Work Header

hard to get hold of and hard to let go

Work Text:

This is the fifth birthday in a row that Adam has spent dreading the firm's Fourth of July party. He ought to be used to it. He was used to it, and then Gansey scampered off to get his PhD and left Adam to suffer through these events alone.

"People bring their partners to these things, right?" Ronan asks.

"Yes, so I have to remember everyone's spouses' names and interests on top of everything else." Adam scrubs his face. It fails to make him feel better.

He drops his hands to his sides and discovers that Ronan is frowning at him. Ronan has a wide range of specific frowns. This one says you're too smart to be this stupid.

"You don't want to...go, do you?"

"Why not?" Ronan asks. "Free booze."

"The last time you stopped by the office you threatened to throw a chair out the window."

Ronan has only set foot inside the firm a handful of times. A few years ago he snuck in on a night that Adam only realized was their one-year anniversary when Ronan tossed him a handle of vodka. He'd been willing to let Ronan shoo him out the door, for all that it was barely five o'clock, but Ronan had opened the bottle instead. They'd had a few drinks and fooled around, Adam's back against the door while Ronan's mouth moved hot and slow across his skin; only then did Ronan want to go out for a date. Adam got the impression that Ronan was trying to show up his job, to put it in its place and remind it which one of them was Adam's boyfriend, but it doesn't paint Adam in a very good light if that is the case, so he never brought it up.

Ronan's other visits to the firm had all been shorter and a lot less fun.

"Yeah, but this isn't going to be at the office."

"Right, because what you hate so much about my job is the physical location that I work in."

Ronan shrugs. "Doesn't help."

"Lynch, this is going to be boring and awful. It's just an excuse for everyone to brag about their cases and their money and their reputations."

He stares him down. "You don't think I can hang with that crowd."

"Not really," Adam admits.

"Fuck you. I've got class falling out of my asshole."

Adam scrubs at his face again. There's a dozen arguments lining up in his head, that's a self-defeating statement, you'd need to wear a suit, wouldn't you rather set off fireworks with Gansey -- they're all just openings for Ronan to argue about the details and ignore the point Adam is trying to make.

"If you really want to go, I guess I can't stop you," he says. One last ditch effort to get out of having to babysit his boyfriend all night, on top of everything else.

"No," Ronan says, "you can't."


Ronan does wear a suit to the party. Adam doesn't recognize it, which means it has to be new; Adam knows all of Ronan's clothes. Where did he get a suit on short notice? On a holiday? It's tailored. It fits him really well.

Adam clings grimly to that image as they drive out to the venue, a mansion with a sprawling garden out in the Hills, but it's no use. Even Ronan in formal wear can't make him forget that as soon as they get to the party, some unsuspecting colleague will attempt to make small talk with them and getting hit with the full Lynch personality. At least word will get around fast after that. People will leave them alone, which completely defeats the purpose of going through any of this.

"We could leave," Adam offers.

Ronan glares at him. "Get out of the car, coward."

Adam gets out of the car. He doesn't have much of a choice; Ronan gets out first, heads off in the direction of live music, and it's not like he can let him go in alone.

They don't even make it to the outskirts of the party, the loose-knit crowd of people standing outside in the warm July evening clutching wine glasses, before someone else passes close enough to make conversation. It's one of the name partners, his wife hanging on his arm and very nearly taller than him in her strappy nude heels. A quiet and heavy doom settles on Adam's shoulders.

"Parrish, glad you could make it," and that's all the peace Adam has before he addresses Ronan. "I don't think we've met?"

Adam has a picture of Ronan on his desk. As little as he likes to invite questions about his personal life at work, he needs something to hang onto on long days. So some of his colleagues would recognize Ronan, and others would know enough to make the correct assumption, but he doesn't think senior management knows or cares about his relationship beyond his being a blip in annual diversity reports.

"Ronan Lynch." Ronan extends a hand out to greet a person that Adam has only ever heard him refer to as Scumbag. "I'm Adam's partner."

"Good to meet you, Ronan." They shake hands. There are no yelps of pain or complaints of crushed bones. "Your Adam is really something, we're very lucky to have him."

"Hey, that's supposed to be my line." Ronan grins in a way that looks sincere. Both of the people he's addressing chuckle politely. Adam physically turns his body away to avoid staring.

They part ways once they reach the party. It doesn't solve anything. The night keeps getting weirder, because it keeps happening:

Ronan shakes someone's hand.

Ronan smiles at someone's unfunny joke.

Ronan asks someone a question about herself.

Ronan answers someone's question in a complete, unconfrontational sentence. "I work in film," he says, confident and casual, like he produces movies when he's bored and wants to do cocaine with celebrities. He tells someone else "I manage my family's local real estate," which is about the most sophisticated way Adam can think of to describe cramming a dozen chickens in the backseat of a BMW and flooring it the whole way to Pasadena. "I'm in between projects, I'm trying to get Adam to take some time off so we can travel, but you know how Adam is," and the people he's talking to agree, yes, they know how Adam is, which is more than Adam can say right now.

He's waiting desperately for something to go wrong, focusing so hard on it that he can barely make conversation. It ought to be a complete social disaster. Instead, it doesn't even register, for anyone, how out of it Adam is, because Ronan makes conversation for him. Appropriate conversation. Entertaining conversation. Ronan is charming people. He lets one of the associates give him pointers on the stock market. He thanks the waiter who brings around the hors d'oeuvres and takes a cloth napkin to wipe his hands with. He name-drops his old prep school during a debate about the merits of tennis versus lacrosse.

At one point, he gets recognized, which is when Adam's headache goes from mild to pounding.

"Lynch," says a member of senior counsel who is currently being considered for appointment to the bench. "You're not one of Niall's boys, are you?"

Ronan asks "you knew my father?" like he's taking about the weather and not about something intensely personal, or like he's a normal person talking about the weather, considering Ronan is more than capable of taking the weather intensely personally.

"I did. Did some contracts work for him, must've been back in '04, maybe '05. You're the spitting image of him. It's an absolute shame what happened, he was a hell of a guy."

"Most people swear when they talk about him, yeah," Ronan says, and he lets the man clap a hand on his shoulder in a chummy, sociable way, and who the hell is this person standing next to Adam?

He thought nothing could be worse than going to last year's holiday party alone. That was painful. But tonight, watching Ronan turn himself into someone that Adam doesn't know, someone that Ronan deliberately cut himself off from becoming, is torture.

It's a long slow trek through the gardens, since they're stopping to chat every few feet. Eventually they make it to the bar.

"Two Cokes," Ronan tells the bartender. He can tell that Adam is too stressed for alcohol, which is bad enough, but he isn't drinking either, when free booze was his one consolation for being here at all.

Adam touches the knot of his tie. It's right where it's supposed to be. There's some other reason he can't breathe.

Ronan looks over while the bartender pours their sodas. Whatever he sees makes him say, "scratch that, we don't want anything," and then he puts a hand low on Adam's back. "C'mon, we're taking a walk."

His feet are slow to move, but Ronan is pushing him with enough force that he can't stay where he is. He starts walking, and once he starts he can keep going, even when it means heading back into the party.

Except Ronan steers him away from the sprawling gardens and into the building. This is part of the event space, too, but with the summer breeze and promise of fireworks, few people are inside. One of the interns is hanging up a jacket at coat check; an admin assistant is stumbling toward the bathrooms, already tipsy. One of the new associates is heading out as they head in. He's on one of Adam's cases, the one that's perpetually on the verge of blowing up. In the last month Adam has spent more time with him than with Ronan, and now he's going to have to stop and talk to him again if he doesn't want to be rude --

Ronan doesn't change their pace, pulls off that polite nod in acknowledgement and keep moving thing that Adam has never seen him attempt and has in fact heard him mock people for. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He shuts his eyes, tries to breathe deep enough the feeling will pass.

When he opens his eyes again, they're in an empty hallway. It does not look like it is set up for an event. He checks back the way they came, but that doesn't look right, either.

It's quiet, without anyone around. No one talking to them, listening to them, changing the state of their existence by observing them.

"Parrish." The hand falls away from his back. Adam turns in toward him, standing too close. Ronan frowns, determined more than unhappy. Of course he is; he's on his best behavior, and when he reaches out to touch his face Adam flinches away.

Ronan steps back. Adam lets him roam away and out of sight. He just wants one more quiet moment.

He doesn't get it. There's a rattling, and then a thud, and then Ronan huffing in irritation, which is where Adam figures he needs to know what's going on.

He looks over in time to see Ronan stride up to one of the doors off the hallway. He tries the knob but it doesn't turn. He smacks the door, which doesn't make it open, either.

"They're locked," Adam says, unnecessary, redundant, stupid.

"You don't know that." Ronan crosses the hall to rattle another doorknob; as though to prove Adam wrong, this one turns and the door swings open. He steps out of the doorway with an after you arm gesture.

Adam doesn't move.

"No one's going to know if you take a break. Look." Ronan comes back to him, takes a hold of his shoulders and turns him around so he can look back up the length of the empty hallway. "There's no one there." Now that he's standing behind Adam, he brings his mouth up close to his good ear, so he won't have to strain to hear him. "No one can see us right now."

Adam shivers.

Ronan stays exactly where he is for a few breaths that Adam feels, hot against his skin, harsh inside his chest where his own breath has stopped.

Sudden but steady, Ronan slides his hands down from Adam's shoulders to his sides, taking a solid hold of him. He steps closer, almost but not quite pressing up against him. The hair on the back of Adam's neck prickles in anticipation.

Ronan says again, into his ear, in a lower voice, "no one can see us."

The noise Adam makes gets caught in his throat, but it's still loud enough for them both to hear it.

"It would look bad if any of them saw us sneak off to have sex," Ronan says. "Would I let you look bad?"

Yes and yes and yes; Adam knows it in his bones. Yes in a thousand small ways, and no in every way that matters, and neither of those is the right question. The question is do you trust me, and he doesn't need to think to answer that one: yes and yes and yes.

Ronan digs his fingers into his sides. "That was a question, Parrish."

"No," Adam says. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," Ronan agrees. "In fact, I've been working pretty fucking hard all night to make you look good."

Adam shakes his head, a failed attempt to dismiss that thought.

"You calling me a liar, Parrish?"

"You shouldn't have to."

"I don't have to," Ronan says. "Just like you don't have to make it up to me, but you're going to anyway."

A sound falls out of Adam's mouth. He doesn't stop it this time. He might not have tried.

Ronan uses that hold on him to spin him back around. He lifts one hand up to Adam's chin, tilts his head up and to the side, baring his neck so that he can kiss it. Adam sinks down into that one patch of skin like it's all that he is.

Then he's stepping away, and Adam shivers again, adrift and strangely cold.

Ronan gets a few feet before he sighs. "Christ, I have to do everything for you tonight." He comes back to take Adam's hand and twines their fingers together, uses that connection to tug him lightly forward. It's enough that Adam can move, make it across the hall and follow Ronan through the open door.

They're in what's meant to be a den or a smoking lounge, low ceiling and built-in bookcases and a fireplace sitting cold along one wall. The furniture's covered in sheets and the shelves are empty. Undergoing renovations, maybe, or just closed down since no one is supposed to be in here, and the thought makes his gut lurch.

Ronan shuts the door behind them and then backs Adam up against it. The lights are off, and he leaves them that way. The curtains are shut but it's still bright outside. Enough light sneaks into the room that Adam can read his expression; he's frowning, thoughtfully this time. Adam wonders what he's thinking.

Ronan runs the back of his fingers along his face. This time Adam leans into the touch. "You know how you're going to make this up to me?"

He shakes his head.

"You don't have any ideas?"

Oh, it wasn't a yes or no question. It was a prompt. Adam was supposed to have an answer.

Adam doesn't have any answers. Adam has already answered too many questions tonight.

He whines, short and quiet, but Ronan hears it. Ronan always hears it.

"Okay." Ronan kisses him softly. "Then I'm going to tell you what to do." Adam nods. "Give me the jacket. And the belt."

He obeys, works the belt off first and shrugs off the jacket. Ronan places the belt on one of the empty book shelves, drapes the jacket over the back of an armchair. He's so careful with them. Adam is entirely unprepared for how much force Ronan uses to shove him back against the door. He inhales sharply, and not only from surprise.

Ronan unbuttons Adam's shirt, tugs it open and throws his tie over his shoulder to expose his chest. He gets the button and fly on his pants and shoves them down around his ankles, and then he rubs his palm slowly against his cock.

Adam bites the inside of his cheek, the most restrained reaction he can manage. Ronan covers his mouth with his left hand. He exhales, deep, and shuts his eyes.

"Look at me." He opens them back up and looks right into Ronan's eyes, an arm's length away. Ronan wraps his fingers around his cock and begins to stroke him, slowly, getting him hard.

"Fuck, I love when I get to do this to you," he murmurs. Get to, like Ronan is the one being jerked off, being handled with care and intent, being hidden away from everything in the world that isn't pleasure. "Shit, you're so hot like this. You're so hot all the time, you're so fucking good at everything."

Adam makes a noise that Ronan's hand protects him from being embarrassed by. His hips rock forward, push his cock insistently toward Ronan, asking for something or offering something, he can't tell when he doesn't know what it it. He just knows that Ronan is a thought that is always accompanied by want and more.

"I figured you'd like this." Ronan gives his cock a squeeze that makes Adam push forward again, with renewed desperation. "You're so fucking wound up though, fuck. I think -- " He groans. "Yeah, fuck. I think you should give me a hand here."

It's starting to be a lot of work, standing and breathing and staying quiet, with his heart racing and Ronan still clamping down on his mouth. It's hard to think like this. He can't really tell what Ronan wants from him.

Ronan smirks and slows way, way down. "Don't be a prude, Parrish, touch yourself. Or you going to make me do all of the work?"

He lifts a hand away from the door, cautiously. Ronan doesn't correct him, so he places his hand on his own cock and wraps his fingers around his shaft. Ronan shifts his hand up to cover it. His palm is burning hot. He twines his fingers through Adam's.

"There, you got it," Ronan encourages him, but it isn't really necessary. He slides his hand and drags Adam's hand along with it, making him stroke himself. He's still deciding how fast and how hard Adam gets it, but now he's giving Adam another point of contact, too, another place of worship, another claim staked on his body: I get to touch you here.

Adam gasps, intense but ineffective. It leaves him lightheaded.

Ronan gnaws on his lower lip. There's so much appreciation and arousal on his face that Adam shuts his eyes rather than watch, until he remembers, look at me, and he forces them open again.

Ronan misses nothing.

"You wanna close your eyes?" That isn't a question; he doesn't leave time for an answer that Adam couldn't give anyway. "You know what you gotta do."

Adam doesn't know.

Ronan speeds up, his hand moving faster as he strokes Adam, which means that Adam's hand is moving faster, too, because they're connected, entwined, inseparable. "I want to watch you come, Parrish, and you're going to show me your face while you lose it -- "

A flush of heat rolls over him, and he's coming before he can brace himself for it. He spurts out into his hand and probably Ronan's; probably he's made a mess of them, but he wouldn't know. His eyes are locked on Ronan's while he pants and shakes and groans, until Ronan gives him a nod, and he's finally free to throw his head back and sag against the door.

Ronan traces a line down the side of Adam's neck before he takes his hands off him and steps away. Adam leaves his eyes shut and stays where he is, pinned down by exhaustion and relief and a phantom touch he could swear he still feels, over his mouth.

Ronan returns to him as he's starting to feel steadier. He uses something soft to wipe off the come that is cooling on Adam's skin, and then sucks on the tips of his fingers, one at a time, either to finish licking them clean or just because he wants to.

"Think you can walk? No," Ronan answers his own question immediately. "Those pants are going to trip you up. Lose them." Adam does, steps clear of his pants and shoes. "Good. This way." He walks, letting Ronan guide him with an arm around his waist.

"Damn, you're amazing," Ronan murmurs in his ear, before kissing the side of his face. "Get on your knees."

Adam sinks down to the ground. His knees make no sound on the thick carpet. There is a creak as Ronan sits; the shrouded furniture must be leather. He remembers all over how opulent their surroundings are, how well Ronan's suit fits him tonight, how magnificent Ronan is going to look above him while Adam sucks him off. His face goes hot. He decides he wants to open his eyes after all.

Ronan is watching him with an expression that morphs while Adam is still trying to categorize it. It turns into a smug grin, easy enough to understand. Adam is a couple feet away from the couch, where Ronan is sitting in his jacket, shirt, tie, and nothing else. His legs are spread and his cock is hard and already leaking. Adam wants to taste it.

"Get over here."

Adam shuffles forward, fast enough he feels a sting like rug burn. He ignores it, settles between Ronan's knees and turns his face up.

"Jesus Christ, look at you." Ronan brushes his fingers over Adam's cheekbone, then along his jaw, and finally across his mouth. His lips part. "What do I do with you?"

Adam doesn't think about the answer. He doesn't think he is going to answer, barely recognizes his own voice when he whispers, "everything."

Ronan stops grinning at him. His face shifts back into that indecipherable expression. Adam swallows hard but doesn't look away.

He cups his face in both hands and leans down, touches his mouth lightly to Adam's and then presses their foreheads together.

"Everything," he promises.

Adam nods. Ronan kisses him again, just as gently, and sits back up.

"Everything," he repeats, but this time it's confident to the point of obscenity. The tender moment has ended, packed up and put away somewhere out of sight. Adam finds he's mostly glad about that. "Right now I'm going to watch you suck my cock."

Adam licks his lips and leans forward, hopeful. Ronan's sitting too far back for him to reach without climbing halfway into his lap, which he's more than willing to do, but Ronan moves before he has to make that call. He runs his fingers through Adam's hair and then grips it, not painfully hard but firm enough to keep him where he is. He scoots forward until he's sitting at the edge of the couch, and then he guides Adam's head into place so he can slide his cock into his mouth.

Ronan groans. "Fuck, Parrish." The grip on his hair loosens, and Adam lowers his head to take him in deeper. He runs one hand up Ronan's leg to skim over a sensitive spot on his thigh. He circles his other hand around his ankle like a tether for no reason at all except to touch him. "Fuck, that's it, that's so damn good."

Adam can't stop himself from whimpering. He manages to cut it short, stifles it and sucks down hard as a distraction.

Ronan pets him, fingers combing through his hair "You can make noise, you know," he says, with a mocking little drawl in his voice that sends a strange burst of pride through Adam's chest, that even in the middle of a blowjob Ronan can and will tease him. "No one can hear you. No one gets to hear you, because I don't fucking let them. No one else gets to see you like this."

This time Adam doesn't try to hold back his moan, not if that's what Ronan wants to hear.

The grip on his hair tightens, a second's warning before Ronan pulls his head forward. It isn't fast, but it's far, dragging him in until he's taking Ronan deep, too deep, except that's what Ronan wants so Adam makes it happen.

Ronan gasps, "fuck," and eases off. Adam stays right where he was put for as long as he can stand. He has to pull all the way back when he stops, lets his lips slide off of Ronan so he can gulp down some air. He kisses the head of his cock, slick with saliva, and lifts his eyes up.

There's a wildfire expression on Ronan's face, something intense and hungry that casts a spark off him to catch in Adam's chest, burning bright and fast. He hooks a leg around Adam, behind his back and penning him in. Adam grins at him recklessly before licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft and sucking the head of his cock into his mouth again.

Ronan rocks his hips forward. "God, Adam, how the fuck are you this incredible?" His thrusts are shallow at first and then deeper, bolder, as he finds his rhythm. "Shit, I wouldn't believe it except you're always this incredible."

Adam hums, a wordless reply. Ronan is panting now, starting to sweat under his hands as he works his cock in and out of Adam's mouth and keeps up a running commentary at the same time, while Adam gets to just relax and listen and bask in the sensation of having Ronan in him. It is easy to be incredible for Ronan.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're so good. I'm -- I'm done, fuck, look how fast you wrecked me. I'm going to finish and you're going to swallow, okay, you have to swallow."

Adam takes Ronan into the back of his throat again. Ronan hisses harshly. Adam waits for him to swear, but all he says when he comes, when Adam swallows, is Adam's name.

"Okay," Ronan says, "you're good, you can stop," so he pulls away and sits back on his heels. Ronan doesn't tell him to stand up, so he stays on his knees, tentatively rests his head on Ronan's leg.

Ronan brushes his hair from his forehead and then covers the back of his neck with one hand. He relaxes completely and lets Ronan hold him up.

At some point, Ronan says, "come on, Parrish, time to get up."

He stands up and nearly falls right back over again; straightening out his legs hurts. His feet prickle, half-asleep.

Ronan hands him his pants, and Adam slides them up over his red knees. Ronan does up his shirt buttons for him, then shakes out his jacket and gives it back to him, still wrinkle-free like it came off a hanger. He dresses himself while Adam puts on his shoes and straightens his tie, and then he scrutinizes Adam, evaluating the finished product. Not quite there yet; he brushes a thumb over the corners of Adam's mouth and wipes it off on a cloth napkin.

"That was good," Ronan says. Adam smiles. "That was a really good start."

His smile slips, uncertain. What else was he supposed to do?

"Now I want to show you off." Ronan is standing too close to him to miss the tension that seeps back into him as he remembers where they are. He puts a hand low on Adam's back. They are close enough that Adam could lean his head on Ronan's shoulder. He doesn't. That part of the night is over. "So we're going to go back to the party and you're going to impress everyone."

It isn't a question. Adam nods anyway.

They go back in the party. There's a short detour at the bathroom to wash up and throw the napkin away, a quick stop to pick up drinks from the bartender, but then they're right back in the crowd again, mingling, chatting, rubbing elbows.

The sky is dark enough for fireworks, but there aren't any yet. Adam is having a hard time keeping track of the schedule. He's having a hard time keeping track of anything. He finishes talking to someone and forgets who they were as soon as they're gone. He knows he's having conversations, but he doesn't know what they're about.

He does know:

One time he asks Ronan, voice barely audible even though they have a moment alone, am I making an idiot out of myself, and Ronan shakes his head, a tiny but definitive no.

One time Ronan whispers in his ear, as they leave one little clique behind to join another clique exactly like it, they're so fucking jealous of you I could taste it.

One time, a dozen times, he thinks what am I doing, why am I here, and then he sees the barely-there smirk on Ronan's face, just for the two of them, and he remembers, Ronan is showing me off and he stops thinking about it.

They stick around until the end of the fireworks but not the end of the party; a sensible compromise that raises no eyebrows. Adam makes his goodbyes. Ronan nods at people amicably. The night wraps up the same way it had played out, up until they get to the car and Ronan reaches into Adam's pocket.

Adam jerks like he was electrocuted.

Ronan stays right where he is, hand in Adam's pants and a patient expression on his face like Adam is the one doing something weird. "You're not driving right now."

It's nonsense -- this is Adam's car, Adam drives it -- but it's nonsense that refuses to budge, so he waves a hand, fine, just do it already. Ronan pulls out the keys and unlocks the car. Adam walks around to the passenger side.

The radio's low and on the wrong side; Adam tunes it out while Ronan drives, turns his head so his good ear is against the headrest and muffles the rest of the sound. His eyes slowly lose focus. The streetlights outside become one long blur, blinking in and out of existence, and then blink again and they're gone for good.

The car's stopped. The bare cement wall of their parking garage stares back at him through the windshield.

From the driver's seat, Ronan asks, "you okay?"

Adam breathes in. It's shaky. "I want tonight to be over."

"It is. We're home, we just have to get upstairs," and it's all so reasonable that it makes everything worse. Adam squeezes his eyes shut before he shakes his head, because he can't risk looking over and seeing -- seeing --

"I want my Ronan," he says in a rush. "I don't want Niall Lynch's boy who played tennis at prep school, I want my Ronan."

A light grip on his wrist; he didn't realized that he'd covered his face until Ronan pulls his hand away.

"You didn't buy that fucking act, did you?" Ronan lets go of his arm, touches his chin and lifts it up toward him. Adam opens his eyes in spite of himself. Ronan lost his tie at some point on the drive. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, and he gets the rest of them as Adam watches. The dome light catches on the studs in his nipples. "You're smarter than that, Parrish."

Adam surges forward to kiss him. He grabs at the sides of his face, pulls him in, and Ronan crashes into him, meeting him halfway. His hands drop, and he doesn't know why he's pushing Ronan's shirt off until he's peering over his shoulder to stare at that stupid excessive melodramatic tattoo.

Ronan bites his ear, a little too hard, and at least that's an excuse for why he's breathing so uneven.

"Don't do that again," Adam says. "Don't pretend to be someone else because of me. Don't let me do that to you."

Ronan blows out air, an irritated exhale. "Parrish, you didn't do shit to me. I was bored at a party, that's not a trauma."

Adam hangs onto him and refuses to let go. "Promise me, Ronan."

"Okay. I promise that I will always be an embarrassing, inappropriate bastard."

"Good," Adam says, fierce.

Ronan shrugs off his shirt and jacket before he gets out of the car, leaves them crumpled in the driver's seat and enters their apartment building half-naked. They pass three of their neighbors in the lobby and end up in an elevator with two of them. The doors are shiny enough to reflect their judgmental stares perfectly. Adam wraps an arm around Ronan and does not give a shit about any of them.