Dreaming was easier in the crypt. He dreamed of his father, handsome Niall Lynch, all grins and mischief. Ronan had been his favorite, as Niall had been Ronan's favorite. In the dream Niall had been hugging Ronan, saying something that Ronan couldn't understand. It seemed important. Then Niall laughed and scrubbed at his son's head, through hair that was still thick and curled.

Then he heard his name. Once, twice. At first he thought it was his dad. Reprimanding, then worried. What did he do? What did he fuck up this time?

Slowly, Ronan opened his eyes. It wasn't Niall Lynch over him.

"Adam...?" he croaked, throat parched from too much booze and no water. Squinting, wearily, a little hung over and aching from sleeping on a cold stone floor.

"You look worried," he said, blankly, as though he couldn't quite fathom why.