Chapter Text
(to learn of how you were comprised)
Ronan Lynch was almost certain that Adam Parrish was hired as his church’s pianist on the basis of the look of his hands alone. Not in a weird way. In a purely spiritual way, honestly. It’s just. Those hands with their vibrant veins and their long fingers and their sculpted knuckles were evidently made to pray and be prayed over. Which was what Ronan was doing then, bowed head and all, and he didn’t bother beating himself up over it. Christ is in everything, right, youth pastor Jamie?
He could praise all that was present in Adam Parrish’s ligaments and knew he was praising God, too. Like the David to his Michael Angelo, Adam Parrish – despite being the musician in the room – had inadvertently become St. Agnes church’s muse. Everyone from the five year old boy in the second row to the small huddle of elderly ladies in the seventh watched Adam’s masterful playing with reverential gazes. And when the service was finished, the church itself appeared to swallow him; he’d disappear up some staircase or other, like a pop star graciously escaping his hordes of fans, and appear the next Sunday morning as if he’d never left at all.
Often, Ronan couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Adam was borne of the church’s structure itself, some kind of ethereality produced from the wearing woodwork which took on the light of the sun streaming through the stained glass. And as such, it was the church which had gifted him his bone structure, sharp and divine and knobbly, and the dusting of the freckle-stars across his nose and cheekbones, and the shine that illuminated his eyes each time his finger-pads met ivory.
Regardless, the church – building and denomination both – clearly adored Adam Parrish. When they sang, they sang for Adam Parrish. When they took communion, they took it for Adam Parrish. When they told youth pastor Jamie to shut up, they did it for-
“I think you should ask him out,” Matthew whispered.
Ronan prided himself in his many years of practiced not-flinching, as it did him some good in this moment.
“Fuck off,” he said, equally softly. Not even so the horde of old ladies wouldn’t hear but more so he could catch Adam’s gentle opening on the keys.
“Settle down, Ronan,” said Declan, making Ronan tense and add a smattering of ticks to his mental Declan Deserves a Punch tally because what the fuck, Adam is starting and I can’t hear because of you, dickhead.
He was only briefly gratified by the small flick Matthew gave Declan, which he saw out of the corner of his eye before pouring his attention back to the beautiful boy and his music.
He was starting off with a well-loved melody: Revelation Song. A true crowd favourite. Hearing it, it was obvious that the documented reason for Adam Parrish’s employment at St. Agnes was indeed his hands, though noted down only as the vehicle for what they could do. (Matthew would surely pipe in, giggling, if Ronan were to say that aloud: “What those hands do!?”) But it was true, ever since Adam had first materialized earlier that year along with the springtime he’d gifted the insides of these walls with melody.
Now autumn, Ronan watched Adam close his eyes and fold his fingers in his lap as they all listened to the sermon. Now autumn, Ronan gently touched the crisp red leaf that sat in his pocket, ready for later.
It’s not like Ronan had planned it, the first time it happened. It had been the third Sunday that Adam worked his magic on the piano, and Ronan had already memorized how just before taking a seat on the bench, Adam liked to shrug off his suit coat and hang it up in a small nook containing a window filled with Mother Mary. He had already memorized, too, how he would chat with Jamie for a solid five to ten minutes before grabbing his coat and disintegrating into some wooden archway or another.
And so who could blame him for mindlessly plucking a tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots that had sprouted beside the BMW’s tire before settling into the pews that morning, tucking them into his pocket?
Who could blame him for the rush of the compulsion he felt as he saw Adam’s ducked head discussing schedules or whatever the fuck with the pastor, forcing him to stroll ever so casually by Adam’s nook and slip the wildflower batch into his jacket pocket? No one could blame him for that, unless to wish enviously that they had thought of it themselves. And surely they couldn’t really blame him for the fact that he hadn’t stopped since, had continued leaving things for Adam week after week.
Ronan re-focused as he caught Adam’s eyes across the rising and falling wave of heads in the pews in front of him. He could see the small cluster of laugh lines crunching beside his eyes as he smiled at something the pastor said. Involuntarily, Ronan clenched and unclenched his hands around the red leaf’s stem in his pocket. Biting the inside of his cheek, he turned his gaze back to the pastor.
While he was quite sure that no one else knew, Ronan was pretty sure Adam did. Or. Adam at least knew Ronan watched him, constantly, because he was just as constantly being caught out for it. What he wasn’t sure about was if Adam knew why. He wasn’t sure Adam knew just how much the whole damn church admired him, in fact, which seemed like a fucking waste of the downright waterfall of it if you asked him. He hoped the small gifts signaled towards that admiration. And really, truly, genuinely, that was all he hoped for. (“Suuuure, Jan,” said the Matthew-voice inside his head.)
Even if it did mean more than that, or if he wished something would come out of it, it didn’t matter. Adam Parrish was untouchable to someone like Ronan. What did Ronan have to give except for pressed flowers, little rocks and broken geodes, pinecones or tiny burlap bags of berries? What did he have to give except his admiration from afar?
With his brothers, Ronan took communion. He didn’t always. Sometimes he just needed something to do with his hands before he could make his move towards the nook where Mother Mary looked upon him and his fiddling with Adam’s jacket. God knew there were much better contexts where one might fiddle with Adam’s jacket-
“Better get in there, brother of mine,” Matthew sang, nudging him with the elbow and gesturing to the nook. “No time to spare!”
Ronan glared at him. Okay, so maybe Matthew knew, too. Whatever.
Ronan wandered around groups of chattering adults and bustling children bursting in laughter. He eyed Adam to make sure he was in his set place stage right as he was meant to be. He was. Light brown strands of hair swiftly swiped out of his eyes, he was showing Jamie a precisely folded piece of paper. Ronan shook his head slightly, and admired the stained glass as he always did, his truly impeccable cover for the smooth action that came next: he slotted the autumn leaf into Adam’s pocket.
“Did you enjoy the service today, Ronan?”
Ronan jumped, turning to face the body the voice belonged to. It was Jamie, dark stubbly beard rearranging to make way for a blinding smile. And beside him. Fuck. His heart rammed rapidly against any bones it could find. Beside Jamie was Adam Parrish in the flesh, not gossamer and tricks of the light at all, but solid and physical and muscular-
Swallowing the throat-lump that had formed in mere seconds, Ronan managed a nod. He fixed his eyes on Jamie’s brown ones. “Yep. Real smooth as always, Mr. J.” Ronan cringed inwardly.
Jamie’s smile wasn’t capable of a lower wattage if he tried, completely oblivious to Ronan’s plight. “Good to hear, that’s very good to hear.” And Ronan was just about to make his rushed goodbyes; really he was, but Jamie – the asshole! – opened his mouth again before he could. “And have you been properly introduced to Adam here just yet?”
Only in my dreams wasn’t really an appropriate answer. “Uh, not yet,” Ronan said. His gaze flicked over to Adam, whose own eyes were on the messy knot of Ronan’s tie for a moment before they met his again. There was a soft smile there.
Then Adam stuck his hand out. There was a second, admittedly, where Ronan just stared at it. Having imagined touching a hand hundreds of times before you actually did was clearly not a workable strategy. Ronan shook it, felt the callous and softness waging a battle in those fingers, and pulled away as soon as was polite.
Okay, time to get the hell out- “Wonderful! Now, I must be off to chat with Nina about next month’s fundraiser. Great to see you boys getting along. I’ll see you next week.” Jamie scurried away after this, despite Ronan’s internal pleas with him to do exactly not that. Fuck’s sake.
“Um,” Adam said, stepping closer. The rest of the church crowd blurred. Ronan blinked a few times, breaths coming in shallow spurts. What was going on? “My coat’s just there.”
Oh. Ronan’s ears spiked him with heat, like the scalding was a scolding. “Oh, right,” Ronan mumbled, moving aside. “The other church familiars must be wondering where the hell you are, huh.”
“Hm?” But Ronan was watching Adam slide his coat on. A couple fingers slid into the pocket where the red leaf was, and Ronan felt a flurry of delight and terror to see the small upturn of Adam’s mouth when he must’ve made contact with it. Then, “What did you just say?”
Another symphony of spiking ear flames erupted. “Uh, sorry, my brother is calling for me.” There was, in fact, not one brother calling for him, but he couldn’t believe he’d just said what he’d said and Adam had heard him say it after he had for the first – and almost definitely last - time touched Adam’s hands and he very simply needed to get out of there immediately. “I- it was nice to meet you, Parrish.”
Adam’s eyebrows scrunched up. “Oh, right, yeah. You too.”
Ronan turned and made his way towards Matthew, as hurriedly as he could through the collection of old ladies nattering on about Adam’s skill. Was this what it was like to die of mortification? Was this what Gansey felt like when he’d first tried to flirt with Sargent and it nearly ended up with him getting slapped across the face?
When he made it to his brothers, he just kept walking, until he was out the door and into the fresh air. Best to be off the goddamn premises entirely in these circumstances.
Matthew whistled upon arranging himself in the backseat of the car. “Well done, brother of mine.” He fished a Rubik’s cube off the floor and started fiddling with it and met Ronan’s eyes in the rear view mirror with a grin. “Well! When’s your date, then!”
“Never in a million years, buddy.”
“What!” Matthew had a hand on his chest. Somehow he did it without irony or humour. “He said that? He seems so nice…”
Declan scoffed from the passenger seat. “I think what Ronan is trying to say is that he didn’t ask at all.”
Matthew groaned, pressing the Rubik’s cube to his forehead. “Dang it all,” he said, and then passed Declan something crumpled.
“The fuck was that?” Ronan sniped.
Matthew pouted, bouncy blonde curls falling into his eyes. “I really thought you had it in you today, pal,” he said sadly. “But instead you just lost me five bucks.”
“Stop betting on me.” The radio blasted guitar solo as Ronan turned the ignition. “It’s never going to happen with him.”
They drove in silence the rest of the way to the Barns. Typically, it was just Ronan and a couple younger farmhands working with the land and the animals day to day, but the coming week was going to be different than usual. While it had been a bitch to organize at first, he found himself relieved to have something now to distract him so fully from his earlier embarrassment and the memory of Adam’s features so close to him.
Feeling his phone buzz, he fished it out to find a slew of texts from Gansey.
I hope the barns are well prepared for seph and calla’s weeklong celebration!
blue and i will be there early in the morning tomorrow to assist with any last minute prep. we are both very excited!
also! is there space in your room for someone to stay with you through the week? i have been assured that he is very polite and considerate! he’s an old friend of blue’s who has been back in town for a while and also has a key role in the ceremonies.
Ronan rolled his eyes. Probably one of the maggot’s old boyfriends or some shit. But if it’d help with distracting him further, who really cared?
sure thing, dick, plenty of room in there
see you tomorrow
He scuffed his boots on the grass and then made his way up the wooden steps to the door of the house. He looked out briefly into the fields and the dense woods that lined the property. Tomorrow and the following week would be better, with plenty of opportunities to drink alcohol and have fun, and most importantly to distract him from blue-grey eyes and light brown skin and all that music stored within.
Ronan opened the door, one of many covered in flower wreaths he’d arranged for the coming week, and went inside.