#ronan just sort of got caught in the middle like 🧍🏻

[adamprrishcycle]

WIP Wednesday (but it’s Thursday)

I was tagged by @clotpolesonly thank you!!

This is from a fic I’ve been working on for a long time. It’s not close to seeing the light of day and this is definitely not part of any kind of final draft but here you go. Absolutely no context, enemies to lovers girlies win !!!

Parrish was sweating, the front of his shirt visibly damp and sticking to him and Ronan only let himself have the smallest of glances in his direction. The smell in the car was pure gasoline as though Parrish had spilled it all over his hands and something about the whole situation had Ronan shifting uncomfortably in his seat, oddly intrigued and equally repulsed at himself. He was no stranger to shame.

“So, I take it that was the trailer you grew up in?” Ronan said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, thinking that if he got Parrish talking again, it would break the strange spell that had fallen upon him.

Parrish didn’t say anything.

“Come on, man, you know enough about me.”

“It’s my job to know what I know about you,” Parrish replied finally. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“But that’s not how it works,” Ronan protested, “and I’m already working it out in my head. Man returns to hometown and lights family home on fire. Is that why you came back? Shitty childhood? Is that why you lied about where you’re from?”

“Just stop talking,” Parrish snapped and he rubbed at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, his hand sliding down his face before quickly putting it back on the wheel with a slight shake of his head. Ronan was drawn to those hands, fine and long with delicate fingers that circled the steering wheel in an appealing way.

“Where’s your car?”

“I left it back there,” Ronan admitted, eyes trained on the steering wheel, ignoring the night as it streamed past.

“Well, I’m not taking you back,” Parrish told him but Ronan didn’t care, he hadn’t expected to be given a ride back to his car at the scene of the crime. He only hoped that the BMW was far enough out of the way to not raise any kind of suspicion in his direction. As he considered his fate, they arrived back in town and Parrish parked in the lot of the small hotel he was staying at.

He cut the engine.

“You’re not running, then?” Ronan asked in the darkness. The light from a street lamp slid in at a low angle, lighting up Parrish’s lap where he had placed one hand, twisted but casual, the other higher up, reaching for the key in the ignition. Ronan felt Parrish glance towards him.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said seriously and he held the car key in a fist.

“Now why the fuck would you be seeing me ever again?”

Ronan turned in his seat so he could look Parrish straight in the face. The guy was an arsonist and probably having some sort of psychotic episode, and the worst part was that Ronan had sought him out, had followed him this afternoon and sat outside his hotel into the dead of night. He had climbed into Parrish’s car after all of these revelations. The sick reality of it was dawning on him. Maybe Ronan was the one having the psychotic episode.

“I’ve got a job to do,” Parrish responded coolly.

“I could report you for what I’ve just seen and you wouldn’t have a fucking job-to-do anymore,” Ronan told him, mimicking his tone.

“I don’t think you will,” said Parrish, “now get out of my car.”

Ronan would have been irritated if he hadn’t been so interested, if a part of him hadn’t enjoyed the way Parrish put those particular words together, his face a harsh and unreadable mask as he spoke. His shoulders rose and fell and he reached up and hooked one finger into the neckline of his shirt, pulling the damp material away from his chest. The car was stifling.

He climbed out and Ronan mirrored him on the other side and they slammed their doors in near synchronicity. One firm bang in the night air and then the sound of cicadas resumed.

“How’s your back?” Ronan asked over the roof.

Parrish eyed him and shook his head, still unreadable, before turning and walking away towards his room. As he walked, he lifted his arms and pulled his shirt off over his head, balling it in one hand and Ronan watched the movement of his shoulder blades above his slim waist and the dark, ragged lines that ran almost the full length of him until he disappeared into shadow beneath the overhanging balcony.

Ronan relaxed finally, his jaw tight from grinding his teeth together for the whole car ride. He rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension, sniffed, spat out the nervous taste in his mouth, then ran his fingers over the hood of Parrish’s car as he turned to leave.