marlowemuses | I told myself that I'd stopped thinking of you...

I told myself that I'd stopped thinking of you...

Wherever Adam Parrish went, no matter where his ambition took him or how hard he fought to get what he wanted, everyone he met seemed to immediately know that he was poor. Even now that he had his law degree and a position as a junior member of a law firm, in his second-hand suit with the stain on the elbow, clients and coworkers alike treated him like he was a second-class citizen.

Adam kept his head down and worked hard, pulling twice the hours of anyone else on the staff. Whenever the rest of them went out to two-hour lunches and came back smashed and laughing, Adam stayed, and worked, and excelled, and they still only ever gave him the cases that no one else wanted. He'd been a "junior" member for two years longer than any of the other junior attorneys, with their shining smiles and their complete lack of student debt. But he still had a job, and every day he was grateful to be out of Henrietta and away from the hell of his childhood. It was fine. It was his life, and one day, somehow, somehow, he would finally belong in it.

Or, at least, that was what he told himself, until the day that the Ganseys walked in through the doors of the law firm. The whole family, golden and laughing, with their impossibly easy companionship, and Adam almost didn't recognize them until he heard Gansey laugh.

Making a sharp right turn down a side hallway before they could see him, Adam ducked into the men's bathroom. It was the only place with proper walls in the gleaming glass and chrome office. The only place he could hide.

They were probably here on something mundane and glorious, seeking new legal representation--or had Adam always been working for their lawyers and he'd been so oblivious that he'd simply never seen their name on the list of clients on retainer?--to fix a minor legal loophole keeping them from some new golf course.

Adam's head spun, remembering and regretting everything about his friendship with Gansey, all the fights, and the last one most of all. He wished he could take back everything he'd said.

But he couldn't, and it wouldn't matter. Gansey's life was no doubt better without him in it. He was probably married by now. Maybe he'd even married Blue.

Adam had just resigned himself, yet again, to the fact that he was out of Gansey's life forever, when Richard Gansey III walked through the bathroom door. Caught standing in plain sight by the sinks, Adam froze, staring at Gansey and praying that his old friend wouldn't recognize him.

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Fixing that door on the Pig has never really been a priority but there's a small quirk of a smile at the re-slam.

"You said 'anywhere but there'. Favorite spot of mine," he murmurs as he keeps his eyes looking skyward, glare reflecting off his glasses.

There's a long stretch of silence between them and he knows Adam is as distracted as he is. The reason why is elusive to him.

"I've been wondering how you've been," he says offhandedly, a statement to be addressed or not, whichever Adam chooses.

"I know," Adam says, sliding his hands down into his pockets instead. "I don't have any better answer for you than I did the last two times you asked. I'm tired. My boss is an awful person and even though I've been looking, I haven't been able to get myself hired at any other firms. I haven't spoken to my not-boyfriend in three months because every time we get together it wrecks us both. What the fuck else am I supposed to say?"

His tone gets more heated at the end than he means, and he slams his fist back against the door of the Pig, not hard enough to damage either himself or the car, because Adam can't let go of enough control to actually damage anything, ever. Except for the hearts of anyone stupid enough to care about him.

"Can you stop asking now?" Adam asks with a sigh.

Gansey raises both his eyebrows as he turns towards Adam, the heat in his voice catching him off guard. There's a small wince when he both hears and feels the pound on his car.

"I don't think I'll ever stop asking. Or wondering," he replies truthfully. Depending on the circumstance. Depending on how this meeting goes. He could blow it all sky-high yet, if he hasn't already.

He doesn't get Gansey's determination. He certainly doesn't know what to do with it.

I'm doing shitty. Really shitty.

"I'm doing great, Gansey," he says, with too much bitterness in his voice to make it convincing. "I'm a lawyer and I'm only working one job. On Sundays I sleep in. I make just enough to occasionally afford food other than ramen, after making my student loan payments."

Adam feels utterly trapped. He pushes away from the car, paces a tight half-circle, and braces his arms against the top of the car. "Is this what you wanted? Tourist stop through Adam Parrish's shitty life? God, look at the less-fortunates. Aren't they sad? Go take bread to some third-world country, Gansey. It's less sadistic."

That gets an even more visceral wince from him. His heart shoots into his throat. How? What did he say? How had he screwed up this badly already? He listens as Adam's rant spirals, re-opening those old wounds he thought had healed over long ago.

He steps away from the Pig to fully face Adam, hurt pulling at the furrow of his brow.

"Is it really that hard to imagine me genuinely wondering how an old friend is doing?" His voice is calm but there's a bite to it--disbelief at how cold those words felt to him.

Everything Adam wants to throw at him would just make everything worse. How is he fighting with Gansey again, already? Why can he only ever hurt the people he cares about?

Adam lets his head hang forward, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. He will not lash out at Gansey. He will not. "No, Gansey. It's fine."

His voice sounds like it's coming from someone else. He flattens all of his emotions so that none of them will cut Gansey, who doesn't deserve to be friends with a box of knives.

"Did you want to talk about anything other than my least favorite question, or do we want to go over that one another four times?"

Gansey leans back against the Pig, staring heavenward. He removes his glasses to rub at his eyes. How could this have happened already? How had they gotten to this point that a simple inquiry sets Adam off? He replaces his glasses.

"I'm sorry," he mutters in Adam's general direction, looking down at his khakis paired with loafers. "We can talk about other things."

Of course, now he's casting about something to ask about. It's not his usual but Adam's thrown him off his usual game. Adam always did that. He never played by Gansey's scripts that he used on others.

"Where are you living nowadays?"

He bans 'how are you' and Gansey decides to just go around it and ask all the piecemeal parts of the question. Fine. Great.

"An apartment," Adam answers. "Like twenty minutes back the way we came from. I'm not being difficult, there's just nothing to say about the apartment. Or any other part of my life."

If Gansey's not going to let it go, then Adam's just going to have to try to force a topic change. "What are you chasing these days? I think the Holy Grail is a perennial favorite."

There's another sidelong glance, arms folded across his chest as Adam expertly bats away Gansey's question.

"Nothing. I'm not chasing anything if you can believe it." Or at least physically chasing anything. Pursuit of knowledge notwithstanding.

"What do you want to talk about?" Because he's certain Adam isn't that interested in Gansey's pursuits.

Gansey's not... Gansey isn't chasing anything.

Adam's head lifts, peering over at Gansey. That can't be possible. That doesn't make a single lick of sense. "You don't... you haven't got any esoteric academic mystery you're trying to unravel?"

Either Gansey has turned into someone Adam doesn't know, he's trying to diminish whatever actual project or projects he's working on, or something is wrong.

"Why not?"

A wry smile quirks his lips, eyes trailing back down to the ground, turning back to face forward and watch the magenta clouds go by, slight purple hue to the shadows as the sun continues to set.

"I don't think anything will come close to the Glendower search," and look how that ended up is left unsaid. He made and lost the best friends of his life. He can't fathom going on another quest without them. He doesn't want to open himself up to new people.

Adam's still bewildered. Gansey. Not chasing something. Something's wrong. He can't figure out what.

Turning halfway, with one hand still braced against the roof of the car, Adam peers at him. There was something earlier, too, when Adam had asked if there was anyone. Maybe that's it.

... He's still mourning Blue. It's the only thing that makes sense, that could break Gansey that deeply. If he really is that damaged and it's not something else that Adam isn't seeing.

Either way, it's not Adam's business. He can't fix Gansey's problems for him, any more than he'd let Gansey fix his.

Huffing out his breath, Adam settles his ass against the door again, watching the sunset tiredly.

Gansey can feel a slight movement in the car behind him when Adam re-settles against the Pig. A cool breeze blows across the overhang, down into the valley. He runs another hand through his hair.

There's a lot he wants to say and he feels strangled by the possibilities. He has Adam here. After so many times of wanting to reach out and then stopping himself, what is it that he's wanted to say the most to Adam?

"I've missed you, Adam," he confesses in the direction of the valley.

Adam doesn't know how to respond to that. His heart pounds, yearning for the affection and acceptance that Gansey's words suggest. He believes him, halfway. He believes that Gansey misses their friendship, though he never understood why someone as interesting and incredible as Gansey would waste his time with him. Gansey has always been so much better than Adam is. Gansey's place in the world is assured. He deserves good things. Adam has to fight for them, because he deserves nothing.

"Why bother?" Adam says at last, voice flat to hide the agony in his voice. Whatever Gansey got out of their friendship, it can't possibly be worth their fights and Adam's sharp words.

Gansey looks over at Adam, confusion written on his features.

"Beg pardon?"

Because what could Adam possibly mean by that? 'Why bother'? Spending so much of his time wishing he'd been less oblivious, more supportive, more appreciative of Adam's friendship only begins to touch the surface of why he's missed Adam for so long. After all that they went through, everything they shared, Adam can't be really asking why Gansey bothered to miss him.

"You heard me," Adam says. Tension ripples through him as he glares off across the valley. He's getting absolutely no benefit from the beauty of the sunset. All he's conscious of is Gansey.

"Why would you waste a moment missing someone who hurt you?"

Anger underlies every word, but it's not Gansey he's angry at. Adam will never apologize for what he said, but what's harder to live with is that he can never forgive himself for it.

Gansey of course misinterprets that anger as directed towards him. After all this time, Adam still feels this heated towards him?

He takes a few seconds to gather himself, to think of what to say so that Adam doesn't immediately dismiss him.

"Because there's been no one like you before or since. You were one of my best friends." And I'm still not over you. I don't think I ever will be.

Oh.

Gansey missed him. It hits home now. The first time it was just words, and they didn't quite get past Adam's pain and self-loathing. These ones do.

He doesn't know how to react to it. He's not used to being told that he matters. The words play over and over in his head, and they make him willing to listen, willing to actually cooperate.

Sliding down because his legs suddenly feel like they can't support him, Adam sits, leaning back against the side of the car as he looks out at the darkening sky. It's beautiful, and for the first time, he sees it.

Processing what Gansey said, Adam just sits, watching the last vestiges of the sunset as they fade.

He's not entirely sure what kind of reaction he expected out of Adam, but it certainly isn't this. He's sure it's not good, but he's not entirely sure it's bad either. It's not like Adam went into the Pig and slammed the door behind him, effectively ending the conversation.

He stays quiet, not amending what he says, just allowing it to hang between them, let Adam really think about what he means. What he wouldn't give to have Adam back in his life.

"It's a nice spot," Adam says, nodding his chin toward the horizon. He'll remember this spot. Might come here, occasionally, if his heart aches too much and he wants to think of Gansey. Wants to feel the risk that he might run into Gansey.

Gansey missed him. Adam doesn't for a minute think he's worth that, but what an incredible, precious fragment of a thing it is, that Gansey genuinely still cares about him, at least a little. "What do you want to happen here?" he asks, finally lifting his head to regard Gansey. He tilts his neck, letting his head rest back against the warm side of the car. "In the next three minutes, and also end goal. I promised we could talk. I still don't get why you want to."

It's a spot that he hasn't had a chance to show anyone else. His heart soars when Adam acknowledges its beauty.

But when Adam continues talking, he leans back against the Pig, eyes closed facing the sky. What does he want to happen here?

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I do know that after that day," he hesitates, implying That Day, "ever since then, I've missed you. Even though I was angry and hurt, I missed you."

He too, sinks down onto the ground, adjusting himself so he now leans back against the camaro at Adam's level. With a wry smile:

"I guess that's my end goal. To hear you talk again. For us to talk."

"That's not a goal, Gansey," Adam points out, though at least his tone isn't biting anymore. "We are talking. We've been talking."

Not very well, maybe. Not very cordially, especially not on Adam's part. But; talking.

"Imissedyoutoo," Adam says, in an exhale of breath. He lets the confession hang in the air between them. Doesn't look over.

Gansey missed him. He lingers over that fact, dwelling on it. He still doesn't know what to do with it.

It'll never be enough. I miss the days when we sat around and could talk for hours. Or just sit near each other and it'd be fine.

Gansey is certain he misheard the words. Initially he doesn't react, just letting the words wash over him. So...he hadn't been the only one? The silence between them is deafening.

"Then..." his voice is quiet, hesitant. "Why?" I would have done a lot to just hear your voice again.

"Gonna have to be more specific." There are a lot of 'whys' between them. Too many things unsaid, too long apart.

Why did I let myself say those things?

Why did I let myself hurt him?

Why can't I just swallow my pride for once and apologize?

Why can't I tell him how much he means to me?

Adam lets his head hang forward onto his arms, closing his eyes and focusing on what he can hear of Gansey's breath, Gansey's movements. Gansey's here. Gansey's real. Adam wants to remember this vividly enough that he can conjure it every time he closes his eyes.

He finally turns to look at Adam, his own hands gripping at his knees to prevent himself from reaching over.

"Why didn't you reach out?" Not why did you say what you did?, not why didn't you apologize?. Gansey took those words and took a long, hard look at himself. He was angry and upset at the time, but ultimately, he wished Adam had said something earlier instead of everything blowing up all at once. Maybe then Gansey could have had a chance to improve.

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