#jinx has bad music taste too low-key

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Okay so question I stole from somebody on insta

The arcane cast has a house party, who's bringing what and what do they do at the party?

My theory is this:

Alright so

Caitlyn- Brings some bum ass potato salad, never let her handle that shit again oh my god

Vi- Defends said potato salad with her life and says she's trying her best, brings like store bought pie or something

Jinx- Brings some experimental bullshit that not a single person asked for, like NyQuil chicken with a side of Baja blast curry, nobody eats that shit. She does also bring cupcakes and Vi instantly gets uncomfortable

Mel- Brings something normal like Mac and cheese or some noxian dish

Ekko- Is the first to call out the potato salad and saves the day by getting on the grill and making real food (btw, he came with Haitian black rice)

Jayce- Brought drinks because he didn't feel like cooking, he is totally capable of cooking though. He also takes control of the music and plays imagine dragons and Drake

Viktor- Came to get a plate and leave but Jayce makes him stay, he's in the corner with the pets and also drinking vodka

I also think Vi and Jayce go out back to play some sort of sport or roughhouse with Isha and some other kids and it goes very wrong because you know the two of them together is always a bad sign.

The group will also play games and stuff, mainly guessing games and whatnot and Jayce and Vi will give the worst answers, Jinx will win by eating people's cards, Ekko will actually try to play the game, Mel just wants to watch, Caitlyn is asking all the questions, Viktor is giving correct answers to questions that nobody thought he'd know the answer to.

[eurosong]

Undo my ESC - semi-final 2

Hey there, folks. Last week, I published the first part of “Undo my ESC”, a look at semi-final 1 where I took the entrants and made óne change, either minor or drastic, to make the competition better in my eyes. I didn’t need to take out my time-travelling tippex too much for the generally stellar first semi-final, but semi-final 2 is a different kettle of fish altogether. There are a few songs I don’t want to change at all but must, but a lot of songs could do with changing. As always, this is just mý take on things and written light-heartedly. (Some people always unfollow the few times I publish entries relating to my opinion - to those folks, I say, skip the read.)

Norway – We could scarcely get off to a worse start for my tastes, as this unwelcome return is a composite of so many elements that make me cringe – the music, which sounds like a jingle for a new version of Supermarket Sweep; the painfully ironic title “That’s how you write a song”; the lyrics which are nigh beyond parody for their triteness; the cheesier-than-feta visuals and choreögraphy. Nothing really lit up my world in this year’s MGP, but I would have preferred the runner-up, the new Wallmann song or even (for the sake of a guaranteed belly laugh in the final) Scandilove over this abomination.

Romania – From a song being hotly tipped to one, in the death spot, which many people assume will lead to the end of Romania’s qualification streak. Personally, I increasingly enjoy this unloved song quite a lot. It has a personal poignancy and resonance with me, reminding me of conversations with friends lost to suicide or prolonged self-destruction, trying to reach out and help them see the beautiful things in this world. There’s not much I’d change – but since Voltaj were able to do well with a bilingual version, inserting some Romanian would be my little alteration.

Serbia – I was so excited to see the return of Beovizija, and it didn’t disappoint, with a very varied show including wild dances, poignant ballads and the funkiest jazz-rap I’ve heard since Digable Planets, and áll in Serbian. As is often my jinx, most of my support went to the eventual runner up, Pesma za tebe, a gorgeous bit of Balkan blues which I prefer a lot more than the Zajdi zajdi ripoff colliding with a dance mix that ended up besting it. I would send the flawless Saška Janks instead.

San Marino – Trust San Marino to veer into the world of national finals for a bit of credibility, only to make the selection process as risible as possible. I see some value in Who we are, because the combination of its rip-off of Heroes’ chorus, the robots, the dramatic with a capital D hand gestures and the rap make me laugh hysterically. But there were far better songs – Out of the twilight being very reasonably the fans’ favourite, but a bit by the numbers for me. I actually would give the nod to IROL. People say that San Marino doesn’t have enough performers to be competitive but 8 Sammarinese artists signed up to 1in360 and they eliminated all but him. Rap turns off a lot of Eurofans almost automatically, but it would have been heart-warming for a local artist to win such a mercenary NF system.

Denmark – I suppose, if for nothing else, Denmark deserve some props for consistency. How can a country that brought us such mould-busting entries as Disco-Tango, Fra Mols til Skagen and Dansevise be so consistently bland for several years? I don’t dislike Higher Ground, but it feels like an empty attempt to create a tune for a soundtrack for a hokey straight-to-video movie. I’d improve it by translating it into Old Norse.

Russia – On the one hand, I’m glad Russia stuck to their promise to Julia to bring her back for 2018. On the other hand, I disliked Flame is burning, and hate I won’t break even more (except for the hilarious “becoming a mountain” scene at the end of the music video) and so, if I had the liberty, would go back to 2017 and avoid the provocative gambit that led to her having been selected. If not, I would simply give her a song to sing in Russian as she seems rather more confident with her mother tongue.

Moldova – My word, talk about picking one of the worst songs out of a generally terrible selection. Moldova’s song this year is an infernal throwback to the darkest days of the contest. Its dirty trumpet riff pulsates like a bad headache as the most awkward ménage-à-trois partners this side of the Volga plough their way through some bizarre lyrics. I don’t want to subject myself to listening to the Melodie pentru Europa finalists again, but I’m sure I remember there being something better…

Netherlands – It says something about both this year and the artistry of Waylon that even one of my lesser favoured tracks amongst those he presented for consideration is amongst my top anyway. I’ve come to love Outlaw in ‘em as one of the few upbeat tracks that make me want to dance rather than make me deeply irritated, and I love the lyrical message of everyone finding the strength to be their own person and stand up for themselves. However, I lóve the melancholy and yet equally rousing Thanks but no thanks even more and would have picked it for ESC.

Australia – Four years after their supposedly one-off participation in the contest, and a year after they were sent into the final by the juries despite rightfully getting slated by the public vote, Australia are still here, somehow. There was word of them organising a national final, which could indeed have been an interesting show. Instead, they’ve gone with something so bland that it is nigh offensive, crowned by lyrics that are merely a string of platitudes. When Australia have such a rich musical scene, it’s a crying shame to send something so generic.

Georgia – I’m delighted that Georgia is sending its first song fully in their language, thus overshadowing the couple of lines in Georgian at the start of the hideous I’m a joker several years ago. It’s very authentic and showcases both beautiful vocals and great musicianship. My one worry is that it may seem a bit one-note to some people and fail to qualify – I might try to make a bit more contrast between the verses and chorus.

Poland – A cut-price Alexander Wallman with his cringey uncle behind him throwing shapes whilst pretending to mix, to the musical backdrop that sounds like a knockout coke advert jingle. Not really a recipe for success in my eyes, but somehow this won the Polish national contest. This is background music at best, like much of the songs in Krajowe Eliminacje this year. The only one that didn’t just bleed into those surrounding it for me was Ifi Ude’s Love is stronger; not typically my cup of tea, but a very striking composition and, in my eyes, the most likely of the entire selection to stand out.

Malta – Whilst Denmark provide a heady dose of beigeness from the north, Malta compete with them in the generic national selections stakes from the south. And how can a country where English is spoken natively alongside Maltese consistently come to the contest with criminally, almost laughably bad lyrics, like that of the winner, Taboo? I’d pick Song for dad over it – at least its lyrics were simple but earnest.

Hungary – I’ve come to really enjoy Viszlát nyár, the raw and emotional lyrics and performance and the big personalities of the lads in AWS, especially Aron and Soma trolling Wiwibloggs a few days ago! I do think there were potentially better picks, though – notably Azt mondtad and, for something also on the heavier side, Nem szól harang.

Latvia – This is a hard one. I really do love the sultry yet pensive Funny Girl and can see why Latvia were wowed by Laura’s convincing performance. It is one of my favourites this year – but I must admit to loving Madara’s Esamība even more for its delightfully ethereal feeling that never fails to send shivers down my spine.

Sweden – It’s long become a tradition for me to see a song or songs in Melodifestivalen that I wóúld have considered in my top 10 had it won, but instead it loses to something completely odious for me. Even in this pretty poor year, there were a few songs I think were a lot more interesting, like Dotter’s “Cry”, the woefully undervalued veteran Kikki’s “Osby Tennessee”, but I think my change would be for the runner up to take the winner’s place. Felix Sandman’s poignant Every single day has outperformed the ungodly Bieber-Timberlake hybrid that spawned Dance you off in the Swedish music charts, and I truly do thing it was a case of the better song being bested by the flashier show.

Montenegro – Inje was by far the best of Crna Gora’s short but sweet national selection, and I am over the moon that the country is returning to what has best served it at Eurovision and bringing back the Balkan ballad style that recent years have been sadly bereft of. There is really little I would change, but I’d want to ensure an eye-catching presentation that brings the story of the song to life as well as the music video did.

Slovenia – My initial reaction to Slovenia’s song was “hvala ne” (no thanks.) I found it really obnoxious on first (and second, third, etc) listen – I am really no fan of songs that have no real chorus. Over time, I’ve come to enjoy it as something rather different to the field, but I still would send the stirring V nebo instead.

Ukraine – I know Mélovin has many fans, but his song does little for me. It’s a low-key attempt at an anthemic song that doesn’t really get off the ground for me. That is not helped by the fact that you can (and we have!) asked a few dozen people to listen to it and because of his alien pronunciation, get a few dozen different “interpretations” of the original Mélovinese lyrics. The funky, soulful, playful, melancholy and yet still upbeat Lelja getting pipped to the selection was one of the biggest robberies of the entire year for me!

And the automatic qualifiers in this round:

France – I really do like “Mercy”. Great storytelling, musically very well produced and “Madame” has a lovely voice. The quality of France’s return to national finals, though, was such that it was not my favourite. I think the even more French flavoured efforts that were the heartbreaking, spellbinding, classic Tu me manques and Lisboa, Jerusalem were even better picks. I also loved the almost psychedelic feel of Ciao. Keep this standard up next year, mes amis !

Germany – Well done to Germany for jettisoning the absolutely torturous national final procedure they had last year, where they eliminated two people off the basis off completely unrelated covers and then we heard the same two songs performed over and over again for the rest of the night by 3 people. However, there was not a great leap in terms of quality to match. I preferred “You and I”, but Michael Schulte’s was probably the best song on the night. I fear could be easily forgettable amongst 25 other songs. My change would be to try to make the choruses a little more dynamic.

Italy – Italy hardly ever put a foot out of step at this contest, and that’s in part thanks to the grand tradition that is San Remo, which has even more prestige than ESC itself in the country. There were dozens of great songs in San Remo, but Non mi avete fatto niente, an effecting song with a very strong message, was one of the best for me. My only worry is that the frenetic, breathless pace seems to alienate some listeners – if I had to make a change (as is the premise with this conceit), I may cut one or two repetitions of the chorus and slow down the thunderous, impactful but perhaps sometimes alienating delivery of words just a tad. So those were my thoughts on how I’d change this year’s ESC if I had to make one change. I’m intrigued at what other folks would come up with in this scenario, too!

[ravenvsfox]

Hiii the story you wrote about Andrew and Neil that I asked for awhile ago was awesome even though I know it was a hard one. I was wo dering if you can do 98 about Ronan and Adam?

(that is SWEET and also I bastardized your prompt a little >:))

98: “I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with.” 

He’s locking up the repair shop with his arms full of backpack and keys clamped between his teeth when someone honks behind him. He startles so hard that everything landslides down onto springy wet grass.

“Sorry!” Gansey calls, head popped outside of what must be the pig, if Adam could see past the dizzy glare of the headlights. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. You’d better come sit down.”

Adam breathes deep, mentally slicing his evening into pieces like he always does when an expensive car rolls up and his name is called. He stoops over to gather the textbooks spilling out of his bag, the scatter of his few precious pens and his bike lock.

When he looks up, Gansey’s switched on his high beams to passive aggressively hurry him along. He slows down a little out of halfhearted spite.

Adam tucks his backpack through the headrests to the backseat and then leans into the front of the car to look at Gansey expectantly. He’s making a face that’s about as close to a grimace as a Gansey can get.

“Ronan ran away.”

Adam blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Gansey breathes. Adam feels his newborn worry ebb and blink out.

“Well he’s at home, then. He’s not going to run far from the Barns.”

“That’s what I’d imagined, but he’s nowhere on Lynch property. Blue and I went on a merry hunt all afternoon.”

Adam feels his chest kick and fight and try to make a scene. “And you didn’t tell me until now?” He hates that his voice sounds like the raw insides of undercooked meat, like he’s delicate and bloody.

“Well we thought it was fixable, and you were at work—“

“I’m always at work, Gansey, and it’s never deterred you before. If my— if Ronan really did disappear—“

“He did,” Gansey says emphatically, and Adam frowns.

“Opal—“

“Knocked on my door at 6 am this morning holding this.” He produces a sheet of torn off looseleaf from his breast pocket and hands it to Adam gingerly.

Adam unfolds it.

Tell Adam I’m sorry.

He looks up, swallowing. Gansey’s watching him closely, obviously trying to gauge a response.

“At least he’s started apologizing,” he says weakly, a thin needle of hurt pinning his words together.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s starting anything,” Adam says, his anger and worry taking each other by the throat. “He’s giving up.”

“I think,” Gansey says, “that he’s very bad at grieving.”

“No one’s good at grieving. Not that you’ve ever had to know.”

Gansey recoils. He has a flighty look on his face like he would very much like to abandon this conversation if it weren’t taking place in his most prized possession. “I’m not the one that left, Adam,” he says pointedly, and Adam swears, apologizes, and climbs into the passenger seat.

“Take me to the Barns.”

Gansey looks at him sideways, and Adam would have the pity in his eyes for a punching bag. “He really isn’t there.”

“I know,” Adam says impatiently, “I’m going to steal his car.”

_____

It’s an apparently old thing that’s never known the taste of rust or grime, nestled in the Barns’ garage under a gauzy tarp. Adam unveils it and Gansey whistles — probably because he heard it done on a television program — and lays a hand on the hood. Adam swears he hears the engine stir under his palm, for a second.

“Adam,” Gansey starts, voice low. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Funny,” Adam says, inspecting the car for faults. “That’s what I said when I started dating Ronan.”

“That is not funny,” Gansey says, though he’s smiling grimly. “He could be hurt. Or lost.”

“Ronan doesn’t get lost by accident,” Adam says absently, and Gansey makes a tiny, choked noise.

“How enigmatic.”

“Hmm,” Adam agrees, and touches the steering wheel gently so that it sighs and turns over and comes to life for him, no keys required. “Sort of takes the joy out of stealing it,” Adam muses, stroking along the dashboard and hearing the car purr in response.

Gansey makes to get into the passenger seat and Adam stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry man. It’s got to be me and him.”

Gansey looks down and then smiles slowly. “Funny. That’s what I said when you started dating him.”

Adam can’t quite bring himself to roll his eyes when everything about his relationship is so far up in the air that he’s afraid to look down.

“Ronan will be back tomorrow with an apology for driving you to yet another early grave,” Adam promises. He glances at Gansey’s harried expression, orange and shadowed by bare lightbulbs. “I’m not letting him do this. He can quit and fuck up his life as much as he wants but he can’t— I know he doesn’t want to leave.”

He’s been fixing the house up one squeaky hinge at a time, and sometimes he asks me to name any colour I can think of and the next day the kitchen will be that colour and he thinks I don’t notice the pictures of us in the office and the way he smiles sometimes is the way the water swallows its temper tantrum and guides a ship home and he loves it here the same way I love him here.

“Where are you going to look?” Gansey asks, almost too serious to look at. Adam knows he resents the way Adam’s slipping off to find Ronan like he’s been waiting to do it, when Gansey himself has failed another search for something that matters to him.

“I don’t want to say in case I’m wrong,” Adam says quietly. If it were Blue she would say I don’t want to jinx it.

“Call me from his phone?” Gansey asks. “Tell him—“ he twitches a sad smile. “Tell him I’m furious.”

“Gansey.“ He looks up. “You know you’re his hero,” he says, because he thinks he might need to hear it, and it’s been true since they were at least sixteen.

Gansey looks away like he doesn’t believe it. “Tomorrow?” he asks.

“Tomorrow,” Adam confirms. He bumps knuckles with Gansey, considers, and then hugs him over the steady warmth of the car. Adam’s unnerved to find tears burning his eyes, and he can’t quite look at Gansey when he pulls away.

_____

He drives the strange little sports car hybrid straight to D.C., trusting the fuel source to be as improbable as the rest of it. He spends the time cranking bad trap music and seething, resenting the 6 hour round trip chewed from his sleep schedule and distractedly desperate for Ronan to be there.

It’s very nearly impossible to imagine something spooking Ronan enough for him to abandon his closest friends or his dependent little gem of a dream or the home that is actually his heart.

It’s conversely easy to imagine Ronan afraid, Ronan retreating, Ronan, Lynch, with the only other people who know how to be Lynches.

It might be a stretch if you’d watched Ronan and Declan box each other half to death last year, but it’s obvious to Adam. Declan is Gansey if Gansey fought his problems instead of swallowing them.

Ronan ran because he needed to be punched and he knew his friends wouldn’t do it. He ran because he was starting to heal and he wanted to look at some wounds up close and get the taste of his pain back. He probably didn’t even have a plan beyond setting fire to their bed and finding something that wouldn’t feel so much like a dream.

Adam shuts the music off, lets himself sob a couple of times, and scratches the leather steering wheel with his jagged thumb nail, just enough to feel terrible.

That note. The stupid cop-out note. Tell Adam I’m sorry. Tell Adam I’m a coward. I can’t because I know how wrong and cruel this is, another loss to notch into the wall of Adam’s cell.

He rolls into the outskirts of D.C. and swallows mouthful after mouthful of trepidation with headlights in his eyes. The traffic is orderly and thick for 1 am, and it wakes Adam up.

He finds Declan’s address from vague memory, like feeling around where you know a light switch must be in a stranger’s house.

Adam parks down the street where it’s free after 6 pm, and walks up to the towering rich brown apartment block, more obviously expensive than the buildings on either side of it. He hurries to catch the door inside from an apartment patron with cigarette smoke trapped in their leather coat.

He holds the door open with his foot and scans the neat last names of the occupants lined up next to buzzers and room numbers. He finds Lynch, touches it with his index finger and feels an unexpected rush of emotion suck his bottom lip in and fold his lungs up.

He allows himself to take the elevator to the eighth floor, and closes his eyes the whole way, letting sleep tug him down, an ever impatient child.

He steps out into the overly air-conditioned taupe-carpeted hallway, fancy sconces set out every few steps. 843 is almost directly outside the elevator, likely planned for Declan’s convenience. He swallows, considers how humiliating it will be if Ronan isn’t here, and knocks on the door.

No one replies for a couple of minutes. Adam listens very hard and knocks again, as sharp as he dares. Something moves behind the door, and Adam steps back to stare down the peep-hole. The door cracks, and Declan peers blearily out, the silken collar of a robe snug at his neck.

“Parrish? Why are you here?”

“Ronan,” Adam says, and swallows. He’d been expecting Ronan’s insomnia to bring him to the door. “I’m looking for Ronan, and we thought he might have come here.” He’s not sure if the ‘we’ implies Gansey’s influence the way he wants it to.

“He’s not here,” Declan says simply. His eyes are a single shade away from Ronan’s, just as dark and exposing.

Adam’s heart sinks and keeps sinking, the waste of it all dawning on him slow and ugly.

“He was earlier today,” Declan amends, opening the door a little further. “He was here when I came home, talking to Matthew like—“ he pauses. “I would’ve thought it would be Gansey, to come.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Adam says hollowly.

Declan eyes him shrewdly, not quite apologetic but not pleased. “I guess I should’ve known,” he says vaguely, and Adam narrows his eyes.

“Adam.”

He whips around. Ronan’s there, of course, like some sort of scowling, half-crying mirage. He’s a strange blot of dark where the hallway is pristine; he’s never going to belong here.

“A note,” Adam says immediately. Ronan looks away, back towards the elevator with its doors still open. “You’re a real dick.”

“Yeah.”

Adam feels his whole body try to collapse itself at the hinges, exhaustion on top of relief on top of anger. The way Ronan looks like he’s been in a bar fight with himself isn’t helping. The sweet flush of exertion on his neck is making Adam want to break a light fixture in half.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Declan asks, and Ronan snaps a look at him, a little more himself.

“I wasn’t planning on kidnapping our brother, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Declan look a little pitying, so Ronan glares at him.

“I was leaving in the morning.”

“Leaving for where?” Adam asks, and Ronan’s demeanour rips through, like caught fabric.

“I was still deciding,” he says.

“Was home one of the options? Was I?”

Adam can tell that Ronan’s deadly close to tears because he’s focusing too hard on keeping them in to say anything.

“I’m going to—“ Declan starts awkwardly, and Adam gestures for him to go, sparing half of one glance to the closing door before looking back to Ronan. He steps forward unevenly.

“I was trying to sleep in my car. I saw you go by and I thought I was dreaming.”

“Still feel like a dream?” Adam hisses, and Ronan’s mouth pulls.

“Nightmare.”

Adam tries to breathe evenly and fails. “You scared the shit out of Gansey.” Me, you scared the shit out of me.

“He has Blue,” Ronan says quietly, like he’s thought it through.

“And me?” Adam asks, voice curdling.

“You have both of them. Plus Opal fucking worships you, and the witches, and the Vancouver whatever. And you could’ve had the Barns, I left it all to you.”

Adam’s head spins. “So you—“ he kneads his temples. “So you just disappear, and you think I’m gonna live in your house with your dreams like that’s— normal?”

“Normal?” Ronan says, frustrated. “Obviously not, Parrish. I left you that shit so it wouldn’t have to be normal, so you could have something magic of your own.”

“How generous,” Adam says and Ronan curses.

“I don’t know what else I could’ve done. I was letting you go, because I sure as shit wasn’t making things easier for you, and I know things haven’t been easy for me.”

“So things aren’t easy.” Adam steps closer and clenches his fists before he lets his nervous, sleep-deprived energy get the better of him and shove Ronan or shake him or pull him close. “Obviously they’re not easy. We know this. We live this.”

“If I can find a way to make things easier don’t you think I should?” Ronan asks fiercely. “If I wake up and you’re gone for work and everything’s normal but I feel like dying, like actually dying without you, isn’t that a problem?”

“Ronan,” Adam says, hushed.

“What? Are you uncomfortable? Me too. All this shit in my head makes me real fucking uncomfortable, actually. Sometimes I’m in the middle of laughing and then I remember seeing my mom’s intestines draped over tree roots like litter.”

Adam stays silent, mouth pinched. He knows that people in neighbouring apartments must be able to hear but he can’t— think about caring.

“It’s not like I’m trying to be an asshole here, Adam, for once in my fucking life I’m actually really trying to be better and find a way to reel in some mental health before I try this with you.”

“You’re already ‘trying this’ with me though,” Adam says slowly. “You can’t date me for five months and then decide that I deserve better. You’re only using your half of the variables and you think you’ve solved everything?”

“We’re not testing a fucking hypothesis, Adam, I’m not going to stop hurting if I think a little harder about it.”

“Maybe not, but if you actually communicated with me, maybe we could tear apart your bullshit illogical ideas before they hatch. You’re not going to cure yourself by sweating it out in a desert somewhere. Your plan was going to be living in your car so that you can feel a little reckless and connected to your dad, and then you were going to drink until you felt better, felt less, and then you were going to miss home and realize that all you ever do is miss things, and then—“

“Adam, fuck, stop—“

“And then you’d come home and realize that you’d been gone for too long, that I’d been pissed for too long because you hadn’t bothered to explain yourself. And all you would’ve done is lost me. Lost Gansey’s trust, again.”

Ronan palms both of his eyes and stumbles back into the wall, and Adam feels his throat go very small.

“Talk to me.”

Ronan drops his hands and inhales, quick, almost a sob. “I don’t— I don’t know what to say.”

Adam shakes his head. “How about: ‘I want to thank you for putting up with me, Adam’. ‘I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and you’re constantly working to—‘”

“I don’t want to be the thing that you have to put up with, though, fuck,” Ronan interrupts. “I love you for doing it but I’m such an asshole for letting you.”

Adam sighs heavily, letting himself reach for the front of Ronan’s shirt and feeling his mouth wobble when Ronan’s hand comes up to his wrist.

“You can’t honestly think that I just put up with you.”

Ronan thumbs his pulse and Adam closes his eyes. “You said—“

“That was a bad joke, clearly. I love you, you know this. I tell you all the time.”

Ronan pulls him in the final step and Adam lets himself be hugged like slipping under fragrant bathwater and hearing everything work, letting the warmth soften your muscles. He slips his hand up to his jaw. “It’s harder than I thought,” Ronan says. “Believing someone when they say it.”

“I’m not lying,” Adam says indignantly, and Ronan presses his face into his hair.

“Yeah,” he says. “But what happens when you come to your senses? I’m shit difficult to be with.”

“We’ve been friends for years, and I was a bit convinced we were enemies before that. I already know that you’re difficult, that’s what I’m saying. You’re work. We’re work. Work is the only thing that makes anything matter. We’re not destiny perfect like Gansey and Blue, and I don’t want to be. Do you understand?”

Ronan kisses him so fast that Adam doesn’t have time to kiss back, and then he puts his face down in Adam’s neck and rocks them back into the wall. It’s all so endearing that Adam wants to cry again, with his hands buried in Ronan’s in the pockets of his jacket. It’s so immediately gratifying to be safe like this, to have extinguished a fire before it could burn anything down. He can almost forget how late it is or the now-familiar devastated look on Gansey’s face or the way there was a fork in the road and he chose Ronan over everything that made sense.

“Take me home.”