#i dont know if youll remember but this fic comes from a prompt you sent me so 😇

[helianskies]

They called him the Son of the Devil. 'They', however, did not know what the Devil truly was...

a gift for @needcake! this is just a lil' something hehe, but feliz aniversário e espero que você se divirta! 🌊

[ read the full fic on ao3 or down below! ]

They called him the Son of the Devil. 

‘They’ were the Portuguese, God-fearing, almost as much as they were Devil-fearing, evidently. From those unfortunate enough to meet him by land, to those even more unfortunate to meet him at sea, they were his adversaries, his victims, his entertainment.

The Portuguese ships—whether merchant or naval—who clung too close to his territory for too long were taught fast what it really meant to fear. Cannonfire was child’s play. Never did he miss, nor did his men ever hesitate when he made the call. That had bought him his name—a personal ferryman for Davy Jones, delivering souls to their watery graves like the swift turning of the tide.

Meanwhile, those who resided in the areas navigated by his ship did not venture too close whenever they docked. While some were sympathetic to the attacks against the Portuguese, and were kind enough to keep his crew stocked up and sustained with both food and leisure, others were sure to keep their distance when they could. Perhaps that was wise of them. Even the too-curious were at risk. And perhaps being feared like that, too, brought only a greater thrill.

A force to be reckoned with, was what he was. Fierce as the pacific seas he had come to claim as his own. So many ships had been sunken, so many men slain—and it had made Abel a man wealthy not only in riches, but equally in reputation. 

At present, Abel and his men were venturing the Coromandel Coast of India. The growing spice trade was teeming with opportunity, markets, clients, and the easterlies made it an easy route to take before swooping back around towards the East Indies. It suited them well. Here, they had been welcomed more openly than they were used to.

To make the most of a final night in their current host town, Abel had been generous and granted the crew an evening to explore and enjoy themselves. For the majority, that had meant a night wandering from tavern to tavern, tankard to tankard, and Abel had gladly joined them.

At least, for most of the evening.

As the moon was approaching its highest point in the sky, however, and as the stars came to shine their brightest, Abel found himself alone at the beginning of a beach. He couldn’t remember how he got there. He couldn’t tell if he had just arrived, or if he had been standing there for an hour. But the sea was calming, the breeze light, and the ‘how’, ‘when’ and ‘why’ were so suddenly, incredibly unimportant.

Abel wandered forth and welcomed the feeling of sand beneath his boots, sturdy yet not, gentle yet not. There was a bottle in his hand, he soon discovered, from which he took a healthy sip of spiced liquor. Life felt perfect.

The sea before him was illuminated by the moon and the stars and the ghosts of his victories. It was his—all his. It was an immense feeling, a sobering tidal wave (well, figuratively sobering, that was).

A younger Abel, who used to quietly watch from the window as his father went out to sea to catch fish before the sun even rose, would not have imagined this future for himself. He used to hate the sea. He used to hate how it stole from him. The day his father had gone out for work and not returned—not that evening, nor the day after, nor even within the next year—he had sworn vengeance.

But now, he was the one who stole, and the sea no longer laughed at him but respected him. It was no longer the enemy, but a friend. If his father had gone out to sea and drowned, then all Abel knew was that his father had simply not been strong enough a man to live…

…he took another swig from the bottle.

What made him do it, he lacked an answer (or at least, answer he was willing to admit, even to himself) but with a mere blink he was sitting down, and with another, sand cradled his body and he stared up at the dark blanketing sky.

Serenity was generally a foreign concept to Abel—otherworldly, even. But there it was, all-encompassing, all-consuming. How… freeing. He closed his eyes and breathed it in and felt that internal reminder why this life was all he needed. 

Abel lay there for a while, basking in the swelling night and sea. He could have fallen asleep right then and there—perhaps he even did—but just as all of his senses ebbed and flowed and threatened to leave him in the arms of Morpheus, something distant drifted through the haze. A voice. A chorus. 

It was angelic, if he had to try and describe it. A madman would have thought that they were dying and being greeted from on high. But Abel, far from losing his wits, had no other explanation for it.

Sitting up, it was clear that no one else was around on the beach. Even his own footsteps now had been sifted by the wind and cast away. So his head turned back to the sea—could there be a boat? sailors?—but no vessel was there, either, and his confusion remained. 

The voice was impossible to pinpoint. It truly seemed to surround him. The more he listened, the more he felt a pull, and the more he listened again, he began to make sense of the words filling the air—words that, at first, had not sounded like words, but which now sung of riches, home, and the sea in a language he knew—a language that was his own.

And then he heard a splash. It had been small, but noticeable, and it drew Abel's gaze towards the South, where rocks trailed from the edge of the coastline and dipped down into the waters.

At first, he wondered if he was, in fact, out of his mind. But he blinked, and peered harder through the night, and found his eyes still did not betray him: there upon the rocks was a figure—the source of the melody, and the object of Abel's fixation. Surely not. But surely, yes.

He was on his feet. He was not sure when or how he had moved, nor why he then proceeded to venture across the sand towards the outcrops, but he did, and he did not fight it. As he neared, the music grew stronger yet softer, more delicate and whimsical, but no less powerful. It called to him. He couldn't fathom why he felt that way, but he did—it was as though the performance was all for him, and he so desperately sought a closer audience.

Before he knew it, the distance that had separated them had shrunk to span only metres. Being so close, he could see the figure somewhat easier—a figure with long hair that they carefully groomed with their own fingers, and legs that appeared to vanish into the water. A midnight swimmer, perhaps? A woman who, like him, had maybe had one drink too many?

Nevertheless, as he stepped onto the rocks themselves in order to get closer still, the beautiful singing, so gentle and smooth, suddenly subsided.

Abel blinked. He stared. Hands dropped away from flowing locks, and a head turned so that two eyes could gaze upon him, and he could gaze upon them in turn.

“I thought it was considered rude to stare.”

The lump in his throat took a few attempts to swallow. “What are you doing out here?” he deflected, gesturing with his bottle (he was amazed he was still holding it) towards the sea. “‘S a bit cold for a swim…”

The other hummed. “Maybe I like the cold,” they—he—could they be a man, with such a frame, and such mystical hair…?—replied. And, just like that, he slipped himself right into the water.

It felt like the other was trying to put distance between them again (Abel did not like that). It also felt like he was trying to prove a point, based on how he did not seem perturbed by the chilly depths. The sailor felt himself shiver just at the thought of the water, but, just as he found himself growing wary of the swimming stranger, he became, once more, the only thing Abel could focus on.

“You seem lost,” the other said, bringing himself to the edge of the rocks, whereupon he rested his arms and held himself against the ledge. “You are not from these lands, are you?”

“No, I am not,” Abel slowly returned as he crouched down, and once more bridged the gap between them. “Though, you hardly seem to be a local yourself. You… barely seem to be of this world, in fact.”

An invisible smile seemed to appear on the other’s face. “Is that a compliment, or an insult?”

“A compliment,” the blonde assured him. 

He tried to read the other as he spoke, just as he would read any other person, but all he could think about was how curious this stranger was—how the moon almost seemed to make him glow. And surely it was not his imagination: the other was not only in the sea, but naked, a man who must have had more drink than Abel several times over!

“Do you have a name?” he then asked, hoping to put some pieces of this pretty puzzle together. 

To that, the other gave a soft hum. “Everyone has a name,” he replied. “Do you have one?”

“I have a few.”

“Greedy.”

Abel cracked a small smile of his own. “Tell me yours first, and then I will tell you mine.”

The proposal was considered for a moment. A lot of thought seemed to take place—eyes watched closely and the other had to fix his posture—before he finally said, “João.”

His smile suddenly tensed along with several other muscles in his body. “João,” Abel repeated, giving it a taste, letting it dance on his tongue. “Sounds quite… Portuguese.”

“Well,” João responded, “maybe that has something to do with the fact that that is where I come from, no? Now, no distracting yourself,” he went on with ease, “you owe me your name.”

Remaining somewhat wary, but equally as tenacious, the sailor provided what had been requested: “I’m Abel. Though, I must admit, your people tend to use a different name for me…”

It almost felt weird to say so out loud. Perhaps that was the effect of facing someone like João, clouded in mystery, seemingly carefree, Portuguese. What if he already knew of Abel? What if underneath the water was concealed a weapon? What if—?

“'My people', huh? And what name might that be, sailor boy?”

And like that—the very second Abel looked at the other, looked him in the eyes, and was met by a sort of wonder—the care was washed away by the ebbing sea.

“They call me ‘the Son of the Devil’,” he said, “when they are not busy trying to run away.”

The revelation did not quite inspire the fear or wariness he had expected it to, however.

“Seriously?” João reacted instead, as though unimpressed, or unconvinced. “You hardly seem like a demon to me.”

“How would you know?” Abel asked somewhat pointedly, and just as fast as he had spoken before, the other lost his voice.

Abel wondered if he had come across too harsh. Conversely, had that not been the idea? To prove himself? But then, had it been deserved, he had to ask himself. João was one of few people to have ever engaged in a conversation longer than thirty seconds with him. Where others kept their distance, João almost seemed to want to close it between them again.

"Tell me," the sailor said, wanting desperately to amend his prior cruelty, "what has driven you into the water? Not me, I hope."

At that, the other's amusement grew. "Why?" he questioned. "Should I have reason to run from you, too?"

"Or swim away, in your case."

He received a tut. "Well?" the stranger prompted. "Do I?"

"You might," Abel answered in earnest, lowering himself even further by taking a firm seat upon the rocks. "I'm not liked by many people. They prefer to avoid me, if they can."

That, however, only seemed to draw the other in. The gap narrowed even more.

"Does that mean you're dangerous?" he asked. 

The word brought Abel, in turn, a small burst of excitement. So much for wanting to make a better impression.

"They have not given me my nickname for no reason."

"Mmm,” João grinned, “that's good. I like danger."

"Oh?"

"Danger can be fun," the other mused. And then, after a short pause—a moment to think—he added, "I can be dangerous, too, you know."

To Abel, it was a laughable notion on the one hand, but equally quite cute that the man in the water did not seem to grasp what danger truly was. Abel had killed, and sometimes just because he could. But this person before him, with their wondrous hair and heavenly voice and gentle eyes (and very naked body), hardly looked capable of anything more sinister than ordinary wit.

Still, he found himself humouring this fantasy. Something about the other made him want to talk more, and enjoy his company.

"How scared should I be of you, then?" Abel asked, to which he received a sort of proud smile. 

"No, no. Not scared," João warned him. "Danger is fun, remember."

"Not my kind of danger."

"Only a coward thinks danger is dangerous," however. "So are you dangerous, or scared?"

He couldn't quite work out how they had arrived at such a statement, inflammatory and unnerving. It threatened Abel in so many ways. It was a challenge to his very name, the thing he had spent years of his life carefully constructing . He was hardly going to sit there, and take it.

"I," he said as clearly as possible, "am not scared."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Then get in."

The Dutchman stopped. He blinked. He blinked again. And then, he considered in brief the dark but tranquil sea. 

"Come on," the other insisted all the while, gently pushing away from the rock in order to fully embrace the waters around him. "Come in for a dip," he pressed, "and prove to me that you are not scared, sailor boy.”

It was an ask that felt like— No, no— It wasn’t too much—Abel was perfectly capable of getting into the water and going for a swim and had done so many a time—but the bottle in his hand felt heavier than before, and he wondered if perhaps this was all a falla—

A cold hand found his face, held his cheek, and offered a solace that Abel had not requested, but one that… he liked. 

“Come,” the other’s voice delicately urged again, “I promise it will be worth it. A quick dip, to prove to me that the Son of the Devil really is as bold and fearsome as he claims…”

Something about the way that João looked at him was utterly magical. He felt awe, he felt hunger, he felt desire. He had not often seen a man and had thoughts of such a nature, but he would allow himself to make an exception. 

He got lost in that world for a moment. He could still see and feel João there, reeling him in, but at the same time all Abel could think about was how it would feel to kiss him, to hold him, to have him in bed, to drown in him entirely. Abel wanted it. He wanted him. There was something so suddenly carnal about it—something so imperative, for the sake of his survival.

He was just so… so enchanting. It was impossible to look away, or think of anything—anyone—else. And the nearer João pulled him, the deeper Abel felt ready to—

The water was freezing. It smacked him in the face, merciless and harsh. The moment his body fell into the sea, Abel’s instincts screamed for him to swim, to get back out, to seek warmth and dry land—but as he tried to bob and find air and something to hold onto, all he found was João amongst the bubbles and commotion. 

João, who had pulled him right under the surface. João, who smiled at him and held onto him. João, who… did not stop pulling, or holding, or smiling.

It was only when Abel could no longer reach his hands above the water or remember the last few minutes in detail or feel enough air in his lungs that reality, at last, made itself known to him. Too little, too late. 

Abel was about to learn what it was like to be condemned to a watery grave of his own.

[emmerrr]

heyyyy if you wanna write a pynch vday fic, how about one where they're like... both trying to be sneaky about planning sth for valentines day and so both think the other has forgotten about it and they're both like ://// but it all uhh works out in the end?? x

what a top notch suggestion, absoLUTELY i can write that 💕💕 (uhh heads up this got kinda long, i’ll put it on ao3 too and reblog with a link later)

-

Adam sat alone in a corner booth of Nino’s, History notes open on the table before him. He’d written VALENTINE’S DAY?? in the margin, underlined three times. He frowned at the words, wondering why he was fixating on them, and turned his head to stare listlessly out of the window instead.

Blue was there working, but she’d been too busy to come and say hello so far, simply offering him a harried wave when she spotted him walk in, pointing him towards the table he was now seated at. The other staff at Nino’s never bothered them anymore, knowing Blue would cover their table. Adam had heard them being referred to as “Blue’s Boys” on more than one occasion.

He was currently the only one there, having beaten Henry and Gansey out of the school gates. He assumed they’d got held up by a traffic light or two, and Ronan had further to drive than the rest of them so would likely arrive last anyway.

Thinking of Ronan immediately returned Adam’s thoughts to the words written in his notes and he scowled at the parking lot. On the surface, Valentine’s Day didn’t seem like it would be Ronan’s thing. Adam wasn’t even particularly sure it was his thing. But the fact remained that Valentine’s Day was a week away, and Adam didn’t know what, if anything, he was expected to do for it.

He tried to think back to previous years and remembered receiving an anonymous card from someone back in the seventh grade; a generic heart-shaped thing that simply said ‘Will you be my Valentine? x’ inside. He was fairly certain the sender was a girl in his English class who had never said a word to him but blushed every time she caught his eye. Adam didn’t see how he was supposed to answer whether or not he’d be her Valentine if she never told him she had sent it. And of course, she never owned up, and he didn’t want to suggest it was her in case he was wrong, and he didn’t actually want to be her Valentine anyway. So it was never mentioned again.

The difference here was that Ronan was his actual boyfriend. Didn’t that mean that they were each other’s Valentines by default, then?

Adam didn’t know. He’d never navigated Valentine’s Day before. Not like this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear Henry and Gansey approach until they were right there.

“Oh, History notes,” Henry exclaimed. “Can I borrow them?”

Adam turned his head to see Henry already sliding the notebook towards him. “Your notes are always make more sense than mi—” Henry cut himself off, eyes widening at something on the page. Too late Adam remembered the VALENTINE’S DAY?? in the margin and slapped his hand over it, snatching back his notebook.

Henry was grinning at him. “Big plans?”

“No,” Adam muttered. “No plans at all.” He stuffed the notebook into his messenger bag.

Gansey had slid into the booth opposite Adam and watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. “What have I missed?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Henry said easily. Adam was grateful that Henry clearly wasn’t going to push it (at least not with an audience), but reasoned he could perhaps use some advice.

“So,” he started. “Valentine’s Day. Thoughts?”

“I’m glad you asked, Parrish,” Gansey said. “It was originally a Western Christian feast day honouring a couple of early saints called Valentinius—”

“Yes, thank you, Captain Wikipedia,” Henry cut in. “I’m not entirely sure that’s what he meant.”

A jug of Iced Tea was plonked onto the table without ceremony and they all looked up to Blue Sargent as she handed out glasses.

“It’s a dumb holiday invented by Hallmark to sell more cards,” she said, obviously having heard the tail-end of the conversation.

“Well, obviously there’s that too,” Gansey said, beaming at her. 

Adam sighed. They were all monumentally unhelpful. 

“Why the interest, Adam?” Blue asked, a knowing glint in her eye.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’m just…okay, with Ronan, do I just treat it like any other day? Do I get him a card? Will he think it’s stupid? Do I think it’s stupid?”

There was a short silence as the three of them blinked back at him, and then Blue carefully said, “Do you think it’s stupid?” 

Adam wasn’t sure how to answer that. The truth was that he sort of did think it was stupid, but he also thought he wanted to acknowledge it anyway. He thought doing nothing at all kind of made him look like an asshole.

In the end, it all circled back to Ronan, and whether he would care. Did he have anything planned? Was he having an internal crisis over it as well?

In lieu of an answer, Adam shrugged again.

“Speak of the devil,” Henry said, and nodded towards the entrance.

Ronan, dressed all in black (of course), had just stepped inside. He scanned the restaurant without turning his head but when he spotted Adam, his shoulders relaxed, and he smiled just a little.

Adam didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing that.

“Oh god, you two are the worst,” Blue scoffed as Ronan started to make his way over.

“What?” Adam said without looking at her.

“You know exactly what, Adam Parrish. You and Ronan with the googly eyes. Jesus Christ, you’re in public. Tone it down.”

“You tone it down,” Ronan said jovially, hip-checking Blue as he drew level. “What are we talking about?”

“The origins of Valentine’s Day,” Gansey said delicately.

Ronan snorted derisively. “Valentine’s Day,” he said with as much scorn as he could muster, “is capitalistic bullshit invented to sell cards and flowers and chocolate.”

“Hey man, that’s exactly what I said,” Blue said, sounding pleased, and she and Ronan fist-bumped. Adam rolled his eyes. They really were two sides of the same coin.

“You’re in my seat, Cheng,” Ronan said.

“Sit by Gansey, I was here first.”

Ronan shrugged. “Fair’s fair.” He stepped up onto the seat and over Henry and squeezed into the spot between him and Adam.

“Ronan Lynch,” Gansey hissed. “You’ll get us kicked out!”

“Calm down, Dick, no one noticed,” Ronan said. He had both arms stretched out across the back of the booth, and Adam and Henry were both leaning into him a little thanks to the lack of space.

“This is cozy,” Henry said cheerfully.

It was Blue’s turn to roll her eyes and she pulled her little notepad out of her apron pocket. “Alright, I have to actually do my job now, what do you want? Gansey, I’m assuming you want your usual half-avocado monstrosity?”

“You’re a millennial, Blue, you’re supposed to like avocados.”

Her disgusted expression was answer enough. The rest of them rattled off their food order and then Blue went off to put it through.

“Doesn’t anyone want to come and sit by me?” Gansey asked. “It’s lonely over here.”

“Oh, don’t pull that face, Gansey, you’re making me sad,” Henry said, swapping sides. He scooched right the way over to Gansey and draped an arm around his shoulder before sighing loftily. “It’s hard being this popular.”

“But someone has to do it,” Adam said drily, earning him a quicksilver smile.

“And I do it so well.”

Ronan was stopping at Adam’s for the night, but they had each come to Nino’s in their own cars so separated in the parking lot to drive over to St Agnes in a convoy.

Ronan was already peeling out of the lot by the time Adam reached his shitbox, and he was held up further by Henry calling his name. He turned and Henry jogged over, Gansey nowhere to be seen and most likely still inside saying goodbye to Blue.

“Oh, sorry,” Adam said. “You wanted my History notes, right?”

“No, that’s not — well, yeah, actually, thank you,” he said, taking them when Adam handed them over. “I actually came over here to give you some unsolicited advice.”

“About the Valentine’s Day thing?”

“That’s the one.”

Adam shrugged. “It’s not entirely unsolicited. But anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. You heard him.”

“Yeah, I heard him. Sounds like posturing to me.”

Adam tilted his head to the side. “You think?” Ronan certainly was prone to posturing.

“Sure. I mean, I have no doubt that he really does think Valentine’s Day is what he said in there, but I wouldn’t let that put you off doing something, if you wanted to.” Henry waited for a response, and when Adam didn’t offer one, he prompted, “You do want to, don’t you?”

Adam smiled wryly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only if you know what to look for,” Henry said, but before Adam could think on that too much, he continued. “Look, I don’t know Ronan as well as you do, but even from the outside, it’s clear how he feels about you.”

Feeling himself blush, Adam immediately looked down at the ground. He did know how Ronan felt about him. It was often whispered to him in the middle of the night when it felt like they were the only two people in the world. It just took him off guard to hear it so plainly from someone else.

“Think about it, Adam. Regardless of how Ronan personally feels about what Valentine’s Day stands for, do you really think he’s going to let a day when he’s practically green-lit to be as obnoxious as possible about you just pass him by?” Henry shook his head. “Not the Ronan Lynch I know.”

Well, when it was put that way. “Did he say something to you? Do you know something?”

“Not a thing,” Henry said, and Adam believed him. “It’s just an observation and an educated guess.”

“Huh,” Adam said thoughtfully. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them in the air, catching them again, ideas already forming in his head. If Ronan was going to be obnoxious, Adam could be obnoxious too. “Thanks, Henry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t lose my notes.”

“I will try my level best.”

Adam gave himself three rules for Ronan’s Valentine’s gift:

1) It had to be heartfelt.

2) It also had to be in good humour and not take itself too seriously.

3) It had to be cheap.

He was too sensible to spend money he didn’t have on some arbitrary gift Ronan wouldn’t appreciate. Not to mention that Ronan was impossible enough to buy for as it was; firstly he was rich enough to buy himself pretty much anything he might want, and secondly he could literally manifest his dreams. It was going to make future birthdays and Christmas’s an absolute nightmare.

(But what a wonderful problem to have.)

What it all basically meant was that Adam had to go homemade, and given that he had school and work (and Ronan) to work around, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to do it.

He borrowed Gansey’s laptop during lunch-break on Monday at Aglionby and made Ronan a mix-CD of the cheesiest love songs he could think of. It featured such classics as You Make My Dreams by Hall & Oates, Heaven by Bryan Adams, True by Spandau Ballet, and many, many more. It wasn’t even remotely Ronan’s kind of music which made it funny, but as embarrassing as some of the songs might have been, they did actually somewhat echo Adam’s own feelings. He got to be a sap in the guise of it being a joke, and Ronan would get a kick out of it.

Obviously, he also added the Murder Squash Song for good measure.

Next up was a card. He could have bought one — his budget would have allowed it — but all the store ones were godawful and Adam couldn’t even imagine giving one of them to Ronan ironically.

Luckily he had an ace up his sleeve.

The first time that Ronan had stayed over at Adam’s after they were together in the very early days of their relationship, Adam had woken up to a frozen Ronan with a handful of strangely lovely flowers, the exact shade of blue as Adam’s eyes.

Adam had kept them in a cheap vase on the windowsill until they died, but unbeknownst to Ronan, he’d also taken one and pressed it to make a little print; his own private memento.

He was obviously keeping the original for himself, but he took it into the school library a couple of days before Valentine’s Day and scanned it, printing it out on some high quality photo card he’d ‘acquired’ from one of the Art rooms.

Once the ink was dry, he folded it down the middle as carefully as possible and put it inside his heaviest textbook to keep it folded and flat until he got it home.

He spent longer than probably necessary trying to decide what to write, but in the end, he went with:

Ronan,

I think maybe it was always you. I think it always will be. Happy Valentine’s Day (gross).

Love, Adam x

He didn’t have a nice envelope to put it in, so it had to go in a bigger manila one that Adam still had lying around. He slipped both the card and the CD inside, and wrote Ronan’s name in capitals on the outside.

He looked at his offering. It somehow didn’t seem enough.

Valentine’s Day was on Thursday, so on Wednesday— after school but before a shift at Boyd’s— Adam found himself in the kitchen of 300 Fox Way. He’d bought everything he needed to make chocolate brownies before he’d realised he didn’t have a tin in which to cook them in. He was also severely lacking in several other kitchen utensils, to be honest. One panicked phone-call to Blue later, and he had everything he needed and a helping hand.

Well, ‘helping’ was a strong word.

“Why brownies?” Blue asked from where she sat perched on the kitchen table.

“Because brownies are the best,” Adam said, frowning at the recipe he had printed out.

“Alright, can’t argue with that,” Blue said reasonably.

Adam was aware of her watching him while he slowly got out everything he needed and started weighing out ingredients. He felt unreasonably nervous about it, even though he knew that provided he followed the recipe, everything would be fine. Baking was a science, after all, and Adam was good at science.

But looking at it all now with Blue scrutinising his every move, he felt flustered and unmoored.

“I thought you were going to help,” he said pointedly.

“I am helping. I’m supervising,” Blue said.

Adam smiled at that. “I see. Are you the kind of supervisor who can grease this tin for me?”

“I suppose so,” Blue said loftily as she launched herself off the table.

Blue started chattering away after that which helped Adam calm down and focus on what he was doing, and it didn’t take long to make the mixture after that. Adam tilted the pan while Blue used a wooden spoon to scrape the mixture out and into the brownie tin.

After that, they just had to put it in the oven and wait.

Blue brewed up some of Maura’s least offensive tea as they sat and waited, and Adam finally asked what he’d been dying to all week.

“Do you know if Ronan has anything planned?”

Blue smiled and shook her head. “Honestly, Adam, I have absolutely no idea. He hasn’t said a word. I’ve barely seen him though, and never really without you there.” She shrugged. “If he’s got a plan he’s keeping it close to his chest.”

Adam nodded; he’d assumed as much. “I just want to know if I’m doing too much, or not doing enough? I dunno, it’s stupid. It’s only Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah, but it’s your first Valentine’s Day together,” Blue said, not unkindly. “I get it.”

“What are you and Gansey doing?” 

“I made him a card and found him a couple of ‘slovenly’ t-shirts at the thrift store. I’m gonna hazard a guess that he’s getting me flowers, and he told me to keep the evening free so he’s probably taking me somewhere. Wherever it is, it better not be expensive.”

Adam grinned. “Maybe it’s Nino’s.”

“God, don’t even joke, I’d murder him. Again.”

He started to laugh, and after a couple of seconds Blue joined in. When it died down, Blue put her hand on his arm.

“Don’t overthink it, Adam. Ronan will love whatever you give him, because you’re the one it’s coming from. It’s not about the gifts you get or the meal you have or how much money you spend. I think it’s more about the gesture. That’s what’ll mean the most to Ronan.”

Adam managed a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Blue opened a drawer and gasped, then pulled out a heart-shaped cookie cutter. “Oh my God, Adam, you have to.”

She held out the cookie-cutter towards him and he took it, sighing. “Really?”

“Yes! This way, they’ll all be exactly the same size and I get to eat all the cut-offs. Y’know, as my fee for helping.”

And that’s how Adam ended up with nine perfect little heart-shaped brownies.

Adam didn’t see Ronan that night, thanks to finishing late at Boyd’s and then having homework after. 

When he woke up in the morning, he was hit by the realisation that he and Ronan hadn’t even arranged to see each other that day at all.

He half expected Ronan to show up at St Agnes unannounced with a bouquet of dream flowers and some donuts or something. But that didn’t happen, and Adam slowly packed his messenger bag for school, remembering to include the Tupperware of Valentine’s brownies and the envelope with its enclosed card and CD.

He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to give them to Ronan, but it was better to be prepared.

Adam walked down to his car, scanning the parking lot and the street to see if there was any sign of a shark-nosed BMW. But there was nothing, and there was nothing on the way to school, and Adam made it all the way through to lunch without seeing or hearing from Ronan.

Obviously, he had no phone, and Ronan hated his own phone. But Gansey had a phone, and Ronan could have got in touch that way if he had felt so inclined.

Adam didn’t know what he’d been expecting; that Ronan would show up at the Aglionby gates with a boombox over his head blasting out Lionel Richie songs? That he’d get back to his car after school and find out his favourite hooligan had broken in and left him a giant teddy bear and a box of chocolates?

It all seemed stupid now, and Valentine’s Day was stupid, and Adam was irritated that he’d let the pressures of the day get to him. It didn’t matter. It was a meaningless day.

So why did he feel so deflated?

At the end of the day, he caved and asked to borrow Gansey’s phone.

First, he sent a text that said: it’s adam, i’m about to call you so answer the phone

He gave it a minute until he’d seen that Ronan had read the message, and then pressed the call button.

“Parrish,” Ronan said in lieu of a hello.

All at once, like always, Adam was happy to hear Ronan’s voice. And yet he still couldn’t quite shake his irritation, even though the one who’d got his hopes up was himself.

“Hey,” he replied. “Listen, were you planning on coming over tonight?”

“Nope.” It was a little difficult to tell, but Adam thought Ronan’s tone was just a little off. “You come here.”

Adam sighed. “Ronan, I have school tomorrow so I wouldn’t even be able to stay that late. Can’t you just come here?”

There was a long pause. “Opal wants to see you.”

“So bring her with you.”

“Are you kidding, Parrish, she’s filthy. She’ll mess up the interior.”

The BMW wasn’t exactly spotless inside so this seemed a flimsy excuse. Adam started to wonder whether Ronan even wanted to see him at all.

“If you don’t want to see me today that’s fine,” he said, tone clipped.

“I didn’t say that,” Ronan said, tone just as clipped.

It felt like they were heading for a fight. Adam didn’t want to fight. He wanted to give Ronan the stupid sentimental CD he’d made. He wanted Ronan to make fun of him for the brownies. He wanted a hug.

Adam was abruptly exhausted, and it didn’t matter that he’d gone to the effort and Ronan hadn’t. He just wanted to see him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go home and shower but then I’ll head over to you.”

“Okay, good. See you in a bit,” Ronan said, and hung up.

The sun was down by the time Adam pulled up at the Barns. The heating in Adam’s car was dodgy enough on a good today, and today wasn’t a good day. It had barely come on, so his hands were like ice as he got out of the car.

He walked straight in when he got there and made his way to the kitchen. He hovered in the doorway; Ronan’s back was to him, a tea towel strewn over one shoulder, straining pasta over the sink.

Adam rapped his knuckles against the door-frame and Ronan turned around.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Adam replied. “You cooked?”

Ronan shrugged. “It’s just spaghetti.” He gestured to Adam’s messenger bag. “You brought homework with you?”

All that was in the bag was the Valentine’s gifts for Ronan, and he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay,” Ronan said with another shrug. “Sit. Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

Adam pulled himself a chair out, and it scraped against the floor noisily in the otherwise quiet. He waited for Ronan to finish serving up and then asked, “Where’s Opal?”

“No idea. Haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

Adam took a bite of his food. It was good. “I thought you said she wanted to see me.”

“She always wants to see you,” Ronan said smoothly. “I’m sure she’ll turn up when she spots your car.”

They finished eating in near silence, Adam waiting for Ronan to say something— anything— to acknowledge the day. But he didn’t, and the longer the silence dragged, the harder it seemed to break it.

Adam started towards the sink to do the washing up afterwards, but Ronan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Just leave it, Parrish.”

“But—”

“Leave them. I’ll do them in the morning.” 

Adam sighed, uncomfortable in the tension. He didn’t know what to do now. Did Ronan just want him to leave? And if so, why had he told him to come in the first place?

“Look, do you know what day it is?” Adam asked, unable to take it any longer.

“It’s Thursday,” Ronan said, chin jutted out, arms crossed. Adam glared; Ronan clearly knew exactly what day it was.

“Okay, great,” Adam said tiredly. He opened his bag and pulled out the Tupperware and the envelope. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.”

He put them on the table and stepped away, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He watched Ronan’s face, the expression on which had softened immediately. He looked to Adam, stricken.

“Parrish, I—”

“It’s fine, Ronan, just open them.”

Ronan snapped his mouth shut, and pulled the envelope over to him. Adam immediately felt self-conscious about his meagre homemade gifts.

“It’s not much,” he said quickly.

Ronan’s only response to this was a slight furrow in his brow. Then he took the CD out, quirking a smile at Adam’s inscription: LYNCH’S CHEESY LOVE SONG SINGALONG. It was surrounded by lots of hand drawn love-hearts that Adam now thought seemed excessive.

Ronan looked up and raised an eyebrow at Adam, a half-smirk on his face. “No track-list, Parrish?”

“It’s a surprise,” Adam said, smiling weakly, but relieved. “You’ll have to play it to find out.”

“I’ll do that,” he said with a sage nod. He put the CD down and reached for the Tupperware, pulling the lid off and tossing it aside. He looked inside and snorted. “You’ve really stuck with a theme here, huh, Parrish?”

“Hey, Valentine’s Day is all about the hearts, apparently. And to be fair, the heart-shaped brownies are Blue’s fault. She found a cookie-cutter and insisted.”

“She knew about this?” Ronan said.

“Yeah, she helped me make them.”

“That little sneak...” Ronan trailed off and let out a sharp laugh. “I asked her if she knew whether or not you were doing something, and she swore blind she had no idea.”

Adam thought about asking why Ronan had even wanted to know, but instead he pointed at the envelope. “There’s a card in there, as well.”

“In here?” Ronan turned the envelope upside down and the card slipped out into his hand. Adam watched as he took in the flower on the front, smiled a little, then did a double-take, glancing at Adam. “Hold on. Is this what I think it is?”

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I, uh, I pressed one, before they all died. I wanted to keep it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, something akin to awe in his voice. “I dream about them all the time.” He opened the card and read what Adam had written there, then dropped his face into his hands. 

“Parrish...” he mumbled. “I feel like a fucking asshole.”

Adam went over and gently pulled the card out of Ronan’s hand, sitting down on Ronan’s lap. Ronan’s arms circled his waist automatically and he tucked his face into Adam’s neck.

“You are a fucking asshole, Lynch. I love you anyway.”

Ronan grumbled something incoherently against Adam’s skin, and Adam smiled. “What was that?”

Ronan lifted his head so he could be heard. “I said I love you right back.”

“Good,” Adam said.

“I thought you’d forgotten. And I didn’t...I didn’t want a big deal, and this day is a fucking joke or whatever, but you didn’t mention anything. And I even thought you might borrow Gansey’s phone and like, text me or something this morning? But then you didn’t and when you finally called me you sounded annoyed and I didn’t know why, and I didn’t even think you wanted to come over. So then you finally got here and you seemed mad, and so I was mad and...I’m sorry. I was here thinking you didn’t give a shit and you made stuff for me?” He hung his head, penitent. “I love my gifts. These lame brownies smell great. I’m fucking sorry, Parrish.”

“Hey.” Adam cupped Ronan’s head in his hands. “It’s fine that you didn’t get me anything. Honestly I think I just let this whole day get into my head as having to mean something when it doesn’t. I don’t need a special day to let you know how I feel. And I’m sorry if I seemed mad. I just didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

He leaned in and kissed Ronan briefly. “And Lynch, you cooked for me. You made me a whole meal. I’m pretty sure we’re even.” He kissed him again, until Ronan pulled back and covered Adam’s hands with his own.

“Um...you should come with me,” Ronan said, and he almost sounded sheepish.

They stood up and Ronan swiped the mix CD off the table and shoved it in the pocket of his hoodie, before taking Adam’s hand and leading him out the back door.

Confused but intrigued, Adam followed closely behind, clutching tight to Ronan’s fingers. It was cold outside and neither of them had their coats on, which Adam was about to point out when they walked around the corner of the nearest barn and he was rendered speechless by the sight before him.

In the middle of the grass was a small gazebo tent, the base of which was covered in luxurious looking blankets. There was a laptop in the middle of the floor, hooked up to a projector which was pointing at the outer-wall of the barn. A precarious tower of DVDs was piled up next to the laptop; Adam couldn’t see the titles from here but imagined Ronan had assembled a variety of choices. There was a big thermos, contents unknown (coffee? Hot chocolate?), and various other treats; big bags of marshmallows and Hershey’s Kisses and Reese’s Mini Peanut-Butter Cups.

And everywhere, there was light. Ronan’s twinkling little dream lights, some in jars under the gazebo, others hanging in the air, changing colour, like little fireflies.

“Ronan,” Adam finally managed hoarsely. “What the fuck?”

Ronan smirked. “You thought I hadn’t done anything.”

“Uh, yeah, because you let me think that!” Adam said. He was struggling to process how cosy and romantic it all looked. Let it never be said that Ronan Lynch wasn’t an absolute sap.

“I didn’t let you think anything, you jumped to that conclusion all on your own.”

Adam scowled. “Now I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“Don’t,” Ronan said, pressing a kiss to Adam’s temple. “Anyway, this is nothing.”

“It is so far from nothing,” Adam said. He stepped forward and took a turn around, taking everything in as he walked in a slow circle, stopping when he was facing Ronan again. “I thought Valentine’s Day was capitalistic bullshit?”

“Oh, it is,” Ronan said happily. “But for one, I didn’t spend a penny. And two, a whole day where I can spoil you as much as I want to and you don’t get to complain about it? Sign me the fuck up for that.”

Adam burst out laughing. “You’ve just reminded me of something Henry said.”

“What did he say?”

“I told him that I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d do anything because we hadn’t talked about it, and he said, and I quote: ‘do you really think he’s going to let a day when he’s practically green-lit to be as obnoxious as possible about you just pass him by?’”

Ronan was grinning now. “Cheng’s pretty smart.” 

“Yeah,” Adam said. He caught one of the floating lights in his hand and then let it go again. “Just for the record, I think your dreaming abilities give you an unfair advantage when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Excuse you, Parrish, the only thing I dreamt up was the blankets because they’re heated. Oh, and the projector. And the gazebo. But that’s it.”

“‘That’s it’, he says.” Adam rolled his eyes, then accusingly added, “You dreamt up the lights.”

“Well, yeah, but not for this. I already had those. And the food was stuff I already had in the house, and the DVDs are ones I already own. I didn’t want to go overboard.”

Adam stared. “You are ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Come here.”

Ronan went, without question or hesitation, and Adam wrapped his arms around his neck.

“This is the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Ronan whispered, kissing a line up Adam’s neck and across his face, the tip of his nose, his forehead, “for the brownies, for what you wrote in the card...Jesus, Adam. It’s the same for me. You know that, right? It’s always you.”  

Adam squeezed tighter, feeling dangerously overcome. He breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of Ronan, and then released his grip. “And for the CD, obviously,” he said.

“Of course,” Ronan said, and smiled sharply. “Speaking of...” He pulled it out of his pocket and walked over to his laptop. “I’ll let you pick a movie in a bit, but first, I wanna listen to my present.”

He popped the CD into the drive and pressed a couple of buttons on the mouse, and a moment later the opening track started to play: I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston.

Ronan laughed, once, soundlessly, then came back over to Adam and held his hand out. 

“Well?” he said when Adam didn’t move. “Are you dancing?”

Adam grinned. “Are you asking?”

“I’m asking.”

“Then I’m dancing.” He took Ronan’s hand and together they swayed, far too slowly for a song this upbeat, but Ronan didn’t seem to mind, and Adam certainly didn’t.

They didn’t speak while they were dancing, both perhaps a little shaken at the near-miss of an argument, both relieved they hadn’t let it get that far. Both content to be in each other’s company, away from prying eyes and expectations.

It was still early days. They were still learning how to do this, navigating firsts and futures and each other, but they were both quick studies, and Adam couldn’t think of anything more worthwhile than building a foundation— and a life— with Ronan.

There were trickier days to come, but for now, they’d survived their first Valentine’s Day as a couple. As they lay curled together in a blanket watching The Princess Bride projected onto the side of a barn, Adam thought he’d have to mark this one down as a win.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Parrish,” Ronan whispered into Adam’s hair.

“Ugh,” Adam said, and kissed him. “Happy Thursday.”