𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘛𝘢𝘮𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘮, Ronan had messaged, which was always supposed to be answered by 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮. But Adam hadn’t replied at all.

Adam frowned at him, and Declan was nearly certain he knew Declan was withholding information. Adam, as a secretive creature, understood secrets.

Secrets bound them together far more tightly than any friendship ever could, and so even when they went to school, they remained the Lynch brothers, the brothers Lynch.

Matthew might have been a dream, but nothing about him was pretend. Matthew was the truth.

A hero. It was an unfamiliar concept. Ronan had been the villain for so long, if he had been anything.

It seemed incorrect that Adam visiting would have made his loneliness worse, but he missed him acutely even as he was looking at him.

Declan! Getting engaged? He’d told Ronan when they were kids that he never wanted to get married, right before trying to knock Aurora’s wedding ring into the sink drain.

He tried not to think about all the shining, educated, straightforward faces in the brochures that Adam Parrish might fall in love with instead of him.

He said, “Ronan, I know you.” He said it just the same way he’d said it on the phone the night before. Ronan’s adrenaline melted out of him.

“Parrish,” Ronan snarled. “You aren’t allowed—” He pulled Adam up and held him close, feeling for breath, for pulse. Nothing, nothing. The seconds tilted by.

This is going to be a story about the Lynch brothers.

Ronan. Lynch. A truth, given away. A truth, transcribed forever. He hated it. So much softer to lie.

Because of course Jordan was good. Better than Hennessy. The best of all the girls. Hennessy’s best friend. Dreamt.

𝘛𝘢𝘮𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘮, said Ronan, and Adam said, 𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮. Cicero had written the phrase about Atticus, his dearest friend. 𝘘𝘶𝘪 𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.

In the dark, they tangled in each other for several minutes, and finally broke off when stubble had made lips sore. “I missed you,” Adam said, voice muffled, face pressed against Ronan’s neck.

Ronan was allowed to invoke Aurora because they all knew Ronan loved her as much as Matthew had. Declan, whose skeptical love was imperfect, could not.

Those days, Gansey was the hunter and Ronan the hawkish best friend kept hooded and belled to prevent him tearing himself to shreds with his own talons.

“I just want to know,” Adam said finally, in a slightly different voice from before, “that when I come for break, you’ll be there.” “I’ll be here.”

Ronan rubbed Adam’s fingers between his hands until they were warm and then kissed them.

“Say something in Latin.” Ronan thought. “𝘐𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘲𝘶𝘪 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵.” Some ancient poetry bitching about spending one’s birthday without a loved one felt apt.