marlowemuses | I carry you with me

When Adam heard Ronan's voice, he thought at first that he'd imagined it. The voice had changed, after all. It was deeper and rougher, not like he remembered, but there was still an intrinsic Ronan-ness to it. Helped along by the swearing. It echoed from the front hall of the manor, up to the second-floor study where Adam was industriously cleaning and polishing a set of book shelves.

He set down the rag he was working with and went to the door so that he could hear better. Other servants scurried about, hurrying to carry luggage and prepare rooms. If Ronan had sent word he was coming, the notice hadn't reached Adam. He hovered out of sight, heart aching as it slammed against his ribs. Ronan was home. Adam wasn't even sure that Ronan would remember him anymore. It had been years, and Ronan had never really needed Adam in his life. Adam had only ever been the convenient friend, the pet project that Ronan's father had allowed because Ronan was better behaved at his lessons while Adam was sitting beside him. Gansey had stolen Ronan away, and Ronan had gone, never once thinking of Adam, never writing to him. He'd ceased to exist.

Clenching his hands into fists, Adam went back into the room and resumed his task. There was no point lingering at the doorframe and hoping. Ronan wouldn't remember him.

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Ronan hadn't even stepped through the door before he and Declan started arguing. Actually "started" wasn't the most accurate word. This was just picking up where they'd left off except they hadn't come to blows yet. In the end, after one last burst of yelling, Matthew intervened and Ronan stormed off.

He had no direction in mind. His body or rather his memories knew where to take him. Up the stairs, past this room and that one. Every space, every speck of dust stirred more feelings in him than he'd experienced in the past few years. There was nothing to mask it now, no escape waiting for him. He felt so raw.

He stopped outside the study. He used to go there sometimes, when he was a different person. "Gentler" Gansey might have put it. Ronan preferred to tell it like it was. He'd been a better person.

Ronan opened the door, curious if his old Latin texts were still there. He stared.

He'd hoped that Adam had moved away and just never received his letters. He figured it wasn't the case. It still hurt to have confirmation.

"You're still here?" He finally managed to say.

Adam didn't hear the door. He'd turned his deaf ear toward it, hoping that and the closed door would help prevent him hearing Ronan's voice and mourning the loss of his friend. So when Ronan spoke, already in the room, Adam startled and turned toward him.

He quickly composed his face and lowered his eyes to the floor, clenching the dirty rag between his hands. "Yes, sir," Adam replied, with a cursory little bow.

He thought of rainy days in this study, warm by the fire, the two of them sitting close with their heads bent over a book. Adam had excelled in every subject except Latin, and he'd always admired Ronan for his gift with languages.

That was a very long time ago. It was flattering that Ronan remembered him at all. Adam wouldn't let it be anything more than that.

That wasn't the response Ronan had hoped for but the one he should have expected.

Ronan stared for a moment. His face hardened. For a moment all he could think was he never should have let his brothers talk him into coming back home.

"Sir? Is that how it is?" He didn't bother looking for any books yet. He'd already forgotten why he came here other than it'd been on a whim.

Ronan's tone cut into Adam's heart, but he kept his head down and his eyes on the floor. What had he expected, that Adam would run up and fawn over him like a dog, as if the intervening years had never happened?

Adam kept his mouth shut. Declan had been quite clear about Adam's place in this household and that he wasn't to speak or interact with anyone but other servants unless he was asked a direct question. And even though Ronan's question had been direct, there was nothing Adam could say in response that wouldn't be disrespectful.

His jaw clenched, though, nostrils flaring and cheeks flushing with hurt pride. Adrenaline sparkled through his chest and down his arms, terror blooming that the anger in Ronan's voice meant that Adam was about to get hit.

This hurt. This hurt more than the unanswered letters and the nights spent wondering what he'd done wrong or if he should have left at all. Ronan tried to steel himself so none of that hurt showed. Though in the end, what was his anger but hurt deflected outward?

"Are you really going to ignore me?" Ronan shook his head. "Of course you are. It's what you're best at." He should leave now. He'd got the message, finally. Adam really wanted nothing to do with him. But he couldn't bring himself to walk out just yet. If he stared at Adam long enough, maybe he could will him to come up with an explanation or an excuse.

“What did you expect?” Adam’s head snapped up, temper flaring. “Am I supposed to run up and kiss your feet? I’m so glad you’re back, master. Was I only ever a plaything to you? Discard me for years and then expect me to be devoted and patient, waiting for you to remember that I exist?” He tossed the rag he was holding aside and advanced to glare at Ronan from close up. He was going to be hit for this. He was going to be dismissed, just because he couldn’t contain his temper and pride enough to act coy for Ronan. “I’m a person, Ronan, not just your entertainment.”

He’d forgotten about the bruises on his face, the ugly split lip and the mottled blue-black on his cheekbone. From across the room, he’d had the sense to keep his head down and angled to hide the damage. Facing Ronan down like this made it impossible to overlook.

Whatever Ronan had been about to say, something colorful and full of terrible words, he forgot the instant Adam looked at him. The snarl that curled his lips disappeared as his face fell and eyes widened.

"What happened?" he asked, tone softening immediately. The anger was still there but no longer directed at Adam. Whoever did this-- his father? Why would he still be here?-- Ronan would make sure they were dealt with, preferably by his fists.

Realizing his mistake, Adam dropped his chin quickly, even though hiding his bruises meant turning his deaf ear toward Ronan. “What do you think happened?”

No one cared if Adam got hit, and the bruises made Declan even less inclined to give Adam any tasks that required being in the presence of guests, which meant Adam’s chances to get a better position and leave here with a good reference were compromised. “It’s nothing you need to bother yourself with.”

Ronan ignored him. He used to be more inclined to listen to Adam but that was before he ignored all his letters. "Why is your father still here?" he hissed. The man should have been dismissed. He'd told Declan--

Oh. Damn, that must have backfired.

"He has a job here," Adam hissed back at him, angry and defensive because he couldn't understand what Ronan was missing about what seemed to Adam to be an obvious and straightforward situation. "Like he's had for my entire life. I have a job here. And unlike you, I don't have the leisure of leaving whenever the whim strikes me."

He doesn't want to fight with Ronan about this. He doesn't want to hold a grudge over Ronan leaving him, especially not when he knows that Ronan doesn't care, and if Adam keeps nursing his broken heart it's just going to ruin any chance he has of a civil friendship with Ronan.

I carry you with me

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