marlowemuses | who could ever learn to love a...

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who could ever learn to love a...

39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house on the road.

In fact, 39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house in the neighborhood. Through the years Henrietta, Virginia had mostly kept up with the times. Old, decrepit homes were replaced with bright white houses and wooden fences. The convenience store went from locally owned to a chain. The schools got better. Wifi was available in almost every pubic place.

39 Excelsior Place did not keep up with the times. Crouching darkly at the end of the road, squatting fiercely in its dead end, the house was every bit the past it came from. Tall with gothic architecture, unwelcoming pointed gates, and black bricks the hollow eyes on its gray and white face. Huge windows were long covered with sheets, as had been most of the furniture. Once upon a time the house had been beautiful. Once upon a time, however, was a long time ago. In 2016, most people stayed away from 39 Excelsior Place. Smartly so. Its resident monster hated everyone.

Everyone except for its sole resident, elderly Mr. Greerish. Greerish said he had a family. Nobody ever game to visit so the monster called him a liar. Greerish placidly made excuses, such as They’re very busy and It’s been a while since we’ve caught up. Apparently Greerish had a favorite nephew: a baby when they last met. It had smiled at him once. No one else in the family smiled at him.

The monster called him an idiot. Greerish laughed and returned to his books. That was how they found the old man dead. With a pleasant smile and a book in his lap.

Fine. The monster didn’t care about Greerish anyway. It had only just begun to tolerate him. With his death, 39 Excelsior Place would be free of pests and the monster could hide away from the rest of the world until it eventually died. That was what happened to monsters. He’d read the old books Greerish kept so neat in the bookcase. They all ended the same. The monster was killed, burned, staked. The handsome prince got the princess. Or, in the monster’s personal interests, prince. Not that it mattered.

What the monster did not know was that there was a Will. A thing that had been executed by the local priest out of pity for old man Greerish. There was only one stipulation.

Everything I own, including 39 Excelsior Place, will be so inherited by my nephew, Adam Parrish.

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The bird clicked her beak in agreement. She was no Charlotte. Charlotte was upstairs being annoying and stubborn, refusing to admit that he wanted the company of this boy. Which meant that he would be up all night. Which meant that she would be up all night. No thanks.

She looked toward the attic stairs. The door was open, showing the stairs as they went up, just as Ronan had left it when he'd fled.

Looking at Adam, she went back and forth between that doorway and peering at Adam. Curiously she asked, "Kraa?"

Adam's breath caught as he realized the door at the end of the hall was open. It led to a stairway. An attic. He hadn't noticed earlier, too busy feeling sorry for himself.

"You really aren't Charlotte, are you?" he murmured, feeling like the bird was his conspirator somehow.

It occurred to him, briefly, that if the monsters in his house were conspiring to kill him, this would be the murder attic.

But he wanted to know more about that cat. He wanted to convince that cat that petting and cuddling was definitely a thing that they could do.

Adam tentatively reached up and stroked the feather's on the bird's chest with one finger. "All right. Let's go."

Taking another deep breath, Adam walked quietly up the stairs.

The bird was quiet as well. She only ruffled her feathers and used her wing to cover her beak while looking at Adam—a very striking similarity to someone using a finger to say shh—once they reached the top of the stairs and stood before the second door. The second door, which was locked.

Once she was convinced that Adam would stay quiet, she began to make distressed noises. A mix of caws and kraas and kerahs that sounded both alarmed and pained, though the bird herself was perfectly fine.

There was thumping from inside the room, like someone had gotten up suddenly.

"Chainsaw, where are—"

The door opened quickly. The thing that opened the door, however, was not a cat. Nor a ghost. It was a young man, taller than Adam with a well muscled frame, if a bit gangly. Angled features, pale skin, he'd fashioned himself after his father the dreamer, who had been a handsome man when he was alive. He wore only jeans, as he was shirtless and barefoot, with the dark lines of tattoo coming just over his shoulders and upper arms.

If there was any question about whether or not the young man was Charlotte, his eyes were a dead giveaway. They were the same as the cat's, just as blue and intense.

His expression went from alarmed to surprised, to shocked, to irritated all in a matter of fifteen seconds.

"Kraa," the bird said, sounding entirely pleased.

"Traitor," Ronan said, eyes narrowing at the bird perched on Adam's shoulder.

Adam's eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise. His heart stuttered briefly, as the door was yanked open by a devastatingly handsome young man.

He looked ferocious, somehow, and alien, but also undeniably hot. Adorable cat was nice. Gorgeous young man, about his age, was a huge improvement. Especially because this was the version that he hadn't meant to show to Adam.

"Chainsaw, huh?" he said, reaching up to stroke the bird's feathers again. "I think your bird wants us to be friends."

Chainsaw looked even more pleased with herself, and pleased to have her feathers stroked. There was a small flare of jealousy in Ronan's chest as he watched those beautiful hands touch Chainsaw. What's more, she knew he would be jealous, which made her smugness all the more annoying.

"Kerahhhh," she coaxed, and Ronan's eyes flashed. Whatever he was going to say he bit back; Chainsaw was all he had. Even if she was a traitor.

And, she had put him in a predicament. He had never intended Adam to see this form. The fuck was he supposed to do with this?

First, he stepped out onto the small landing and closed the door behind him. Adam definitely didn't need to see his nest, nor the things he had hoarded in there.

"She's being nosy," he accused, staring Adam dead in the eyes.

Adam stepped back as Charlotte stepped onto the landing with him. It was crowded, and dimly lit, and Adam was pretty sure that the only times he'd ever been this close to a guy this attractive had ended up with him getting punched. Chainsaw on his shoulder only made the space all the more crowded, though Adam was careful not to dislodge her.

"Yeah, I, uh, got that. Smart bird," he said, not backing down. He held Charlotte's eyes, though his shoulders had hunched and his jaw was tense, trying to make himself less aggressive and half anticipating an attack. "Hi, Charlotte."

A visible crease formed between his eyebrows when Adam called him Charlotte.

"My name," he said, slowly, "is Ronan."

No point in hiding his goddamn name now that the beautiful boy had seen his face. It was so like his father's face, he was compelled to admit the name his father had given him. There were not many things he had left from Niall Lynch. Only dreams, a name, rosary beads, and some old faded memories.

Chainsaw clicked her beak, happy to hear him say his name.

Surprise flickered over Adam's face that the ill-tempered young man who lived in his attic had deigned to offer his name after all. "Ronan," he said, liking the way the name sounded in his mouth. It was a surprisingly ordinary name, for a shapeshifting prince like this one, but it suited him very well.

"Nice to meet you." He pressed a little more firmly back against the wall of the landing, still half convinced he was about to be hit. Or worse. "Can I just ask if you're planning to eat me?"

Ronan studied Adam. Now that he was closer to a height he was comfortable with, it was easier. Just as pretty as he'd thought, before.

At the question, Ronan offered a jackal's smile.

"I haven't decided yet."

And he began to head down the stairs, running his hand along the wall as he went. It was comforting, somehow, the texture of wallpaper as it flaked. If he was going to be forced by his bird to socialize, he wasn't going to do it in front of his room.

"Cook me something."

Adam smirked a little in reply. That smile set him at ease. It was an empty threat. Adam had become an expert at spotting which boys were bullies and which ones weren't. The loners with tattoos and dark clothing, in his experience, who carried themselves like a bared knife, weren't half as dangerous as the well-dressed young men with greedy eyes and entitled smiles.

And neither was as dangerous as pale men with red faces and a heart full of inadequacy.

He followed Ronan down the stairs to the kitchen, not asking any further questions. He slid the half-cooked eggs back into the pan and turned the heat back on, putting a couple of slices of toast in the toaster. He added a few more eggs for good measure, now that he was feeding two hungry young men rather than a single cat.

In the kitchen, Ronan leaned against the wall, looking out the window to the backyard. It was huge and overgrown. A mess of trees that lead into the woods, a worn down old shed, pieces of metal that had once been fencing. Old patio chairs. It used to be a beautiful place.

On Adam's shoulder still, Chainsaw watched him cook with interest. Every so often she bobbed her head as though she was going to try to snatch one of the eggs out of the pan as it was cooking.

"Don't be such a fatass," Ronan scolded. Chainsaw puffed with offense.

"If you want, just knock her off."

"I would never," Adam said, petting the bird's feathers with an amused smirk. He probably would, if needed. "I don't want you to burn your beak, though. I'll give you some. Don't worry."

It was wonderful to have all the company. He felt at home with his two new friends, even though Ronan was still plenty closed off and hostile. Now that Adam had a better idea of the situation, he could sympathize. Ronan lived here. For years, evidently. He must be older than he looked, if he remembered Mr. Greerish talking about him as a baby. Vampire still seemed like a possibility. But, no, there was a line of sunlight hitting Ronan's arm where he was by the window, and it wasn't burning him.

Something. A monster.

Adam told his heart that it was a very foolish idea to entertain any sort of crush on an ageless monster who happened to be in the shape of a handsome young man. His heart found this to be an unconvincing argument.

The raven made a pleased sound when she clicked her beak, sitting back comfortably on Adam's shoulder.

Ronan turned his intense gaze from the yard onto the other young man. Watching, for a while, quietly. He had never found himself wanting to watch anything Greerish did. Adam... was different. Ronan was drawn to him, with the desire to simply watch his lovely hands and the way expressions crossed his face. This Adam was... difficult to read. Not like the easy to read expressions of most people in town.

When he opened his mouth to finally say something, intense gaze taking on a softer look for just a moment, there was a knock at the door. Ronan turned his head suddenly, squinting toward the front door while making a face. Chainsaw looked up as well and then pushed off of Adam's shoulder, soaring into the dining room to hide.

Ronan followed her, casting a look at Adam as he passed, "Good luck."

Because once Adam answered the door, he was going to be met with a middle-aged woman squinting over his shoulder immediately, toting a plate of lemon bars.

In the dining room, Ronan swiftly changed back into the black cat and followed, squinting and wiggling his nose unpleasantly at the woman.

Adam didn't mind being watched. It was just Ronan's nature. He was intense and sharp-edged, but there was something very honest about it, which Adam found pleasant.

Turning off the stove and pushing the skillet onto the back burner, Adam went to answer the door. He put on his polite smile, the one that made strangers think he was quiet and shy, at the woman with the lemon bars. "Good afternoon."

"Hello, sweetheart," the woman said. "Are you Scott's nephew? He told me about you--not often, mind, he was a bit of a homebody was Scott!"

"Yes," said Adam. He did not offer his hand. "I'm Adam Parrish."

"Welcome to the neighborhood," she said, chattering on for a bit as she tried to get glimpses of the place over his shoulder. "Oh, you have a cat!"

"Hm?" Adam said, glancing back to see Ronan. "Oh, yes. That's Charlotte. He's very sweet, but he takes some warming up. Doesn't like strangers."

"He?" echoed the woman, clearly confused by the name and the pronouns.

"It's very thoughtful of you to bring lemon bars," Adam said, with a tentative smile, which he was obliged to keep up for several minutes more as she talked about the neighborhood and interrogated him about the rest of his family.

"Oh, no, ma'am," Adam said, calmly, when she continued pressing questions about his parents, and did they live in town? Anyone she knew? "I haven't been much in contact with my parents after my father hit me hard enough to leave me deaf in my left ear."

She went white with embarrassment and horror, expressing her condolences and finally wrapping up the conversation. Adam took the plate of lemon bars back into the kitchen.

Ronan watched as the woman hesitated in front of the door. He knew this one. She always came by because she and her husband were real-estate moguls. Always peeking around the house, trying to convince Greerish to sell. He never agreed. She probably thought she could convince the nephew.

She loitered, and then began to head down the pathway to the gates. That was when Ronan trotted away from the door and back toward the kitchen.

Chainsaw was back in the kitchen too, settled on the backs of one of the chairs rather than Adam's shoulder. Ronan hopped onto the kitchen table and curled up there comfortably, watching Adam with his same rapt fascination.

"Was that true?"

"Yes," Adam said, not looking at him. He got out three plates, putting a single egg and a lemon bar on one of them for Chainsaw, and then eggs, toast, and two lemon bars for the two boys. "You'll notice sometimes that I have poor equilibrium and may ask you to repeat things."

He put the plate down in front of Ronan, still not looking at him, and then sat down to eat. He didn't like talking about it, but the woman wasn't going to go away with anything less. He didn't have to hide it anymore. The court case had given him that.

Ronan was quiet in contemplation. Greerish always had said his family wasn't the best, that his nephew was the only good part. Ronan hadn't believed the old man... but hearing that made him reconsider.

Adam clearly didn't want to talk about it so he didn't press. It didn't matter. If his father ever tried to show up here, Ronan would get him out.

And, that thought made him wonder just when he'd accepted Adam living with him. When he decided he'd be willing to protect him.

It was a thought that made him uncomfortable. So he stuffed his cat face into the food instead, tail swishing in delight at something hot. Ronan knew how to cook, sure, but he didn't often bother.

Chainsaw helped herself as well, giving a kraa of approval.

Adam was perfectly happy to eat in silence, with Chainsaw the most conversational of the three of them. He hated small talk. It struck him as fake, and purposeless. People used it to hide the truth.

How are you? Fine.
i'm not i'm not fine i'm falling apart inside exhausted i'm scared so scared

He'd planned to spend his whole life making small talk. Business, politics, it didn't matter, as long as it offered him money and got him out of Henrietta. And now, for the first time, he had another option.

He'd put his other plans on hold. Taken a gap year. The time he'd spent with Gansey and Blue had made him start to wonder. Did he really want to be in politics, or had it always just been the way out of his life? What was he, if he was free of that life and didn't have to work three jobs just to eat?

Adam wasn't sure. His plan was to spend two weeks sleeping. And then, well-rested for the first time in his memory, he'd decide.

Edited 2016-11-03 22:45 (UTC)

Ronan ate until the plate was clean, and then stretched out, sticking his paws straight out and aching his back. Having a belly full of warm food was always satisfying. Thanks to that, he was feeling less prickly and content.

He hopped off the table and walked around. Chainsaw watched him, cocking her head as he stepped away into the dining room and came back as a human, zipping and buttoning his jeans.

"I'm gonna go out," he announced, glancing toward the back door.

"Okay," Adam said, eyes flicking over Ronan's chest and the hints he could see of his tattoo. He'd only gotten a glimpse of it, and wanted to be able to really study it. He wanted to run his fingers over the lines and...

His attention was straying.

"I'll be here," he said, watching as Ronan left and then looking around for what he wanted to clean. He didn't want to clean. Feeling exhausted from the long, weird day, he put away the remaining lemon bars and went upstairs, curling up in the bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

Ronan returned a few hours later. He'd needed to run, to be outside, where there wasn't an utterly distracting beautiful boy. He'd found the swath of trees and plucked fruit. Found berries and collected them. By the time he returned to the house it was late.

In a basket, he left what he'd collected for Adam. He hadn't thanked the boy for the food and he didn't plan to; at least, not verbally. There were pears, peaches, plums, persimmon, and strawberries. They filled the basket, colorfully, and Ronan left it on the counter for Adam to find in the morning.

Then he went upstairs. When he caught sight of Adam sleeping, Ronan's breath caught in his throat. Stepping silently so as not to wake the sleeping beauty, Ronan watched his face. His gentle breathing. Carefully, Ronan used the back of his hand to brush some stray hair away from Adam's face. Caressed along the side of his face with his finger.

What was he doing? He didn't know.

Pulling away, he retreated upstairs and locked both doors, sinking into the comfort of his blankets.

And he dreamed.

When Adam came downstairs in the morning, yawning, he saw the basket of fruit and stared. It was stunning.

Adam hadn't often been able to afford fruit. Apples were cheap, and he'd relied upon them for years, but other fruits were expensive.

Awed, he took a strawberry, nibbling on it slowly to savor it as he started making coffee. While the coffee brewed, he sat at the table, eating fruit. He ate each kind one at a time, nibbling carefully at the fruit to make it last as long as possible. He made a little tiny pile of pits and stems, eating all of each fruit that he possibly could. Even the pears, he ate the entire core, leaving only the stem and a tiny pile of seeds.

When he woke, it was... not upset, as it usually was. His dreams had been dreams. Not nightmares. There had been something new, too—Adam. Ronan had never dreamed about Greerish. But Adam... he had been there, though that had been toward the end, when he was beginning to lose the dream.

The smell of coffee greeted him when he woke. Faint, but he had an excellent sense of smell, and he had long gotten used to the dust and decay of his home.

He wanted to go to Adam. He felt like an idiot. It was a war between his heart and his head, and so far, his heart was winning. Which, he knew, he would regret. Adam would leave once he knew Ronan's true self. That he was a nightmare.

Ronan went downstairs anyway.

"Coffee," he grunted, as though that was the only reason why he deigned to give Adam his presence.

Adam pointed to the coffee maker, not bothering to get up or leave the fruit. He ate like he was in a trance, licking his fingers of the pear and then reaching for a plum.

"Thank you for the fruit," he said, dark eyes lingering on Adam. His expression was inscrutable, though his reverence for the fruit was clear. He ate fruit after fruit with the same worshipful fascination, only pausing once to get himself some coffee and then magnetizing back to the fruit.

Ronan helped himself to a cup of coffee. It smelled heavenly, and once his cup was full, he turned and leaned against the counter. Pressing the mug to his lips, he watched Adam over the rim. It was like he was in some kind of trance.

At the thanks he shrugged, glancing away. It felt weird to be thanked for something so small. Or thanked for anything at all, really.

"Yeah, well. You like it?"

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