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Boyfriends
Adam grabs Ronan’s jaw to halt him; it takes some effort since Ronan’s body is rocking back and forth. There are tears in Ronan’s eyes as he chokes, clawing at his throat. With his other hand, Adam puts two fingers on Ronan’s lower lip and opens up his mouth. Ronan’s ice-blue eyes are bulging, imploring Adam to be quick, his skin bony white.
Moments earlier, Adam awoke with a start, knowing something was gravely amiss. His brain snapped awake like a whip crack, and he felt around the bed for Ronan, the sheets still warm where his lover had been. He stumbled into the living room and sat in front of Ronan as if in a trance.
Now, he hooks a finger at the back of Ronan’s throat, breathing slowly as Ronan gags on his fingers. This isn’t the first time he has had to pry a dream creature off of Ronan, nor will it be the last.
It was a normal part of their lives now: the Dreamer and the Magician. The Psychic and his lover. The Greywaren and his boyfriend.
There’s a splutter and a hacking cough as the black sludge dislodges, and Adam pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, his knuckle scraping Ronan’s wet, spongy tongue as he drags it out.
Adam pictures Ronan clambering out of bed, eyes blurry with sleep and body newly out of his dream-paralysis state, struggling to get out of their bedroom and into the living room so he does not wake Adam up with yet another dream creature out to get him.
He waits until Ronan catches his breath, his chest still heaving, saliva coating the sides of his mouth and tear streaks drying on his cheeks.
“Want to see it?” Adam asks, adjusting his weight on his legs now that Ronan’s life is not in imminent danger, a sharp ache plunging through them.
Ronan tilts his head onto the sofa and stares at the ceiling. He shakes his head.
Adam gets up, his knees aching in protest, to flush the creature in the toilet. When he returns, he crosses his arms. “Didn't want to disturb me whilst I slept?”
Ronan nods.
“Ronan.” Adam sighs, his shoulders stooping down, expelling every molecule of air from his lungs. “How many times do we have this conversation? It’s getting stale now.”
“Thought I could take it out myself.”
“When were you going to wake me up? After you choked to death?”
When they’re older, maybe 45 years old, or 60 or 90, Adam imagines finding Ronan’s body at the bottom of the stairs of the Barns. Or with his lifeless form dragged into the tool shed. Or buried in one of the fields surrounding the acres of land the middle Lynch inherited from his father, who also died on that farm. Niall Lynch was Ronan’s role model, for life and death.
He was starting to accept his fate of being a dreamer's widower.
“Would have got you, promise.”
Ronan never lies, so there is no reason to argue. The more time they spent arguing, the less sleep Adam would get. He can always pick up the argument the next day. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”
Silence. So, Adam grabs Ronan a flannel; there are plenty of them in every cupboard of every room, given Ronan’s abilities to wake up with the unknown clutching to him, or roaming around the apartment, some curious, others murderous. However, the latter was more contained in Ronan’s dreams as Ronan grew older and more in control of them.
After he soaks it in warm water in the kitchen sink, Adam slides between Ronan’s legs and wipes him down. He starts from Ronan’s eyes and uses a different corner for his mouth and cheeks, the third corner for the rest of his face. He uses the last side to wipe Ronan’s chest, which is tacky with sweat, like a sweet wrapper abandoned near a heater.
Adam passes Ronan a cold glass of water, his game console and a pair of headphones. As Ronan settles down, his back pressed to the sofa, Adam grabs his pillow from the bedroom: his neck grew stiff when he used his arm or the cushions on the couch to sleep on. The extra minutes gathering these things would prove more helpful in the long run. Adam was always playing the long game; life had battered it into him since he was young. Adam chucks the hoodie he wore during the day at Ronan, who had gone to bed in nothing but his boxers.
There’s already a blanket at the foot of the couch that he drags onto himself as he settles behind Ronan.
“Wake me up if you need me,” Adam says. “My alarm is for quarter past seven.”
He changed his alarm to add an extra 15 minutes; given the interruption, it would mean he would skip breakfast, but he always preferred sleep over food.
Sometime in the night, he turns over, his limp arm falling on the side of the sofa, blinking at the TV screen where Ronan is falling off a cliff in a game. Ronan shuffles across the carpet so Adam’s arm rests on his chest. Adam presses his face into Ronan’s shoulder blade and falls asleep again.
“What time is it?” Adam asks a while later, and he covers his eyes with his arm. His lower back hurts. They were in their early-twenties and yet felt ancient.
“4 am.”
“Can we go back to bed now? This couch isn’t as comfortable as I remember.”
There is no answer, but a few beats later, Ronan’s arms are under his shoulders and knees. For a second, his head lolls back, and he snaps it up. His eyes are cloudy, mind dizzy.
“I can walk to the bed,” Adam complains, wrapping his hands behind Ronan’s neck.
He fights to open his eyes: Ronan is looking at him with a smile on his face. It’s so soft, Adam wants to jump out of Ronan’s arms and put a wall between them.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Can a guy not look at his boyfriend without being questioned?”
“Or you got caught staring, and now you’re defensive.”
Ronan puts Adam in bed and slides in next to him. “I was remembering all the nights I slept on your bedroom floor above St. Agnes church.”
“Now you get to share a bed with me,” Adam says. “Lucky sod.” Hennessey’s vocabulary was rubbing off on Adam, years into their friendship.
Ronan curls up away from Adam, who spoons him, a clam shutting on a precious pearl.
“I was so alone, Adam.”
“Me too.” Adam presses his body into Ronan’s. It was not the discomfort of the couch that was bothering him; it was the lack of Ronan’s warmth that was taunting him.
“I would lie on that floor, you sleeping next to me, and imagine I was pressed against you.”
Adam kisses Ronan’s neck. “Ronan.”
“I had friends, I had brothers, but I was made to be in love. I was made for us.”
He wants to stay angry at Ronan for not waking him earlier, for always putting Adam above himself, irrespective of the situation. But how could he? How does Adam stay angry at this boy whom he loves so intently, with Adam’s body morphed into his, saying he was finally getting to live out the fantasies he had carried in him all those years ago?
Adam’s fingertips find their way to Ronan’s lips, as they always do, and Ronan’s breathing slows. He wishes Ronan a dreamless night, but was that the right thing to do? The same dreams that made Ronan into who he was are also the ones that undo him. In the same way, Adam’s autonomy cannot be pried from him, nor can Ronan’s dreaming from him.
What would have happened to the pair if Adam had not kissed Ronan back that night in the Barns on Ronan’s 18th Birthday? Would he have known, in the arms of another lover, that his true love was in his high school best friend? Would he have known that the chasm that he felt, minute by minute, at every inhale of breath was because a lonesome boy, in the thickest of his grief, with chaos in his mind and his body a target of his dreams, had prayed to his God for Adam? Would the unanswered prayer from Ronan Lynch have tormented him until the end of his days?
Adam shakes his head, his heart pinching. He needs to look at Ronan, or else something horrible is going to happen.
He turns Ronan onto his back and traces his face with his fingertips. He touches the warm eyelids behind which worlds are created and dismantled on the whim of his boyfriend’s mercy and morals. Those long eyelashes, envy of every female friend they share.The soft cheeks where hours earlier tears had run past against the torment of losing his life, begging Adam to save him with nothing but fear in his eyes.
Adam had found lots of girls and boys attractive and had harboured crushes on a handful, yet this was the first person he had fallen in love with and given Ronan’s devotion to Adam, he would be Adam’s last. Ronan was right with his extremely single-minded monogamous beliefs; Adam had never felt it so strongly than tonight.
He kisses each eyelid in turn. “Somnia de me,” Adam whispers. “Dream of an Adam that never hurts you, and when you wake up, teach me how to be him.”
Fiancés
“You seem to forget we’re a similar size, and I can throw you over my shoulders and take you to bed.”
Adam mostly did this on two occasions: when he was in a playful mood and wanted to make Ronan laugh, or when he had fucked Ronan to the high heavens and left him with jelly legs that did not cooperate beneath him.
This was a new occasion for Adam to offer his assistance. Or rather, a new threat.
Adam sits on the edge of the coffee table, his legs spread wide and his hands clasped between them, his black t-shirt loose on him. “Whatever I am capable of as a human and Magician, I can do better than you, Lynch. It comes from having worked incredibly hard for everything I have till today,” Adam said in a measured tone. “So, if you’re going to be a little bitch about this morning, I can be a bigger bitch, and then we'll both be miserable.”
He was right, of course. Adam Parrish was the best at whatever he set his mind to. Latin did not count; Ronan was the Greywaren and was predestined to know the language of the ancient forests.
Earlier this morning, Ronan had woken up to a beast, the size of a small child, choking Adam to death. It was slippery and languid, hissing at Ronan as he pried it off of Adam and killed it with one of the metal hangers off the floor.
Ronan catches Adam’s eyes, blue as his own, yet otherworldly, determined and thoroughly stubborn. He looks at the elegant face he fell in love with during his teenage years, and his heart thuds. How could he ever see Adam harmed? How could it be that the creatures of his brain were after his lover? Would he not die each day over and over again if it meant Adam was left untouched?
What could he do as the Greywaren to protect Adam, his past, present and the only person he sees in his future, from the harm of his dream creatures?
Adam stands and puts a hand down to him, which Ronan clasps and Adam yanks him up. They stand, mere inches apart, eye to eye. He puts his hand at the back of Adam’s neck, where hair meets soft skin, and seeps in the warmth of Adam’s skin, and when no words come to his lips, he pulls Adam into his arms. Ronan buries his face into his neck, letting Adam clasp him tightly. Ronan, who always spoke with his body, and Adam, who was always hungry for touch.
There were two people Ronan hugged without reservations or counting, without worrying if he always initiated the hugs or if they were welcome, the boy he held in his arms now and his brother Matthew.
“Don’t act stupid,” Adam says, pulling the duvet closer to his chin when they are settled into bed. “And stay up all night. It’s not going to solve any of your issues.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ronan snaps back, his eyes wide open and staring at the door.
Ronan always slept closest to the door, given his tendency to dream and the potential dangers he could bring back; a quick escape was always preferred. Also, when Adam slept with Ronan, he didn’t fuss about which side he lay on, his deaf ear irrelevant in his sleeping position as he trusted Ronan with his safety. So, how could Ronan be okay with being the danger he was supposed to protect Adam from?
He throws the covers over and is about to get up when Adam grabs his left wrist. His long, bony fingers tight around Ronan’s wrist. He yanks hard, and Ronan falls back, his head thudding against Adam’s chest. Having landed his government job, he now has the time to invest in his body, going to the gym often. It does wonders for Ronan’s body, considering all of Adam’s capabilities and how he utilises them for Ronan.
Adam shoves Ronan back onto his side of the bed, puts a finger to his chest and pushes into his rib cage. “I fell in love with you, knowing the risk you pose to yourself and me, knowing that our love was never going to be normal. This is a calculated risk I’ve taken, and if it means I wake up each morning with something killing me, I choose it, because I choose you, Ronan Lynch. And there is no changing my mind.”
Ronan files his words in the back of his head, to retrieve on a colder day: he was wanted, albeit the risks and shitty parts that came with being with him.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this, Parrish?” Ronan says, struggling not to lower his gaze from where Adam pins him. “What’s the harm in me sleeping on the sofa?”
Adam shuffles so he is more comfortable on his side. “Because this isn’t about where you spend the night. It’s about you thinking you’re dangerous to me and distancing yourself. I did not go through my entire life wanting to be loved only for my fiancé to sleep in a different bed than me.”
“So, this is about your ideal life again, isn't it?” Ronan says, trying to keep the heat from his voice. “You are so fixated on what you want from it, you’ll kill yourself to get to that picture-perfect life. I’ve seen you do it to stay in Aligbony, to get into an Ivy League, and to graduate. But this involves me. Another fucking person, this isn’t just Adam, an army of one.”
Adam's jaw tightens, and he blinks slowly at Ronan.
Ronan inhales sharply, sitting up. “When you chose me to fall in love with me, you gave up that title you held so closely to your chest. It’s us now. The two of us. And it’ll be until you get sick of me and leave, or I die. There is no other way around it.”
No matter what Adam did, there was no way Ronan was leaving him. Adam could end the world, and every being in it, and Ronan would hold his hand whilst he did it.
“You’ve been in my head,” Ronan says. “You have been with me in enough of my dreams to know the monstrosity lurking there. Why do you not understand the fear I feel? Would you not feel the same way in my place?”
Adam shrugs. “If I were in your place, probably yes. But I’m not, so I can only tell you what I think from where I’m standing.”
“I thought I’d be better at this by now,” Ronan murmurs. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until they hurt. He keeps digging, hoping it would wring out all the sleep and the dreams, hoping every creature that wanted to leap out with ill intent seeped out of his eyes and nose like his nightwash. “I want to be better at this.”
Sitting up, Adam slowly wraps his hands around Ronan’s wrists and pulls them away. He moves forward to kneel on the bed and puts Ronan’s hands in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he pulls Ronan into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
“Go sleep on the sofa if it’ll make you feel better about what happened this morning,” Adam says after a while. “Just don’t make it a habit, okay?”
Ronan shakes his head. “You’re right, I can’t run away from my issues. I’m going to get the hang of this,” Ronan says.
He lets Adam wrap his lanky body behind him, limb for limb. He pulls up Adam’s hand and presses it to his mouth, his solace in the world of whirling disarray. He was fighting whatever monster lurked in his head for Adam. For them.
Husbands
Adam is in the kitchen, his forehead and nose pressed into the dinner table, asleep. His left arm digs into the wooden table as his right hand clasps his phone. His hair is dishevelled, and Ronan’s t-shirt hangs limply on his body, unsure of the space it ought to occupy on Adam’s body.
Ronan did not mean to take so long to return, yet no matter how fast he drove, he could not get home soon enough. He had been gone for two days, yet it stretched into aeons; the need to return to Adam burned his lungs with every breath.
The sunset leaks into the kitchen, angry red feline-like scrapes on the grey skyline. Adam fell asleep a while ago; he had not turned on the kitchen light yet. Adam’s tiredness is evident from where Ronan stood by the door; he must have slept very little last night. Same as him.
He closes the distance between them and places a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Adam?” When he does not wake up, Ronan shakes him a little and kneels close to his hearing ear. “Adam.”
Adam raises his head slowly, his eyes opening and blinking a few times. He looks at Ronan and rubs his eyes before focusing again. Inhaling hard, he turns away from Ronan.
“Adam,” Ronan whispers in the quiet of the kitchen, the cold floors a relief to his knees. “It’s me. I promise.”
Finally, he turns and holds Ronan’s face in his hands, the warmth cradling him. “I was so sad,” Adam says. “It felt so heavy, Ronan.”
His eyes are grave, and his face is fractured with dread Ronan wants to wash away. Ronan could not let go of Adam, but he sometimes wishes he did not have to make Adam endure this amount of pain and stress so regularly due to his dreaming capabilities and being the Greywaren. Would Adam be happier being with a normal spouse? The one who went to a 9-5 job in an office and did not deal with magical creatures that endangered Adam and him?
Ronan pulls him into his arms and crushes Adam with his body so he can make Adam realise he is safe and back where he has belonged for so long: in Adam’s arms. Adam breathes him in, his face pressed deeply into Ronan’s chest.
When they part, after a very long time, Adam looks into Ronan’s eyes. Tear streaks line Adam’s pale face. “What happened in the dream space, it wasn’t real, was it?”
Ronan shakes his head. “The creature was showing us whatever we feared the most, and it just happened to be seeing the other die. It had an easy job manipulating us, but I learnt to look at the edges of the dreamspace by the end of it.”
“I knew it wasn't real,” Adam says, palms flat on Ronnan’s chest, one over his heart. “I would know if you died. I’d know.”
Ronan nods. “I know. Me too.”
Adam rests his forehead against Ronan’s. “It felt so real. I couldn’t shake the images away, and the past day’s been so fucking hard to get through. Even after talking to you on the phone, I couldn’t trust that what I’d seen in the dreamspace wasn't real.”
That was the problem with dealing with magic: it blurred the edges of reality and made one second-guess everything. And yet, Ronan’s being was sewn with magic, every stitch that made him who he was, and Adam no longer felt like himself when he was not practising magic. Magic was what made up the two of them, yet it was also what undid them all the time.
Ronan wraps himself in the comfort of Adam’s body, his warmth and the knowledge that his husband was alive and in his arms.
The loneliness of him being the Greywaren threatens at the edge of his vision, the same fog that clouded around him since the day he was born till he found Adam and laid himself bare for him. He could not go back to it. There was no returning to that dark blanket of loneliness that shrouded him for so much of his earlier years. He wants to grow old with Adam. Adam knows this, wants it too.
Ronan gulps back the fear that clogs his arteries: the one where Adam dies, and he spends the rest of his life alone, curled up at the bottom of the abyss, whilst everyone lives their lives. He could not picture it, in every universe he has Adam till his last breath.
He’ll make sure of it.