 

“Nope,” Blue says, simply shrugging. “Bros before hoes,” she declares, offering Adam a fist bump, which he obliges with an eye roll and a small smile. She then turns to Alex, offering him the same. Alex reluctantly bumps his knuckles against hers—he left his ho at home too, after all. 

They sit and talk under that beech tree for a long while, the cool breeze rustling the yellow leaves still clinging to the branches. It’s mostly Adam and Blue talking, catching up like old friends or even siblings—it’s hard to believe that they ever dated, but he guesses people could say the same about him and Nora. They talk to Alex too, with questions about school and Henry that Blue hadn’t learned at the fundraiser. He doesn’t know how long they’re out there for, but it feels like no time at all. 

When they’re walking through the yard back towards the house, Adam’s steps falter, and he falls, one knee digging into the grass and dirt. He shoots up quickly, his breathing rapid, uncaring of the hand that Blue has placed at his shoulder, and starts swearing under his breath as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mutters as he taps his phone and puts it up to his ear. “Goddamn it, Ronan, pick up your phone!” Adam exclaims, pulling his phone away from his ear to tap something again, and then immediately putting it back. 

“Adam—” Blue says, her face screwed up in concern.

“Lynch what the hell did you do?” Adam asks, cutting Blue off. He runs his fingers through his hair as he paces the small yard, listening to Ronan on the other end. “Well was it Hennessy?” he asks, pausing again to listen. “You should leave New York, get back to the main line,” he implores, sounding frantic, a bit panicked even. Alex is taken aback, feeling uneasy at the crack in Adam’s cool exterior. Adam always seemed unshakable, it’s unnerving to see him lose his composure. 

“This isn’t a fucking joke Lynch!” Adam almost yells, making Alex’s eyes widen at him. Blue places a calming hand at his shoulder and he shrugs it off. “Fine,” he snaps, “but if you even start to feel weird—” He cuts himself off, presumably because Ronan interjected. “Okay,” Adam says, more calmly now. “Ronan,” he breathes out, gently, taking a few steadying breaths to calm down, “Tamquam—”

After a few more seconds, Adam hangs up his phone and shoves it in his pocket. Blue places her hand back on Adam’s shoulder, and this time, he doesn’t shake it off, leaning into his friend’s comfort. “He’s going to be fine,” Blue says, her tone comforting as she rubs her hand over her shoulder in small circles. 

Adam nods, and it only takes a few moments for his demeanor to shift completely. His look is one Alex recognizes—determination, complete focus on a goal. “The line,” he says, looking down at Blue, “I need to—”

“I know,” Blue says resolutely, leading the way inside surely with Adam close behind. Alex doesn’t know what just happened, or what was about to happen, but he follows. 

———

Alex is lying on his side in a twin bed, his arm under the pillow, staring unseeingly at canvas trees adhered to a wall, clearly cut by someone with a dull pair of craft scissors. He’s been in this position for about an hour. He thinks. It could have been three hours. Maybe only thirty minutes. He honestly doesn’t know and doesn’t give a shit. 

He wants to call Henry, but what would he even say? ‘Hey baby, I just watched my friend’s soul leave their body in some freaky ritual and it turns out magic is real and my world has not turned upside down at all. How was your day?’ 

He turns his head at a light knock against the frame of the open door and sees Adam, his hair damp, wearing a familiar Harvard sweatshirt and black sweatpants far too big for him, hovering awkwardly at the entrance of the room. “Hey,” he says, crossing his arms, “you okay?” 

Alex sighs and lifts himself into a sitting position, scooting back so his back is resting against the wall. “I…” he starts, and just shakes his head, “I have no fucking clue.” 

Adam’s smile is small, and he lets out an amused breath of air through his nose as he walks through the door, settling on the other twin bed crammed into the small room. “Cash accepted the offer of tea,” he says, apropos to nothing. “Rookie mistake.” 

Alex snorts, knowing that Cash would be too polite to turn down a mug of gasoline if it was offered. “So, magic huh?” he says inelegantly.

“Yup,” Adam says, a smirk in his eyes. “I won’t say ‘I told you so.’” 

“Gee, thanks,” Alex replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “What I meant to say is, how do you do, like, all this?” Alex asks, motioning to the room, hoping that Adam caught his true meaning. 

“It’s not my whole life,” Adam answered firmly, turning his head to face him, “it’s just a part of it.” Alex just nods, thinking it over for a moment. Adam was apparently a psychic that tends to a ley line—whatever that means—but he was also a law student with a job and a husband. It’s a little easier to see how it all fits together now, but Alex wonders if he would juggle it all so gracefully; he thinks not. “Anyways,” Adam said, matching his position with his back against the wall at the head of the bed. “I feel like you know everything about me now and I don’t know anything about you.” 

Alex snorts ruefully. He’s starting to feel like he knows everything and nothing about Adam at the same time. “What do you want to know?” Alex asks, raising his brows at the other man—there aren’t many questions about Alex that can’t be answered by a Google search. 

“Well for one,” Adam answers without hesitation, as if he’s been waiting for Alex to ask, “you’ve never even told me how you and Henry met.” 

Alex furrows his brow at him. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

Adam’s look of confusion mirrors his own. “What do you mean?”

“It’s in the emails.” 

Adam’s face scrunches up even more before it clears in realization. “Oh you mean the ones from the White House email server?” Adam asks, and Alex nods, holding back an eye roll. “Yeah, I didn’t read those.” 

“You didn’t?”

Adam does actually roll his eyes. “You think everyone just sits around reading your sexts to your boyfriend? Some of us have lives, Alex,” he says, his voice a bit teasing. At least he thinks. It was difficult to tell when Adam was being serious and when he was joking. 

“Fuck off,” Alex says, throwing a pillow at Adam, which he catches easily and puts behind his head. “They weren’t sexts.” Not most of them, anyway. 

“Whatever,” Adam said, flapping his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You going to answer the question or what?” 

Alex huffs and looks forward, his skull resting against the hard wall. “We met at the 2016 Olympics. He was a dick; I was a dick back for the next three years, give or take.” 

Adam just hums to show that he heard him. “What changed?” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, crossing his legs under himself and turning toward Adam fully.

“Why did you stop being a dick?” 

“I just realized that he was a lot…more than I thought he was,” Alex answered softly. 

Adam’s smile in return was just as soft, nodding in easy understanding. “Was it hard?” he asked quietly, lulling his head to the side to face him. “The whole email thing?”

Alex snorts sardonically. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

Adam raises a single pale brow at him. “Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his vowels drawn out. Alex had noticed that his accent became more pronounced when he was tired, but it had come out in full force around the Fox Way women who had the same drawl. 

Alex didn’t have anywhere to be, and Adam was looking at him openly, so he talked. He told him everything—meeting Henry, hating him, being friends with him, falling in love with him, fighting for him. He didn’t know how long he talked for, but Adam never interrupted, simply humming affirmatively to show that he was listening. It was nice to say it all to someone who didn’t already know the whole story, who hasn’t read his private thoughts. Getting to choose what he shared and what he didn’t, it made the story feel like theirs , as it always should have been. 

When he talks about how things have been since then, how some people love them, a little too much, but there will always be people that hate him, Adam speaks for the first time in what seems like forever. “Yeah I get what that’s like,” Adam says quietly, and Alex doesn’t reply, waiting for him to say more. He turns toward him, looking like he already regretted speaking, and adds, “I mean, not really, but you can’t be an openly queer couple in rural Virginia without people having opinions.” 

Alex looks at him, considering. “Is that why you hate it here?” 

Adam’s reaction is small, but immediate. His jaw tenses, and his hand pauses where it was fidgeting with a loose thread on the blanket in his lap. “It’s just,” he says, shrugging in an unconvincing attempt to appear casual, “it was always a place for leaving.” 

Alex doesn’t say anything, isn’t sure what he could say, but he doesn’t get a chance anyways, with Adam rising from his place in the bed and shuffling toward the door. “Would you mind leaving a little early tomorrow?” Adam asks. “I have something I want you to see.” Alex agrees easily—it’s not like they’re on a timetable and his curiosity would win out anyway. Before he leaves, Adam pauses in the doorway, his dust-colored hair illuminated by the yellow light in the hall. “Good night Alex,” he says quietly. 

Alex smiles at him even though Adam can’t see him in the dark of the room. “Good night Adam.”

Chapter Text

Adam hadn’t been back to Antietam Lane in over seven years—when he was still Adam Parrish. 

He pulled the BMW next to the row of dilapidated mailboxes slowly, the tires crunching over the loose gravel. He gets out without saying anything, and Alex follows, both of them sitting on the hood of the car like he and Ronan would do when they were still teenagers, their hands clasped between them, looking up at the stars. 

From this pull-off by the road, you can see the entire trailer park—two rows of double wides, a dirt path between them that could liberally be referred to as a driveway, the colorless landscape of dry grass spread out around it. From where he sat, he could see his parents’ old trailer, the place that he lived for 17 years but never called home. He could see the blue paint peeling off the siding, the ramshackle carport behind the trailer where Adam used to hide out when his father was drunk and angry, the rotting wood of the porch railing that deafened him. 

Seeing the structure elicited no fear in Adam—the monster that used to haunt the small trailer was not inside. Adam used to call his mother when he was at Harvard. It wasn’t often, and the calls never lasted long, but he called. That is, until the last time he called and he had been informed by Robert that his mother was dead, that her funeral was three weeks ago, and that he should stop calling. Ronan held him close after that call, rubbed his broad hand comfortingly over his back, but Adam hadn’t cried. 

Alex sat silently beside him—and Alex was seldom silent—waiting patiently to be told why he was here.

— No one can know you unless you let them, Adam—No one gives a shit where you came from, Parrish—You’re not unknowable. You just seem determined to not let anyone know you—

His childhood was not a secret. He was not ashamed of it. He just didn’t like to talk about it. So instead he said, “Why do you want to be a lawyer?” Alex’s head snapped around to look at him, his eyebrows screwed up in confusion. Adam explained, “You got your undergrad in government. Your parents are both politicians. You didn’t need to go to law school, so why did you?” 

Alex is what one might call an open book; he wore his heart on his sleeve. Adam, life long people reader and observant by necessity, didn’t take long to figure him out. This was one thing that he didn’t understand though, and Adam needed to understand him completely before he could ever trust him. 

Alex turned away from him, squinting in the orange light of early morning shining over the trailer park. “I know that you think I’m a privileged, idealistic dick,” he said, and paused before flicking his eyes over at him. “Not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping for a protest there.” Adam released an amused huff of air, and Alex went on, “But you were right that day in Constitutional Law—the law isn’t always fair. And as much as I want to change that, I’ve also seen how politics works,” he sits up more fully, shrugging, “I just want to do the most good I can, and I don’t think I can do that in politics.” 

Adam smiles softly, satisfied that the piece of information slotted perfectly with the information he’d already known about Alex—idealistic, empathetic, wanted to change the world. 

“What about you?” Alex asked, looking back at him. “Why did you go to law school?”

Adam sighed, trying to steady himself. Of course, this was exactly what he expected Alex to ask, he’d basically handed the question to him on a silver platter. Adam pushed himself up from where he was lying against the windshield, pointing his index finger into the park, “Do you see that trailer over there?” Alex followed the direction his finger indicated and nodded, turning back to him, giving him a questioning look. “That’s where I lived until I was 17.” 

“I’m…” Alex starts, but doesn’t continue. Adam suspects he was going to say something like ‘I’m sorry,’ but he stopped himself, probably realizing that, while understandable, the response was completely the wrong one. Not that there was a right one. “I didn’t know that,” Alex lands on. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Adam said, not unkindly, “I didn’t tell you.” Alex nods, looking at him and waiting patiently for him to go on. 

“All the kids in the trailer park, we used to walk by each other with our eyes down, pretending we didn’t see the bruises on each other’s faces. I got out when I was 17 and never looked back, but a lot of the kids I grew up with never did.” Adam hadn’t looked at Alex in a while, and when he did, he was attempting to appear neutral, but his eyes betrayed what he was feeling, showing sympathy and admiration and hurt and care. Adam looks away quickly, not irritated by Alex’s feelings as he once would have been —Sympathy and pity are not the same thing, Adam— but needing to ignore them to continue.

“Living in a place like this, having the parents we had, you forget that you matter. But…I always did, even when I forgot that. I mattered. They matter,” Adam says, motioning to the trailer park, and thinking about the kids who were probably still asleep in their tiny beds, in a room small enough to be a closet, of teenagers that probably weren’t here, but across town, already at their first job of the day. Adam used to be those kids, and part of the reason he got where he is today is because he had Gansey and Blue and Ronan—people who gave a shit about him enough to make him believe he was worth more than all this. Not everyone has that. He wants to do something for people like him, even if that just means getting them the tiniest scrap of justice in a world that’s never been fair for them. “That’s why I went to law school.”

There’s a few beats of silence, not uncomfortable, with only the sound of the breeze whipping across his ear. Adam startles when he feels a cold, soft hand snaking around his own, squeezing hard.

Adam Parrish took friendships very seriously. Here, in Henrietta, Gansey had formed a group of four people that gave one another their all. They weren’t without their issues, but they would die for each other. Adam Parrish did not have friends—he had family. 

When he went to Harvard, he attempted to curate a group that would match this dynamic, but it fell short. Since he left Virginia, Adam had failed to find people with the same capacity for love and fierce loyalty that he craved. 

That is, until he met Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

As he finally looked at Alex again, his emotions were written all over his face, just as they always were. Adam breathed a sigh of relief when he looked at the other man’s face and saw something that he hadn’t dared to hope for—understanding. He squeezed Alex’s hand back.

Chapter Text

When you’re growing up, no one ever tells you how much fucking work a relationship is. Alex, as a child of a messy divorce, came to understand the concept at an unusually young age. Suddenly, every relationship in his life required work—seeing his father was an occasion, not just a daily occurance at the breakfast table, and seeing his parents together became a delicate balance, with him and June being the mediators. It was a lesson he kept having to learn, as he’d chosen possibly the most difficult option for a person to spend his life with. Alex learned it the hard way—no matter how much you care about someone, being a presence in their lives will take effort. 

Alex was nothing if not an overachiever. 

Adam parked the BMW at the curb outside the brownstone the Monday following Thanksgiving, and he got out to walk Alex to the door; it wasn’t necessary and they both knew it, but neither of them said anything. Alex paused before walking in, turning to Adam and gathering the other man in his arms—not an easy task, with Adam being about three inches taller than him—and holding on tight. Adam stiffened in shock for a second, his arms straightened at his sides, unsure what to do. But it was only a moment before he tentatively wrapped his arms around Alex in return. As Alex let go and Adam went on his way, they did so with a silent vow that they would see each other again, that they would be presences in each other’s lives. 

———

Adam walked into the building for his Civil Procedure class way too early. The building was desolate, his every step echoing off the walls of the empty hallway. After he and Ronan spent all of winter break in Richmond for Adam’s internship, they both came back to the city a bit disoriented after the time away, and Adam gave himself over an hour for his half hour commute. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out and looked down at it as he opened the door to the lecture hall, letting it bang shut behind him loudly without a care. He took the stairs down toward the front row slowly while he looked down at his phone, smiling at the picture Ronan had sent him. It was of a young girl holding up two radishes almost the size of her head, a partially toothless grin spread wide across her face. He buried his phone back in his pocket, along with any warmth that spread out in his chest at the image—they were not in a place in their lives when they should be considering kids. 

He starts to swing his bag off his shoulder, but his steps falter, stopping dead in his tracks next to his usual seat. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, looking down at the man in his seat. There, sitting in Adam’s seat, more than an hour before class started, was Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

Alex looks up at him, grinning impishly. “Problem?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to feign innocence. 

“You’re in my seat,” Adam grounds out, tightening his hand around the strap of his bag. 

Alex hums, as if considering his point. “Have you considered getting here earlier?” he asked, looking endlessly pleased with himself. Adam is against physical violence of every kind, but he distantly wonders how difficult it would be to frame Alex for murder. He could probably figure it out. Alex throws his head back and laughs at his look of outrage. “Sorry man,” he said, rising from the seat and moving to the next one over, “I just couldn’t resist.” 

Adam rolled his eyes as he swung the bag off his shoulder and deposited it on the floor next to him. As he took his rightful place, he pulled out his laptop to open up the syllabus for this class. Alex, however, did not seem content to sit in silence, “How was your break?”

Adam turned away from the laptop that he wasn’t actually planning on reading anyway. “It was good,” he answered simply. Alex, of course, already knew how his break was. Since they’d gotten back from their visit to Virginia, Alex had been texting him a few times a week. Adam didn’t care for texting, usually only doing so to relay short pieces of information to others or to send photos, but he always read the paragraphs that Alex sent to him, and offered at least a few words in reply. And now he supposed they were sitting next to each other in class. 

It seemed that Alex was determined to become a fixture in Adam’s life. Adam didn’t mind. 

———

Adam closed the door to his apartment with a huff, getting home much later than usual. His classes that day went as they normally did, but with finals approaching, he and Alex studied in the library for what felt like an eternity. Alex wasn’t a terrible person to study with, Adam’s grades have actually improved since they started spending more time together, but he could be distracting at times—Adam has considered spiking his coffee with Adderall on more than one occasion. 

He pulled his arms out of his jacket and hung it next to Ronan’s, which desperately needed to get washed as there was an ever-growing dusting of dirt on the floor beneath it. He’d had a long day, and he planned to spend the night lounging on his couch and lazily making out with his husband—plans that evaporated as soon as he stepped into his apartment. As he began the short yet tiring march to his bedroom, he halted, shocked to see a tall blond man sitting at their table. More accurately, he was surprised to see his fucking boss sitting in his apartment, leisurely reading through a pamphlet as if this was an every day occurance. 

“Um,” Adam says, gaining the attention of Henry, who turned his head away from his reading material, “hi?”

“Hello, Adam,” Henry says, smiling at him congenially, completely ignoring the question in his tone. It’s not that he never saw Henry outside of work. He’d been to the brownstone plenty of times over the course of the semester, but Henry was normally just a quiet background fixture while he and Alex argued about civil procedure or typed papers across from each other in relative silence. He’d resolutely moved from the ‘boss’ box into ‘my friend’s boyfriend’ box in his mind, but now he was in Adam’s apartment, without said boyfriend, when Adam wasn’t even there. 

Adam was hovering awkwardly, he was hovering awkwardly in his own home, so he walked resolutely past Henry in search of Ronan. It didn’t take long in the small apartment, and he found Ronan in the kitchen, pouring water into two tall glasses. 

“What the hell is the Prince of Wales doing in my apartment?” he whispers harshly, without greeting. 

Ronan turns to him, raising a single sharp brow. “Would it kill you to say ‘honey, I’m home’ just once?”

“Lynch,” he grounds out, crossing his arms. 

“Chill Parrish,” Ronan said, gliding past him to return their Brita pitcher to the fridge, kissing his temple in greeting on the way. “We talk sometimes when I visit you at the shelter. He asked me about doing something for the kids with the non-profit,” he explained simply.

Adam’s eyebrows shot up. “And when was this?”

“I saw him in the break room when I was dropping off muffins,” he answered, shrugging casually. He sighed at Adam’s questioning look and mumbled, “We had extra blueberries.” 

“You’re becoming a housewife Lynch,” Adam snorted. 

“Just for that,” Ronan said, pointing a chastising finger at him, “you don’t get any banana bread.” Adam flicked his eyes over to the oven, and there was indeed a loaf of banana bread cooling on the rack, the smell making his mouth water. 

“Okay,” Adam said, turning back to the topic at hand, “that still doesn’t explain why he’s here .” Ronan shrugs in reply, turning back to his glasses of water casually, making Adam squint suspiciously. “Oh my god,” he says, his eyes widening in realization, “you like him.” 

Ronan’s head snapped back to him. “You fucking take that back,” he snapped. 

A wide grin spread on Adam’s face. “You’re friends with him,” Adam accuses teasingly. “Ronan Lynch is friends with British royalty.” 

“I am not ,” Ronan insists. “This is all apart of my assassination plan.” Adam shushes him as he elbows Ronan in the ribs, checking his forehead for a red dot, half convinced that he would be shot in the head on the spot. 

“I’ll leave you and your new BFF alone,” he said, leaning up and kissing Ronan, “Gansey will be so disappointed to be replaced. He might cry.” He turns to leave the kitchen, laughing at Ronan’s raised middle finger. 

———

“How have you never been to Pride?” Alex asks, still chewing a bite of his sandwich, his feet crossed on top of Adam’s desk as he reclined in a slightly rickety wooden chair—he would not remove his feet no matter how much Adam glared at them. Alex was interning at the shelter’s legal center for the summer, and Adam would be way meaner to him if he weren’t so fucking competent. 

Adam merely shrugs in reply. “When would I have gone to Pride?” The reasons why he and Ronan had never celebrated Pride month were simple—they usually spent June at the Barns. Henrietta did not exactly have a huge queer population, and a pride parade would probably consist of him and Ronan walking down Main Street together. 

“I hear it’s in June,” Alex replied sarcastically, making Juliet snort as she scarfed down her lo mein. 

“Seriously, you should come though,” Juliet said earnestly. “I know you’re allergic to fun, but I’ll bring you an epi-pen.” Alex laughs as Adam throws a potato chip at Juliet, which gets caught in her now pink hair. She fishes it out, plucking off a single strand of hair before popping it in her mouth uncaringly. “You’re coming,” she orders, pointing a chopstick at him while still chewing the chip loudly. “I want your beefy husband to carry me on his shoulders.” 

Somehow, his protests end with him agreeing to him and Ronan attending New York Pride with Juliet, Alex, Henry, June, and Nora. Juliet did indeed ride on Ronan’s shoulders, who still donned his all back attire, but with a rainbow stripe painted on each cheek. Adam wore a shirt of blue, purple, and pink, and he held hands with and kissed Ronan and laughed joyously with his friends as they walked down 7th Avenue, surrounded by strangers wearing a rainbow of colors in different combinations. It was too crowded and too loud and Ronan had to basically sign everything that anyone tried to say to him, but he didn’t even care. 

In Henrietta, Ronan and Adam never hid their relationship—Ronan didn’t like dishonesty, Adam didn’t like acquiescence. Adam would sit nestled under Ronan’s arm in their usual booth at Nino’s, Ronan would drop him off at Boyd’s with a farewell kiss through the open window, they would walk hand in hand through the farmer’s market, uncaring of who was watching and what they had to say. And people always had something to say—they were disgusting, they were adorable; they should be ashamed of themselves, they should be proud; they were abominations, they were brave. Whether it was positive or negative, everyone had an opinion. Here though, in a sea of people who were at once so different from them and also very much the same, they could just be. 

After the parade, they found themselves at Alex and Henry’s brownstone, surrounded by more of the couple’s friends that Adam didn’t recognize and nearly everyone from the shelter. Adam ended up with his back against the wall, watching everyone laughing and talking and getting delightfully drunk. He hears as Ronan approaches his right side, easily accepting the beer that he pressed into Adam’s hand and taking a sip. “Since when were you such a fucking social butterfly?” Ronan asks, raising a questioning brow at him and motioning to the people that filled the room. 

“You’re one to talk,” Adam retorts, smirking teasingly, “I saw you having a pretty long conversation with the Prince of Wales earlier.” 

“It’s all apart of the assassination plot,” Ronan says lowly, leaning in so as to not be heard threatening the life of someone in their own home. “I’m just playing the long game. He’ll never see it coming.” 

Adam laughs as he jostles Ronan with his arm. He knows that Ronan would never admit it, but he likes Henry. They talk in the break room when Ronan comes to visit Adam at the shelter, they have regular classes lined up at the non-profit for the kids, and Adam’s definitely heard them discussing Greek mythology before. “Whatever you say Lynch,” Adam says, deeply skeptically. 

He looks out at the room again as Ronan puts his arm around him, holding him close against his side as he sips his beer. “Should’ve invited Dick and Jane to this,” Ronan comments. 

“I did,” Adam said, smirking to himself, remembering Gansey sputtering when Adam called him and invited him to New York for Pride. “Gansey said that they, as heterosexuals, should not intrude on queer spaces.” 

Ronan snorted. “Them, heterosexuals,” Ronan says disbelievingly. “I don’t care what Blue says, straight women don’t fucking dress like that.” Adam laughed as he bumped Ronan with his hip, not completely disagreeing. “And I think we both know that Gansey would fuck you if you asked.” 

Adam looked up at him, the corner of his lips lifting in a rueful smirk. “And I think we both know I’d be fucking him.” Ronan leans in closer, burying his laughter into Adam’s hair. 

Adam settles with his head against Ronan’s shoulder, watches silently as Juliet and Alex attempt to play a game of beer pong, which is going far from smoothly as the table is too small and David chases the ball every time they fail to catch it, which is often. Adam smiles to himself—they’re the first real friends he’s made since he was a teenager in Virginia, and he’s pretty content with his choices. “You really like them, huh?” Ronan asked, nonjudgmental, as if reading his mind. 

“Yeah Lynch,” Adam answered, turning up to look at Ronan’s face, his cheek smushing against his husband’s shoulder, thinking about the friendships they’ve stumbled into. “I really do.” 

———

“I’m going to vomit,” Adam states factually, feeling like he’s already sweating through his polyester black robe. It was way too hot for May in New York, and Adam was wearing three layers of heavy clothing. He had graduated from NYU law. He was graduating, he had already passed the bar, and he was starting a job next month at a firm that represented the victims of child abuse. This was the day his life began. And the only thing between him and a future that he barely dared to imagine is one stupid, fucking speech. 

“You’re not going to vomit,” Alex protests, rubbing at his shoulders as if he were a boxer about to enter the ring. It failed to inspire confidence. 

“You do it,” Adam says, shoving his notecards at Alex’s chest. 

Alex was not having it, pushing his hands away from him and holding them there. “You’re the one who wanted to be valedictorian. You have to make the fucking speech.” 

“If you were smarter I wouldn’t have to,” Adam grumbles, and Alex rolls his eyes at him, very dramatically. 

“Ouch,” Alex deadpans. “Adam,” he said, his tone turning serious, his brown eyes earnest, “you’re a great public speaker. You kicked my ass at every mock trial this year. You’re going to be fine.” 

Adam doesn’t get a chance to protest, because his name sounds over the speaker, and he looks up to the dean smiling down at him. Adam stands frozen for a moment, until Alex shoves him toward the stage with a hand on his back, making him stumble forward a few steps. Adam looks back to glare at him, and Alex gives him an encouraging thumbs up. 

Adam climbs the stairs slowly, taking care not to trip, and rests his hands atop the wooden podium, clutching his cards. He leans into the mic reluctantly. “Good afterno—” he attempts, but leans back and winces when the mic squeals at him. He takes a steadying breath, and searches the crowd. Graduation is no small affair, but he finds Ronan easily, sitting next to Blue, who looks proud and almost smug, and Gansey, who may or may not be crying, lifting his wireframes to wipe at his eyes. Ronan’s eyes meet his, and he gives a small smile, his light blue eyes lighting up visible even from a distance. He nods once, encouraging, and Adam straightens his notecards needlessly, then turns back to the audience, and starts talking. 

———

Alex Claremont-Diaz was not nervous. 

There was no need to be nervous, they had an airtight case; any jury with even semi-functional brains would convict with only minutes to deliberate. He had it in the bag. 

Alex hadn’t planned to work for the DA’s office after graduating, and his friends gave him a lot of shit for it, but it was only temporary. A stepping stone to better things, things he believed in. And it wasn’t all bad. Cases like this almost made it worth it—a teenage delinquent that killed his own mother in cold blood? Some people just deserved to go to jail. Alex settled into the table closest to the jury box and sorted out his papers—not that he needed to; he had already sorted them three times this morning.

“I didn’t know you were the cop on this case,” someone comments right next to his ear, making him startle. He collects his papers from where they got spread across the table at his reaction, and looked up to see Adam fucking Parrish. 

“I’m not a cop,” Alex protests firmly, rolling his eyes. 

Adam smirks at him, leaning heavily on the hand he’s placed on Alex’s table. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

Alex huffs, choosing not to rehash an argument that they’d already had a thousand times. “You’re the defense?” he asks, raising his brows up at him, as if Adam’s presence here didn’t make it obvious. “You should tell the kid to plea out. It’s not a bad deal and there’s no way he’s getting acquitted.” 

Adam just smiles, almost delightedly. It makes Alex uneasy, shifting slightly in his uncomfortable seat—which is probably Adam’s intention. “Thanks for the advice,” he says smugly. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He knocks the table once before walking away as the judge enters, taking his place at the opposite table next to his client. 

The prosecution gives opening statement first, and Alex speaks confidently, addressing the jury directly, appealing to their sense of morality and outlining the undeniable evidence that he’ll lay out that will lead to the inevitable guilty verdict. The statement goes just as he planned, and Alex sits down, satisfied with his own performance. 

As Adam rises from his own chair, he throws a quick wink at Alex when the judge isn’t looking, and then approaches the podium to give his own opening argument. He tells the compelling story of a young boy who suffered abuse at the hands of an uncaring mother and her string of violent ex-boyfriends, making a few of the jurors sniff and wipe away tears. But Adam is analytical at his core, and his strengths have always been with logic over emotion. He tears apart each of the prosecution’s points piece by piece, already casting doubt on the evidence of the case, practically making Alex’s entire opening statement null and void. When he finishes his statement, he walks back to his table calmly, professionally, but when Alex catches his eye, he sees the smug glint there. 

Fuck.  

Sometimes, he really fucking hates Adam Parrish.