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leylinedPart three in this whole saga of me writing shippy shit, we come around to Ronan. Enjoy.
It was freezing in St. Agnes that evening.
Adam should have known this would be the case, considering how unbearable the attic was in the summer, but the winter felt so much worse. He felt too skinny for even himself, and the temperature played hell on his hands, where even the clear bottle of lotion did nothing for Adam except give him soothing memories of Cabeswater and of Ronan.
Not that the latter was needed then. It was another night for Ronan where he mysteriously showed up at the doorstep of his little hovel and waited. Even though whatever turmoil he'd been going through in the past seemed to have calmed down, Ronan still showed up. Not that Adam complained, even when after his shower he found his friend curled up on his shitty bed hogging his shitty pillow. Instead he just curled up near Ronan and threw his thin blanket over the both of them, promptly followed by Ronan curling around him. It was probably for warmth but Adam allowed himself the gentle delusion that it was more than just that.
It was more than an hour later, and Adam still couldn't find sleep, even though he was warmer than he imagined he'd be in a usual situation. Ronan's arm lay stretched out before him, and he counted the scars there, traced them in his mind, then with his thumb. He almost stopped upon hearing the sharp intake of his friend's breath, but continued after a small reprieve and encouragement.
The puzzle of Ronan was a fascinating one, as intricate as the tattoo he could see peeking from the edge of Adam's periphery, but it was enough. For now, at least. The scars showed him a delicateness Ronan rarely let others see, reminded Adam he wasn't invincible. And as he brought his lips to touch one of those abused forearms, he promised himself he would always protect this boy, like no one had before.
It was freezing in St. Agnes that evening.
Adam should have known this would be the case, considering how unbearable the attic was in the summer, but the winter felt so much worse. He felt too skinny for even himself, and the temperature played hell on his hands, where even the clear bottle of lotion did nothing for Adam except give him soothing memories of Cabeswater and of Ronan.
Not that the latter was needed then. It was another night for Ronan where he mysteriously showed up at the doorstep of his little hovel and waited. Even though whatever turmoil he'd been going through in the past seemed to have calmed down, Ronan still showed up. Not that Adam complained, even when after his shower he found his friend curled up on his shitty bed hogging his shitty pillow. Instead he just curled up near Ronan and threw his thin blanket over the both of them, promptly followed by Ronan curling around him. It was probably for warmth but Adam allowed himself the gentle delusion that it was more than just that.
It was more than an hour later, and Adam still couldn't find sleep, even though he was warmer than he imagined he'd be in a usual situation. Ronan's arm lay stretched out before him, and he counted the scars there, traced them in his mind, then with his thumb. He almost stopped upon hearing the sharp intake of his friend's breath, but continued after a small reprieve and encouragement.
The puzzle of Ronan was a fascinating one, as intricate as the tattoo he could see peeking from the edge of Adam's periphery, but it was enough. For now, at least. The scars showed him a delicateness Ronan rarely let others see, reminded Adam he wasn't invincible. And as he brought his lips to touch one of those abused forearms, he promised himself he would always protect this boy, like no one had before.
