Archive of Our Own ^beta

Adam is a month from starting his PhD, one month officially a college graduate when the earth shifts beneath his feet again. Well, it had shifted long ago, but it’s the day he can’t ignore it.

It’s so easy to ignore so much. Hard to tell one exhaustion from another, hard to tell one ache from another when it’s your whole body. He was writing a thesis, was interviewing at grad schools, was in a fight with Ronan over what happens now that it’s clear Adam isn’t coming back to Henrietta for good after undergrad.

Ronan is the one who makes the leap. He always is. He’s ready, now, to leave the Barns behind, and he’s going to do it because he doesn’t want five more years of not being where Adam is.

They’re still working out the specifics.

It’s just all been so much. Adam has been tired, even when all the craziness is over and they have an apartment with a lease to move into in August and everything is lined up. He still hurts, still can’t find energy even when he sleeps hours curled up next to Ronan.

And then Adam takes a piss.

Ronan is still asleep, spreading out on the mattress the second Adam leaves the bed, and Adam is warm, content. He’s going to go back to sleep. Adam looks before he flushes.

Oh, fuck.

Is that… why is it red?

“Ronan?” Adam tries to keep his voice normal, but he knows it shakes a little. “Come in here.” Adam hears grumbling, then footsteps.

“Did you fall in—oh shit, Parrish,” Ronan says, looking in. “Please tell me you’ve been secretly eating beets behind my back.”

“I…” Adam starts. “I’m sure it’s fine. Uh, we should just go back to bed.”

“Dude, no,” Ronan says. “There’s no good explanation for this. Well, besides the beets.” His voice is harsh. “Put on some pants. We’re going to urgent care.”

“Ronan, that’s not necessary,” Adam starts. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing.” He doesn’t know why he says it twice. Maybe that makes it true. Exposure therapy, and all that.

“You’re a scientist. You know we have to,” is all Ronan says, before stalking out of the bathroom.

“I’m a chemist. I don’t know shit about the human body,” Adam yells, and Ronan just throws sweatpants at him.

Adam puts them on.

Ronan holds onto Adam’s hand tightly. He plays with the knuckles in the waiting room, bouncing his leg and trying to distract Adam from the fact that they’re here. When they’re led to a small, curtained-off area, he doesn’t let go of Adam’s hand.

But he does talk.

When Adam explains what happened, it doesn’t end there. There’s always questions.

“It’s pretty out of the blue,” Adam says, and Ronan’s hand tightens around his own.

“Um,” Ronan says, looks Adam in the eyes. “He’s been, like, tired. All the time. And he’s been having joint and muscle pain. Sometimes a low-grade fever,” Ronan explains. Adam didn’t know that Ronan had noticed, any of that. He used to be better at hiding.

“How long has this been going on?” Adam just looks at Ronan. Ronan gives him a pointed look.

“It’s hard to tell,” Adam admits. “I didn’t really, uh, notice it at first. At least a few months.” Ronan doesn’t contradict that, so Adam guesses he said the right thing.

The nurse is frowning, writing a lot of notes on the iPad screen. It doesn’t matter, because the doctor comes in. He doesn’t know what it is, throws around everything from blood disorder to Lyme disease, but gives them a referral to another doctor and says to make an appointment as soon as they can. But, Adam isn’t going to die in the next 72 hours, so they get to go home.

Ronan sits in the car, calls the number on the paper. They drive home.

Adam hopes this isn’t becoming a pattern. He’s in another doctor’s office. After three appointments, several blood tests, even more urine samples, and three appointments, they’re still waiting for an answer on what’s happening. Adam had been ready to drop it after appointment one, but Ronan isn’t letting this go.

It’s not like he’s peed blood again.

“All of this is gonna be for nothing,” Adam says, sitting on another exam table in another room. Ronan gives him a look, a look that he’s been giving him a lot lately. It’s not pure anger or annoyance or worry or anything, more like a Frankenstein monster mash-up of all of them with a dash of ‘Adam, stop deflecting’ thrown in there.

“Or it’s not. Better to get this shit sorted before grad school,” Ronan grunts.

“I’m starting to move up next week,” Adam says quietly. “You’ve still got some stuff to sort out, right?”

“Yeah. We’ve hired all the farm hands, but it’s not fully transitioned,” Ronan says. “I should start to move by the end of the month.” He links his pinky with Adam’s. “I’m looking for a property up by Harvard Square. Might try to get a bar up and running, teach these boogie college students how to drink properly.”

“That’s amazing,” Adam says, voice soft and Ronan knows he’s not lying. “I can get drunk for free, now.”

“You do that anyway, fuckweasel,” Ronan says. He’s about to say something else, but then the door opens and the doctor enters.

“Hi Adam, Ronan,” she says, a tight smile on her face.

“How are you?” Adam asks, voice perfectly clipped and polite.

“I’m doing well. We have the latest test results, and we’re confident enough to provide a diagnosis,” she says, jumps straight into it. Ronan’s hand reaches out for Adam’s, only realizes Adam’s hands are shaking when he clutches one tightly.

“What is it?” Adam asks.

“We weren’t looking for it initially, because you don’t generally fall into the common demographic,” she explains. “You have lupus.”

Adam’s hand tightens around Ronan’s.

“Lupus?” Adam repeats. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure,” she says. “All of your symptoms and test results are consistent with it. Additionally, we know that it’s affecting your kidney function. That’s not a huge concern right now, because it should level out once we start treating for lupus.”

“What is the treatment?” Ronan’s voice is rough, scared.

“Immunosuppressants are typically an effective treatment, along with corticosteroids and anti-inflammatory drugs during flare-ups,” she starts. “Flare-ups can happen differently and at different frequencies for different people, and they will become easier to recognize with time. The extreme exhaustion, headaches, swollen and aching joints, the chest pain—those are all characteristics of flare-ups that you’ve already experienced.”

“And his kidneys? They’re fine?” There’s so much happening; Ronan can see Adam shutting down, and he knows one of them has to be able to parse this information.

“At the current moment, yes. They aren’t operating quite at a full level, but it’s not far enough along yet to classify it as even an early stage of kidney failure.”

They both leave with more information than they can handle, more scheduled appointments, and a hollow feeling in the pits of their stomachs.

Adam hasn’t said more than two words at a time in the last half an hour. His face is pale, his lips set and forehead creased in the way that tells Ronan Adam is completely imploding, that it’s only a matter of time before it can’t be contained any longer. Ronan can’t imagine. He has no idea what to do, what he can do, what this is like when it’s actually you.

He’s losing his shit and he’s not even the one who’s sick.

There’s just so much. It makes sense, and Ronan is glad that there’s something to it other than the looming dread of more and more tests and less and less answers. But, talking about lifelong medication and the new reality and it’s just… this isn’t something he can take away. This isn’t something he can make better.

After everything, after clawing his way out of Henrietta, after all the work, and the ground is ripped out from under Adam’s feet again.

But it’s happened before. They can deal with it again.

“You’re going to have to tell your advisor,” Ronan says, playing with Adam’s hair. Adam’s head is in Ronan’s lap, his face puffy with the steroids he’s been taking for the latest flare up.

“Don’t want to,” Adam mumbles. “It’s only a few more months.”

“You’ve already accepted a job from him after you graduate,” Ronan says, and Adam opens his eyes just long enough to glare at Ronan. “Adam.”

Adam just sighs. He doesn’t sit up, doesn’t move at all, but Ronan can tell Adam is shutting down.

“Adam, he’s gotta know you’ve been sick. You can’t… shit is going to have to change,” Ronan says, voice quiet. “If you don’t slow down, your kidneys aren’t going to make it to your thesis defense.”

“I can’t slow down. I’m so fucking close, Ronan.” Adam covers his face, as if that can hide the frustration that’s tearing him up on the inside. “I thought, I just… why couldn’t have this have held off for literally two more months?”

“It sucks.” Ronan’s voice is plain. He focuses on kneading his fingers across Adam’s scalp. Adam is thinner now than he’s been since high school; apparently having your kidneys shut down ruins any notion of an appetite. “But it’s just going to get worse unless we change some things.”

“I don’t want him to be mad,” Adam admits. “He’s put so much money into my PhD and my brain and what if he thinks he’s just wasted so much time and money?”

“He’s not gonna be mad at you for being sick,” Ronan says. “You’re right. He has invested a lot of time and money, because he’s invested in you, you fuckwad. He’s going to care more about you being healthy.”

“I can’t just ask for more time. I can’t ask him to make special exceptions just because I’m…” Adam has always had trouble saying the words.

“You’re sick,” Ronan finishes. “I know, I know you’ve been sick this whole time, but you can’t tell me that you don’t feel worse, now. Look, the doctors and your advisor and me, we all just want you to be fucking alive to get your PhD.”

“We also have to tell Gansey and Blue,” Adam says. “I’m sick of this shit, Ronan.”

“It sucks.” Ronan isn’t about to claim that he understands, but he has to say something. “It sucks and I hate that it’s getting worse, but you’ve gotta do this. It’ll make it a little bit easier.”

Adam sighs. He goes quiet for a while, almost dozing as Ronan just plays with his hair and kneads his scalp and does whatever he can to make it all seem a little bit less, right now.

“You’re gonna have to eat something, though,” Ronan says after a while. “Whatever you want. I’ll get it.” There’s a lot that’s unsaid. They both know Adam’s appetite has been going down, both know that if they can’t find a way to fix that then it’s going to compound with his shitty immune system and flare ups.

Adam complies.

They eat Indian food because Adam wanted it, and they go to sleep. Adam messages the group text with the update, and Gansey and Blue immediately flood it with questions and concern. Ronan drives him to campus, kisses him on the cheek and tells him to talk to his advisor.

It feels so normal, but not at all. Adam used to be used to exhaustion, was familiar with waking up more tired than he went to sleep, with a body that ached more often than it didn’t. Then he grew up, and grew out of Henrietta, and he had forgotten. And now it’s all back. Not just the periodic ‘hey lupus sucks and your body hates you’ fits of exhaustion and pain. It just never stops. Everything is an effort. It shouldn’t be.

Adam knows he should have told his advisor during their first meeting. That’s somehow making the anxiety worse, as he waits outside while his advisor and another professor have it out over some new department policy. He should be in lab, should be running the last batch of syntheses he needs, but instead he has to schedule a meeting that he doesn’t fucking want to be at.

Adam chats with Claire, his advisor’s secretary. She can tell Adam’s full of nervous energy, so they talk about her dog and her fiancé and how Adam’s current undergrad researchers are doing.

“Hey, Adam. Come on in,” his advisor says, and Adam has to try to keep his breathing calm as he walks into the office he’s been in so many times before. He knows he shouldn’t be this nervous, that discussing his PhD thesis should be scarier than just telling someone he’s sick.

Claire probably knows. Or at least she knows that he gets extra sick days.

“What’s up?” Dr. Feldman asks, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug. “Thesis coming along okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says quickly. “That’s, uh, not why I asked to meet.”

Adam can hear his heartbeat in his ears, can feel it pounding against his chest hard. He looks at his hands, fingers thin and wrist bones jutting out.

“What’s going on?” Dr. Feldman’s voice is suddenly a lot more serious. He’s looking at Adam with the same amount of seriousness he did right after Adam did his quals. Adam chose this lab for a reason; Dr. Feldman is a visionary in the field, but he’s also a good person. He’s not going to be mad.

If Adam tells himself that enough, maybe it’ll be true.

“About a month before I started my PhD, I was diagnosed with lupus,” Adam says, straight facts. It’s like he’s fighting his own tongue, his own throat as they scream at him to shut up, shut up, shut up. “It’s been manageable. But, uh, it’s started to seriously impact my kidney function.”

For a second, Dr. Feldman just stares at Adam over the top of his glasses.

“You’ve been sick for a while,” is all that he says at first. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the last few months have been hard?”

“Yeah,” Adam admits. “It’s not terrible; it’s not last stage yet, but it has started to impact daily life. And it isn’t fair to you or the lab to pretend it isn’t.”

“How far along?” Dr. Feldman asks. “Obviously, your health comes before your thesis. We can delay the submission.”

“It’s early stage four,” Adam admits. “It’s honestly not dire. I should still be on track to submit my thesis on time.”

Dr. Feldman asks a lot of questions after that. He’s not mad, but he says this is a conversation they should have had a long time ago, and they need to abide by the limits of Adam’s body. Adam doesn’t like that at all, but he doesn’t want a repeat of his first semester of grad school.

First, Dr. Feldman is forcibly giving Adam the rest of the week off. He wants Adam to get this under control, to take the time to manage the new symptoms, and that’s not even it. He knows how you treat lupus, has traced most of Adam’s never-ending winter colds to his immune system being constantly suppressed by medication.

Adam almost wishes he would have just been apathetic. Dr. Feldman is going to talk to Adam’s thesis committee, try to get him some flexibility in the coming months. He’s instituting a strict lab policy against coming in while sick, and Adam knows that’s the true double-edged sword. No one can infect him, but at the same time he can’t come in if he has a fever.

Even if it’s just a flare up.

Dr. Feldman deliberately walks Adam out of lab. Ronan’s car is somehow waiting.

Ronan drives until Adam falls asleep.

Adam wakes up at three in the morning, and he can barely think enough to remember to be quiet as he bolts for their bathroom. He knows shit is getting bad, because this isn’t even the first time this week that he’s curled over the toilet, heaving whatever he had managed to eat yesterday. Honestly, Adam thinks it’s kind of funny that in the last week he’s thrown up more often than he’s peed.

But dry heaving sucks, and Adam feels tears spring in eyes out of synch with the jumping of the muscles in his lower back. It doesn’t stop, not even when Ronan appears, one hand smoothing Adam’s hair back from his forehead, the other rubbing circles on his back.

Fuck. Adam had been trying to not wake Ronan up. He’s been worrying so much.

“Ugh,” Adam gets out, when it’s over. He goes to stand, and Ronan’s hands ease the process, make sure Adam is steady on his own feet. He’s not. Ronan’s hand remains tight around Adam’s waist, helping Adam stay upright as he swishes some water around his mouth and spits. Adam doesn’t protest Ronan all but carrying Adam back to bed.

“This appointment is gonna be a shitshow,” Adam mumbles. “I haven’t, like, slept all week.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Ronan says. “Maybe it’s not as bad as we think.”

“The office called me to ask about the symptoms. Louise said to be prepared to schedule a fistula surgery,” Adam admits. “And to talk to the fucking dietician about dialysis rules.”

“Oh, shit,” Ronan mumbles, pulls Adam close. “That bad?”

“You know that’s what’s gonna happen. I’ve peed like twice this entire week.” Adam says it all into Ronan’s chest. He can feel his limbs trembling.

“Then we find you a new kidney and we deal with this shit in the meantime,” Ronan says. “Need me to email your boss?”

“Depending on how tomorrow goes,” Adam responds. He tries to be as upfront as he can with Dr. Feldman, but he has a sinking feeling that the next few days are just going to be shuttling between different doctors’ offices for consultations and trying to figure out how to stop Adam from actively dying.

That’s what it feels like he’s doing, anyways. Dying.

“Okay,” Ronan says. It’s soft. “Hey. We’ve planned for this. Better now than while you were defending your thesis.”

Adam knows Ronan is only like this because Adam is like this. When he’s sick, really sick and hurting and tired and there’s no end in sight, Ronan always drops his emotions about it all and just tries to make him feel better. It makes Adam feel so guilty. He knows Ronan is scared, probably just as scared as Adam. And it sucks that he feels like he can’t say shit because Adam is so not okay.

“I’m scared.” Adam doesn’t look at Ronan, has his face pressed against his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m so scared.” Ronan’s hand gently grabs Adam’s chin, guides it up so Adam’s eyes meet Ronan’s.

“Me, too,” Ronan says, voice raw and hurting, but his lips are gentle against Adam’s forehead. “In the morning, I’ll call Gansey and Blue. We should… we should start looking for a potential kidney donor.”

Adam just sighs.

“Let’s talk in the morning. I might actually fall asleep right now.” Ronan’s hands stay tight around Adam’s waist. He tries not to think about how he can feel Adam’s hip bones.

“I’m going to pick up Gansey and Blue. Are you going to be okay?” It’s a week later, and Adam just nods from underneath his favorite blanket. It’s a dream thing, attuned to be the exact temperature Adam wants it to be.

“Don’t kill them driving through Cambridge,” Adam says. His eyes are veiled, he knows it. Yesterday, he’d had his third dialysis treatment; four hours of letting a machine clean his blood for him. What’s worse is the constant fucking appointments. He can only work half-time, at best, between the fucking dialysis and the appointments with the renal dietician and the doctors trying to plan a kidney transplant and the normal lupus shit.

Adam is convinced Sarah the Dietician is going to kill him before he can even get a kidney.

There’s so many rules. If you had told Adam that at age twenty-six he’d be counting every single milliliter of liquid he drinks and trying to cram seventy-five grams of protein into his body every day, he wouldn’t have believed you. He can’t drink a lot of water, now, because he doesn’t pee anymore, and he has to try to eat so many calories that everyone gets pissed when he wastes liquid intake on water, anyways.

It’s more than that. He can’t eat potatoes, can’t eat foods high in sodium or potassium or phosphorus, which sucks. It means Adam can’t eat peanut butter. Well, not more than a tablespoon maybe once every other week.

He really fucking wants peanut butter. Adam thinks he’s never going to want to eat again but he would do it for peanut butter.

But Ronan is stressing about all of it, shoving BeneCal into anything he can get Adam to drink and eat, and trying to coordinate all of this donor testing with the rest of the normal shitshow. He’s not a compatible blood type, but both Gansey and Blue are, and hopefully one of them doesn’t have any bad crossmatches with Adam.

Sarah is definitely going to kill him. He knows, objectively, the reason why it’s all so strict. Like, Adam is not actively trying to die. It’s just so hard to actually do it.

“Are you sure? They can fuck off and Uber for all I care,” Ronan says. His hands are playing with his keys.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to read the paper my PI sent a while ago,” Adam says.

“Nuh uh. He said to kick your ass if you were doing work this week,” Ronan says, sitting back down.

“I’m bored as fuck, Ronan,” Adam says. “Now go. You’re going to be late and Gansey is going to Dad Panic more than he already is.”

“Only after I put your laptop in the kitchen to charge.” It’s a dirty move. Ronan knows Adam is tired enough that putting the laptop in the kitchen, while not an actual physical barrier to getting it, requires enough of an effort to retrieve that Adam will just leave it there.

“Fuck off. Give it to me,” Adam says. He’s ready for this fight. They’ve had it enough times in the last week; Ronan doesn’t want Adam working at all, not right now when they’re trying to adjust to all of this and keep him from getting sick, and the fact that he’s clinging to working half-time is another source of stress for Ronan.

But it’s the only thing that makes all of this shit suck a little less. So Adam wins that one, unless he’s sick or hasn’t eaten enough or 500 other stipulations that make it feel like he actually lost.

“Here.” Ronan throws a printed copy of the paper at Adam. “That way you don’t do your stupid scientific paper spiral when you’re done.”

It’s a compromise.

They’ve gotten better at those, Adam thinks. Ronan kisses him on the lips gently, and then he’s gone, locking the door behind him. Adam reads the paper, and then he debates what he should do. He should make his way to the kitchen, should eat something that’s solid. Instead, Adam closes his eyes.

He wakes up to his phone buzzing, Ronan texting that they just parked. Adam finds the energy to stand, the willpower to leave the blanket behind, and he’s just leaning against the counter in the kitchen, scrolling through his email, when the door opens.

Blue’s arms are tight around him, her face buried in his chest, and then Gansey is holding Adam just as tightly.

“It’s good to see you,” Adam gets out, allows Gansey to lead him to the sofa and sits down next to him. Adam looks to Ronan, who has their suitcase in his hand and an oddly pained look on his face. But he just moves the suitcase to the guest room, comes back with Adam’s blanket and unceremoniously throws it onto him.

“Thank you, for doing this,” Adam says, and Blue just makes a face.

“You don’t need to thank anyone,” she says. “Just stay the fuck alive, Parrish.” And just like that, Ronan remembers why sometimes he misses the maggot.

“How are you, Adam?” Gansey asks, the weight of his words greater than the words themselves. Adam knows that his face is somehow walking the impossible line between gaunt and swollen, knows he’s way thinner than he’s been in a while. Somewhere, his invisible illness has become a whole lot more visible.

“I’m okay,” Adam gets out, doesn’t feel like he’s lying. “I mean, it’s manageable.”

“It always is,” Gansey says, and again there’s more to it than Adam can really understand right now. “You have a lot of appointments this week?”

“Other than the kidney matching ones, just dialysis and the fucking dietician.” Adam lets his annoyance seep into his tone.

“Adam loves fighting with the dietician,” Ronan inputs. “Don’t know why he thinks if he asks the same questions he’s gonna get different answers.”

“That’s not ideal,” Blue comments. “Hopefully, one of us is compatible and then this shit doesn’t last that long.”

Ronan just nods. “What do you all want for dinner?” he asks, a pointed look at Adam. Adam just glares back.

“Hmm, we haven’t had sushi in a while,” Blue says. “Me and Gansey can walk and get some.”

“Then fucking do it, Maggot. I want something with tuna,” Ronan says. “Adam, you think you can drink a smoothie?”

Gansey and Blue leave to let Adam and Ronan fight this one out on their own.

Gansey is a match.

Adam barely keeps from crying in his doctor’s office as they go about moving forward with it. God, Adam is willing to just be cut open there and now on the stupidly red carpet floor.

But that’s not an option. They schedule it for two months from now, because Adam isn’t healthy enough for it right now.

They have two months to get their shit together.

“Parrish,” Ronan says, a month later. His voice is short. “You’ve gotta eat something.”

“No,” Adam says, refusing to move from under his blanket. Not only did he spend five hours of his day watching a machine clean his blood for him, but he’s certain the fever and awful feeling he’s got isn’t an actual sickness, but just a fucking lupus flare up.

None of that makes Ronan any less mad that Adam went into lab to work with his undergrad. Without a sanitary mask, without really eating that day.

“Dude, it’s already eight p.m. and you haven’t met any of the goals for today.” Ronan’s voice is firm.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam says. “I drank some water, while you were at the bar. About 300 mills.”

“Fuck, man, that means you have to eat solid food. Jesus christ, if you’re not going to fucking eat at least don’t waste your liquid on water.” Ronan’s face is twisting into a snarl. Oh, shit. He’s angry angry.

“Fuck you,” Adam says. “Just fucking count the assload of pills as a meal and we’re good.”

“No, we’re not.” Ronan rubs a hand across his forehead. Already, it looks like he’s too tired to be angry. What a fucking mood. “Look, Parrish. Whatever you want, I’ll get it. Literally anything that you can eat and want to eat.”

“I want peanut butter,” Adam says, and Ronan just throws his hands up in the air.

“You’re not dying of a fucking heart attack.” Ronan’s voice isn’t cold, but it’s harsh and loud and angry. “I get this shit sucks. But deliberately not taking care of yourself is just going to compound it all. Sarah is already mad at you about last week.”

“I didn’t lose any weight, did I?” Adam shoots back. “I’m fucking fine, Lynch.”

“No. You’re not.” Ronan walks until he’s right next to where Adam is sitting up in their bed. “You’re not. I get that shit really sucks right now, man. But going to work, without a mask, during flu season and with a flare up? That’s just stupid.”

“I’m trying.” Adam meant for his voice to be loud, but it’s not. It’s just hoarse. “I’m actually fucking trying and I’m sorry that all of this shit is so hard for you right now, but I just fucking can’t right now.” Adam takes a breath, steels himself and stands so that he and Ronan are finally on an equal playing field. “I just wanted to do something fucking normal and I didn’t have any masks in my car and so I just went.”

“You can’t afford to get sick,” Ronan says, but most of the fight has already left him. They’re so much older now; they don’t slam doors and refuse to speak for weeks like they did when they were teenagers. “Adam, I am so fucking scared that if things don’t start going right they’re going to do something like postpone it and I don’t want this to be longer. So we gotta make something work.”

“I’m trying,” is all Adam says again.

“Okay,” Ronan says, and it doesn’t sound at all like he’s responding to what Adam is saying. “We’re both freaking out about this, and we’re taking it out on each other. I’m going to go call Gansey to talk to someone else about it. If you want, call Blue.”

And then Ronan leaves. He goes into the kitchen, pulls out his phone.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” he asks, forces himself to shove his anger down to actually think about what’s happening.

“Yeah, of course. I think Adam just called Blue, anyways. What’s happening?” Gansey asks.

“Oh good. He called her,” Ronan says. “Dude, I just need to talk to someone about this shit.”

“What happened? Is Adam okay?” Gansey asks immediately.

Ronan wants to say that he is, but he can’t.

“No, not really. It’s just… everything is a fight. I can’t even get him to eat, man,” Ronan says, takes a breath. It sounds ragged, even to him. “And there’s just so much that can’t go wrong and nothing is just… he’s not eating enough and he’s having flare ups and he just… he knows getting an infection would be bad but he just went into work without a mask or anything.”

“It sounds like things have been really hard,” Gansey says. “And you’re worried about them saying he’s not healthy enough for surgery, right?”

“Yeah,” Ronan says. “His dietician is up his ass, man. He hasn’t been actively losing weight, but they need him to gain some and it’s just… not happening.”

“Okay. Don’t get mad at me, but you gotta remember that he’s sick.” Gansey pauses, waits for Ronan to jump down his throat. He doesn’t. “Like I’m not saying to not follow what his doctors say, but he’s really sick, and it’s going to be harder to do basic things. Especially eating.”

“It’s so hard,” Ronan admits, hates the way his voice shakes. “I’m so scared of him getting a virus on top of all of this.”

“There’s nothing you can do about that. Just… work with him, on figuring out how to get done what needs to be done.” Gansey advises.

Ronan already feels better, but he lets Gansey continue to talk him off the ledge.

Gansey glances over, to where Blue’s face is creased. She’s laying on their bed, talking quietly but a hand is over her eyes.

“Hey, Adam,” Blue says when he calls. “How’s it going?”

“Me and Ronan kind of fought,” Adam says, too tired to be more eloquent. “I went to work today and it was a thing.”

“Something tells me that’s not all of it,” Blue says. When Adam doesn’t say anything else, she just sighs. “Adam.”

“I didn’t wear a mask. And, uh, it’s been hard,” Adam says. “Like, eating and stuff. And I just went to work to do something fucking normal.”

“I get that you want to do normal shit. But also, you know why Ronan is being like this, right? He’s worried sick,” Blue says.

“I don’t want him to be worried,” Adam says immediately. “I don’t want to scare him. I just don’t know how not to.”

“Look, don’t get mad at me. No matter how much you want to control this, you can’t,” Blue says. “You want to feel normal but it’s clearly not working.”

“It’s not even feeling normal at this point, Blue. I don’t even feel alive,” Adam says, and he’s so tired he doesn’t even care that he said what he said.

“Oh fuck no. We are not doing this, Adam Parrish. We are not giving up,” Blue says, and Adam remembers that this is the same voice that has called out to Cabeswater. You don’t fuck with Blue Sargent.

“Everything is so fucking hard right now, Blue. Between all the appointments and this psychotic fucking nutrition plan and just not having a single functioning kidney.” Adam can’t keep his voice from shaking, can’t keep the tears from spilling down his face.

“I get that, Adam.” Blue’s voice is soft. “Is there anything that we can do to make any of it easier, especially with the food stuff?”

“Do you want to talk to the dietician? No matter what I do, she’s mad at me,” Adam shoots back, swipes angrily at his eyes and flops back onto the mattress.

“You know what I meant. What would make it easier for you to actually eat. Like more liquid calories?” Blue suggests.

“I honestly don’t think there’s any way for any of this to get better, Blue.” Adam knows he’s not being productive, but he doesn’t see and end to this. It’s just infinitely awful, no matter which way you look.

“It’s going to have to, Adam. That means you’ve got a few options. You should tell your dietician food isn’t happening—she has shit she can prescribe to help with appetite or whatever. You can also try to intake more of it via liquid. You know eating is hard, so don’t waste your liquid intake on water, man. Ronan will literally get you anything that you’re allowed to eat, just tell him what’s going on.” Blue’s voice is firm.

“I mean I’ve already got BeneCal, but I’ll try to talk to her,” Adam promises. “There’s deadass just so much that I can’t eat.”

“We know you would kill anyone for peanut butter,” Blue says, and then there’s a pause. “You should consider talking to Ronan about how you’re feeling. The whole being alive taking an effort thing.”

“Blue, I don’t want to worry him more,” Adam says. “He’s already so scared and he’s trying not to let me see and I feel like if I tell him he’s going to freak out. I can’t add this on top of it all.”

“Ronan is honestly just constantly assuming the worst in every scenario. Actually knowing what’s happening isn’t going to make it worse,” Blue says. “At least then he knows what’s going on.”

“What the fuck do I even say? Hey Ronan, literally all of my energy is taken up with the medical stuff and there’s nothing left to human?” Adam asks, his hand over his face.

There’s a few moments of silence. Adam feels apprehension crawl up his neck, because he thinks he knows what Blue’s going to suggest, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Don’t kill me, but maybe you should stop trying to work.” Blue’s voice is carefully neutral. “It would help both of you, I think. Ronan is super stressed out about you getting an infection, and if you’re not really eating, working objectively isn’t a good idea.”

“No,” Adam says. “Blue, you know that’s off the table.”

“Why are you so against it? Your job isn’t in danger,” Blue pushes back.

“I’m not explaining this to you again. You know why.” Adam’s voice is strained.

“No, explain it to me. You know you feel awful, and I’m willing to bet you know that working makes it feel worse,” Blue says, and Adam remembers that the most stubborn person in their weird family isn’t always him.

“Look, I can’t say that I haven’t thought about it,” Adam says, “but then I might actually go insane without something to do. I definitely don’t want to stop fully…”

“Work from home? Limit to paper writing, grant proposals, and reviews?” Blue suggests, and Adam just sighs.

“Yeah, if I’m feeling shitty.” Adam is just so tired of feeling shitty.

“You can’t tell me you don’t always feel like shit,” Blue sends back. “But define shitty.” She wants no loopholes; she’ll fucking take working from home, but she wants it to be clear-defined so he can’t just constantly sneak through some asinine phrasing.

She and him work out a plan, and she has it written down and will send it to Ronan. She tells this to Adam, blocks off the last possible escape.

“Ugh, I should go. I know I have to eat something but I just don’t want to,” Adam says.

“Tough. My boyfriend is giving you an organ, so you’re going to be as healthy as possible to get it,” Blue says. “Talk to him, with your words.”

“I’ll try, Blue,” Adam responds, is ready to hang up.

“I’m going to look up some recipe shit that’s easy to eat and send it to you guys. Just forward your actual list of restrictions so I don’t fuck it up,” she says. “We love you. See you soon.”

And then it’s just Adam on the bed. He does not want to do this, but he knows if he doesn’t Blue will fly across the country just to yell at him.

So he summons all of his energy and stumbles into the kitchen. Ronan is sitting at the table, but he’s done talking to Gansey.

“Hey,” Adam says. “Can we talk?”

And then they talk. Adam manages to use his words, and Ronan uses his. Ronan tries not to look shocked and thrilled when Adam mentions backing off of work, and Adam tries to explain that he just feels fucking terrible.

Adam eats whatever hot cereal that isn’t oatmeal (because oatmeal is high in phosphorus and that’s another No) that Ronan makes, knows that there’s definitely BeneCal in it but he doesn’t even care.

Then Ronan holds him and they watch stupid game shows on TV. Ronan helps Adam write an email to his boss, and then he plays with Adam’s hair until Adam falls asleep.

It’s not good. Adam’s face is swollen with the steroids he’s been taking for the flare ups, and Ronan rests his hand on Adam’s chest and he can feel Adam’s ribs through his shirt.

But it doesn’t feel quite as bad.

“Mark today on the calendar—Ronan Lynch responded to an email I sent,” Blue says the second Ronan Lynch picks up the phone. It had taken her a week to get all the information for a good list, and even though Adam’s last dietician appointment was rough, he hadn’t lost weight (he hadn’t gained weight), and they have a new pill to try and take some of the load off of Adam’s nonexistent appetite.

“Holy shit, that list you sent me was amazing,” Ronan says. “Fuck the dietician—I don’t know what we’re paying her for. You want the job?” It truly was great. Lists of recipes organized by how easy she thinks it would be for Adam to eat them, with straight-up nutrition summaries right next to them, the exact information they need to record if he eats it. It’s the most beautiful thing Ronan has seen.

“Uh, no. First of all, say goodbye to BeneCal and the new thing that he’s taking,” Blue says. “Second of all, you need her.”

“She’s gotta know there’s competition. I’m showing her that shit today,” Ronan says.

“You two are on thin fucking ice with her. Don’t push it, Ronan,” Blue warns. “Also, I’ve definitely mentioned this to Adam, but we can come early, if you want.”

“Uh,” Ronan says, glances in the direction of their bedroom. Adam is skyping his undergrad, who’s trying to explain what she thinks might be happening with her data. “I mean, he’s eating better and he’s been gaining weight. I think it’s helpful that he’s not doing lab work.”

“Not just for Adam,” Blue says. “You’re both super stubborn and a third party can be helpful,” Blue says. “But also strength in numbers. Even though I can definitely beat Adam in a fight, anytime and anywhere.”

“That’s not a high bar to clear right now,” Ronan comments. “Look, we have another meeting with the dietician on Friday. If that somehow goes badly, I could probably use backup.”

“If you don’t explicitly call me, I’m going to be there Saturday morning. So will Gansey,” Blue says. Then she hangs up.

It’s two weeks before the scheduled surgery that shit has hit the fan.

“Blue, you still have the flight?” Ronan asks. Adam had to go straight from that dietician appointment to dialysis, and it’s a few hours later that Ronan has time to step out. Despite all of their work, despite the appetite stimulants and the planning and the cooperating, Adam has lost weight, and if they can’t get it back in a week the surgery is in danger.

She’s put Adam on essentially bed rest. Like to the level of not even being allowed to pace when he’s nervous. Which is a thing that Adam does a lot.

Adam is Not Happy, but he’s also exhausted from the fight he’d had with Sarah over the specifics of it, so Ronan thinks that the next few hours, at least, will be manageable.

“Yeah. What happened?” Blue asks. “We’re taking a Red Eye.”

“He lost weight.” Ronan rubs his forehead, lets his head rest between his knees in the stupid hallway as he tries to keep his shit together. It’s like the room has narrowed to the juncture of his palm and the cell phone, the sounds only what’s coming through the phone. “So he’s, like, confined to bed. No movement other than what’s strictly necessary, just to get it back up for next week.”

“Oh he’s not going to be happy about that,” Blue says. “Is it bad?”

“If he drops more weight, they’re going to push back the surgery,” Ronan says, lets the panic seep into his voice. “I’m so worried. We’re doing everything we can.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Blue says. “He’s starting to eat more, and he did gain some weight. If he’s on bed rest, he’s not going to be burning through calories like mad. We just have to get through. How’s Adam taking it?”

“He honestly tired himself out fighting about it,” Ronan says. “I don’t think he’s going to be as mad as we think he would be. He’s been crazy exhausted, in general.”

“That’s good,” Blue says. “Not that he has no energy, but that this might not be a fight.”

“It still might be,” Ronan says, voice hollow.

“Just keep it together tonight, Lynch. We’ll be there in the morning.” And then Blue hangs up.

Ronan gives himself a minute to breathe, and then he goes back to sit with Adam. Adam is responding to emails on his laptop, the dream blanket covering his lap. He’s wearing one of Ronan’s sweatshirts, because if he’s not wearing at least five layers the whole his blood is outside of the body experience makes him super cold. He’s also wearing a sanitary mask, because honestly Ronan will freak out about germs no matter where in public they are, and it’s close enough to the surgery date that Adam also doesn’t want an infection.

“I know why you’re staying with me today,” Adam mumbles, once he’s closed the laptop because Ronan’s back. “Even the nurses here are worried about the weight thing.”

“Yeah, I am worried,” Ronan admits. “But we were already doing the whole doctor thing today. I wasn’t going to ditch you after shitty news.”

“You just want to make sure I don’t pace, or whatever,” Adam jokes. It’s a weak one, but it’s an effort, so Ronan will take it. “My ass is glued to the chair for the next two hours.”

“That’s not it,” Ronan says. “But you know we’re going to take that seriously, right?”

“I know,” Adam says. “I don’t want this shit postponed, Ronan. I hate being here, and the people here suck. I swear to whatever higher power if Pamela wants to talk about her gay grandkids with me again I’m going to kill her.”

“I’m good old people repellant,” Ronan says. “I’ll just glare at everyone.”

“That doesn’t stop them,” Adam says darkly. “Ugh, I ran out of emails to respond to.”

“You gonna take a nap?” Ronan asks. “I can scare them off.”

Apart from the dialysis part of dialysis, Ronan knows Adam hates it because two of the most talkative groups of people on this planet are old people and nurses.

“No one can scare off Megan. She’s on shift Fridays and she doesn’t shut up,” Adam says. “Doesn’t help that she’s very much invested in the whole drama with the dietician.”

“Mmh. Take a nap. Gotta be ready for the invasion tomorrow.”

Adam rolls awake to an empty bed. It makes sense; it’s a little past eight in the morning. There’s no way Ronan would still be asleep. Not with Gansey and Blue flying in today.

He gets himself to sit up, is swinging his legs over the side of the bed to meander to the kitchen when Ronan appears in the doorway.

“Nuh uh, Parrish,” he says. “Bed rest.”

“With essential movement,” Adam corrects. “I feel like going to the kitchen to eat is an essential movement.”

“Not when I can bring it here,” Ronan argues, already in the doorway. He’s got an eight ounce glass of high calorie lemonade (probably with BeneCal, if Adam knows him at all) and a thing of hot cereal (one guess what’s also in there). Adam just woke up; he’s not hungry. He’s really not.

But he knows if he doesn’t now the fight is still going to be happening when Blue gets here. Adam fears very little in this world, but you are a fool if you do not fear Blue Sargent.

“Ronan,” Adam says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I’m not going to stay in bed the whole day.”

“I mean, you are,” Ronan says. “Like, ditch the pride and autonomy for a second. We’re on thin ice with the docs, man, and you’re majorly wiped from yesterday. So, like, actually build up the energy today and we’ll go from there with the doctor’s orders.”

Adam just scrunches his nose. He tries to make quick work of the food, but he doesn’t even finish it; Ronan accepts it.

“It’s mostly gone and there was a decent amount of BeneCal in what you ate, so it’s probably fine,” he says, and Adam isn’t going to fight it. “You gonna go back to sleep, or you wanna do something?” Ronan asks.

“I just woke up,” Adam says, and Ronan just sends a raised eyebrow Adam’s way. They both know that hasn’t been stopping him, lately. “Hmm, weren’t we watching Brooklyn 99?”

“We can watch an episode,” Ronan says, crawling back into bed. He’s put on real clothes, jeans and a shirt and everything, but that doesn’t stop him from pulling Adam’s head to his own chest and wrapping his arms around Adam. Adam is still refusing to share the dream blanket, but Ronan can honestly feel the heat from where it’s still wrapped around Adam.

Adam is dozing through their fifth episode, Ronan holding Adam with one arm and carding through Adam’s curls with the other, when the apartment buzzer goes off.

Blue and Gansey are here.

Ronan doesn’t want to pull Adam out of the half-sleep state he’s in, so he tries to slip out from under Adam as gently as possible, and Adam grumbles but he doesn’t open his eyes. Ronan quickly buzzes them up, waits at the door.

In an instant, he’s wrapped in a Gansey bear hug. Blue just walks into the apartment, looking like she’s a woman on a mission.

“Hi, Ronan,” she says. “Okay, you and Gansey can leave. I got this,” she says, and watches Ronan bristle for a fight.

“The fuck are you on, Maggot? You just got here,” Ronan shoots back.

“Go take care of bar shit or something. Just do something not here. I know the rules, so Adam and I will be fine,” Blue says, moving straight past them all towards Ronan and Adam’s bedroom.

Gansey pulls Ronan out the apartment door.

When Blue enters the bedroom, Adam takes one look at her and rolls to the far side of the bed, putting his whole body underneath the blankets and shoving his face into the pillow.

She guesses when you’re on bedrest there’s only so many ways you can run.

“So help me, Adam Parrish, this is happening,” she says, voice firm. “I don’t care if I have to get under there with you.”

There’s no response from the Adam Parrish-shaped lump underneath the blanket nest.

“Or I’ll just take the blanket,” she threatens, and after a second, Adam’s head peeps out. Blue knows she’s already won, but she can’t let Adam know that yet.

“Hello, Blue,” Adam says, pulls himself into a seated position. Blue gives herself exactly half a second to swallow back her emotions, because this is one of her best friends and he looks bad. He’s thin, there are dark circles under his eyes, and his entire body looks exhausted.

Blue sits next to Adam, his intake log on her lap. Adam sighs. But then Blue’s arms are around him and he leans into how warm she is, lets her small hand splay across his back and rub a few circles before he pulls away.

“It’s good to see you, Adam,” she says. “Now, what do you want to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, Blue. I ate like an hour ago,” Adam shoots back. Blue scrunches her face.

“Actually, you ate two and a half hours ago. You have five minutes to decide before I make a choice for you,” she says. “We’re gonna stick it to your dietician this week.”

“I’m like… these appetite stimulants are making my stomach feel weird,” Adam admits. “Not nauseous, but… not normal.”

“Adam, that’s called hunger,” Blue says. “I am honestly concerned, man. Do you not have any human instincts? Like do you touch a working stove before you think, ‘oh, that’s hot’?”

“Rude. I know stoves are hot,” Adam mumbles. “Don’t think it’s hunger, though.”

“We’ll see. Pick something to eat. Whatever you want, I’ll make, but if you say peanut butter I will kill you myself,” Blue says, standing up. Adam just curls up on the bed. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Adam Parrish.”

“Sleep is good for healing. Can’t wake me up,” Adam argues, just buries himself deeper in the blankets.

“You can’t just selectively pick medical advice to follow when you want to win an argument,” Blue shoots back. “I’m just saying, if you fall asleep I’m going to wake your ass up.”

“Nope,” Adam says, looks like he wants to continue, but Blue cuts him off.

“Ugh, you’re just trying to win by stalling. I’m walking away.” Blue starts to leave, and then she turns around. “If you follow me to the kitchen, I’m calling Ronan, so don’t even think about it.”

“You suck,” Adam calls, but he has the upper hand. He’s ready for a nap.

Someone is shaking Adam awake.

“You really thought I wouldn’t?” Blue asks, and Adam is already back asleep. He hears himself saying something back, but he’s not awake. “Oh Jesus that’s creepy. Adam, wake up.”

“M’ awake,” Adam says, a lie. “I’m just resting my eyes. I’ll eat.”

Adam hears movement, and then he’s asleep again, like he never woke up in the first place.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Blue’s voice is loud, and she physically hauls Adam into a sitting position by the armpits. “I knew you were still asleep, you fucking liar.” There’s no animosity in her voice, but Adam is disgruntled to actually be awake. “If you fall asleep, I’ll kill you.”

Adam stays awake, rubs at his face. He looks at the fistula in his arm, weird gross bumps that he’s always so tempted to press down on, but Ronan always swats his hands away before he can. Also, that would be a bad decision in general.

Blue comes back with food; solid food and a smoothie. It smells good.

Somehow, through a campaign of aggression, threats, blackmail, and pure outrageous distraction, Adam makes it through both of them. Blue smiles as she writes it all down.

“Oh, I can’t wait to shove it in Ronan’s face,” she says. “Thank you for cooperation, Parrish. The rest of the afternoon is yours to do what you want.”

“Hmm,” Adam says, curling back under the covers. “Wanna watch something?” His face is slightly pained; Blue knows that eating is a chore right now, and it’s honestly concerning how even that has seemingly tired Adam out. She reasons it’s just the aftermath of dialysis yesterday, along with the stress of the appointments. Well, she hopes that’s the reason.

“Sure. What are you and Ronan watching right now?” Blue asks. Adam just shrugs, and so she puts on whatever’s first in their Netflix queue.

She tries to talk with Adam, but the space between his words is getting longer and longer with each response.

When Adam falls back asleep, Blue just gently moves his hair off of his face and slips back into the kitchen. They can catch up later; if he’s going to sleep, Blue’s going to prep and cook as much Adam-edible food as possible. She knows his appetite is fickle—it can appear and disappear at the drop of a hat, and she wants there to be as minimal amount of time in between the ‘I’m hungry’ and the ‘eat’ as possible so that it can’t disappear on them.

Two hours later, she sends Ronan a picture of neatly-labelled tupperware in the fridge, and then another of the food log. The snapchat in response is one second long, just a screen saturated with heart-eyes, and she knows it was only sent because he knows she can’t screenshot it in time.

When she reenters the bedroom, Adam is stirring, the side of his face pressed into the pillow, all bedhead and scrunched nose.

She sends that snap to Ronan, too. He has to know that Blue is superior in every sense of the word.

“Hey,” Blue says softly, as Adam rubs at his eyes and pushes his hair into, impossibly, a messier position. “Good nap?”

“Mmh,” Adam mumbles, but he pushes himself into a seated position. “How long was I out?”

“Only about two hours,” Blue says. “I just meal-prepped a bunch of stuff. Ronan and Gansey are on their way back, I think,” she says.

“Oh, nice,” Adam says. “Did Ronan hide my laptop again?”

“Adam,” Blue warns.

“I’m not gonna do a lot. Lucia was just having some issues interpreting her data and wanted to talk. Shouldn’t take more than an hour to sort out, and get some updates,” Adam explains. Lucia is one of the undergrads he’s been supervising, even though the in-person stuff has been handled by a grad student in the lab, Adam wants to be involved. He’s supposed to be mentoring her, and he hates that he’s dropped the ball so badly the last few weeks.

“Okay,” Blue says hesitantly, and retrieves the laptop.

It’s nice, hearing Adam talk science, be patient and understanding and helpful. It’s so normal. She thinks, not for the first time, that Adam is going to be a great professor.

They just have to get him there.

“It’s been a good run, but sorry. You just can’t compete,” Adam says, and Ronan barks out a laugh. Currently Adam is laying with his head in Ronan’s lap, the rest of his body covered with the dreamed blanket. Gansey is in the armchair, Blue on the arm of the chair. Gansey’s hand rests at her back.

The apartment is warm, Adam has met his goals for the day, they’re all in the same place, and the TV playing idly in the background.

“I’ll just throw it out,” Ronan shoots back. “I’m offended you would pick a blanket over me.”

“It’s a really nice fucking blanket,” Adam says, burrows deeper into it. Ronan is tempted to pull Adam up, to replace the blanket with his arms, but he knows when he’s been beat.

Instead, he pulls Adam into his lap, blanket included. Adam only grumbles a little bit.

“What were you doing at the bar?” Adam asks, looking this time to Gansey.

“There’s a new brewing company, wants us to add them on tap,” Ronan says. “Gansey and I were making executive decisions.”

“So you were drinking beer all afternoon,” Blue summarizes, rolling her eyes.

“Hey. I helped with opening and stuff,” Gansey defends himself. His hand squeezes Blue’s waist, just a little.

“Yeah, you were a big help.” Ronan’s voice is dripping with snark, and Adam muffles his laugh in his hand, which Ronan then grabs. Adam slides off of Ronan, and Ronan thinks Adam is going to just sit next to him, but he flops back down, his head way out of Ronan’s reach.

The blanket is still wrapped around him.

“You’re doing nothing to convince him you’re not leaving him for the blanket,” Gansey says, and Adam just glares. After a long sigh, he turns his whole body back around, so his head is back on Ronan’s thigh.

It feels just a little easier, Ronan thinks. It’s been a good day.

Hopefully, in two weeks there will be a lot more of them.

“Nngh.” Adam has no idea what the sound out of his mouth is, but he doesn’t even care. He hasn’t managed to sleep more than forty minutes consecutively that night, his joints aching enough to keep him awake. He can feel it every time he shifts. Even his skin seems to hurt, but Adam had refused to wake Ronan up.

At some point, the pain and the underlying nausea had started mixing together, and then it had been impossible to avoid waking Ronan up. Adam hasn’t actually thrown up yet, but it’s been a lot of dry heaving and just laying in discomfort. Adam knows that, come morning, eating isn’t happening. He’s not on strict bed rest anymore because he managed to gain the weight back with an extra bonus of .75 pounds, but he’s basically on bed rest. He needs to not lose weight, and if it’s going to be this kind of day, it means expending any energy is not an option. That’s why, after the third bathroom trip, Ronan had just grabbed a garbage can and put it on Adam’s side of the bed.

“Hey,” Ronan says, when he wakes up to Adam staring at the ceiling at six in the morning. “You sleep at all?”

“A little.” Adam’s voice is hoarse, and Ronan can see how Adam is holding his body still deliberately, even though he’s lying down. “Half an hour here and there.”

“Hmm… is the nausea still bad?” Ronan asks, planting his feet on the ground. “Lemme get your meds.”

“Yeah. M’ body hurts today, Ro,” Adam says, turning his head to where Ronan has stood. Ronan just leans back over and kisses Adam’s forehead.

“Maybe the meds will help,” Ronan says. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

Ronan’s plan is to be quick, but he slips out of their bedroom and into the living room to find Gansey making coffee and Blue eating a yoghurt.

“Hey,” Blue says around the spoon. “Adam up yet?”

“He’s been up,” Ronan answers. “It was a rough night, and we have to leave in an hour for the appointments, so I’m gonna bring him his meds.”

“How rough?” Gansey asks, his face creased with concern as Ronan goes through gathering Adam’s medications.

“He hasn’t thrown up, but nausea,” Ronan starts. “Some combo of joint and muscle pain, probably.”

“Probably?” Blue asks.

Ronan doesn’t know how to explain this.

When it gets like this, it’s like time and space has narrowed in around Adam; the pain gets so overwhelming that he can’t really perceive beyond the fact that it’s happening and it’s happening at this very moment. Ronan used to think he was zoning, but it’s just that nothing else can get through when it’s this bad.

“That’s not normal,” Blue says, after Ronan does the best he can. “Can’t we… can the appointments be pushed back, or anything?”

“Man, if we pushed back appointments every time Adam felt shitty, nothing would get done,” Ronan says. “Besides, most of this is pre-op stuff, and you don’t fuck with transplant teams.” Blue and Gansey just look at him. “Look, we can talk about this later. Right now I just gotta get Adam moving.”

“What do you need from us?” Gansey asks.

“Just don’t… don’t let him give in to inertia before the car,” Ronan summarizes. “It’ll be fine after that because most of what he has to do is just let them do tests and move him around places. He’s already done all the consent stuff, so I just need to sit through the meeting with all of the doctors to figure out the admission and pre-op orders and shit.”

“I can help you take notes and shit,” Blue offers.

“Yeah, sure,” Ronan says. “Gansey, just make sure he wears the mask and uses hand sanitizer whenever he touches hospital shit. Hospitals are gross and dirty.”

It’s a plan.

Blue just watches as Ronan gets Adam moving, helping him sit up to take his medications and drink some protein-packed beverage, helping Adam slip on sweatpants while staying mostly sitting down.

Adam stumbles out into the living area, Ronan’s joggers sitting low and loose on his hips, Gansey’s Stanford sweatshirt equally as large. He goes to sit on the couch, but Blue just steers him into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Parrish, are you gonna want your blanket for dialysis?” Ronan calls as he shoves things into a backpack: Adam’s laptop and charger, a Percy Jackson novel, pre-packed snacks, and a notebook, and he pauses as he waits for an answer. Normally, Adam insists on packing his own bag.

“Yeah,” Adam gets out, leaning away to spit out the toothpaste. “We’re doing that in the hospital today, right?”

“Yup,” Ronan confirms. “I have your laptop. You have urgent lab shit you want me to respond to?” Ronan asks.

Adam just sighs, then nods.

Blue and Gansey are sharing concerned looks as Ronan helps Adam slip on his tennis shoes. They have watched Adam work eight-hour shifts with broken bones and bruised ribs, have watched him remain functional through the impossible. This? This isn’t functional. He’s not even mad that other people are helping with basic things like packing a backpack for the day, and he’s not even demanding he dictate his own emails.

Adam Parrish is sick.

There was never any denial or doubt, but Blue feels the pain in her chest when she realizes just how bad it’s gotten. Ronan and Adam aren’t even surprised, aren’t concerned. This is a normal thing for them.

“Hey, put on the sanitary mask,” Ronan says, as he helps Adam down the stairs. He’s not carrying him, exactly, but the arm he’s got around Adam’s waist is enough of a presence that Adam isn’t doing most of the work. “Hospitals are dirty.”

“I will when we get there,” Adam promises, easing himself into the passenger seat. His eyes slip closed, his head leans back against the headrest.

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna forget,” Blue says, flicks the back of his head. “Put it on, Parrish.”

Adam sighs, but he slips the mask on.

“What tests are they all doing?” Gansey asks, mainly to Ronan.

“Unclear. Whatever pre-op requires, so probably the full range: urine, blood, MRI, and everything else,” Ronan says.

The rest of the drive is quiet.

“All right, we ready to split up?” Ronan asks, as a nurse appears looking like she’s steeling herself for a whole day with Adam Parrish. Blue is hanging on his hand, and while Adam is standing upright by himself, Gansey is hovering because he’s gagged at least twice, and no one knows how much longer it’s going to be before he actually vomits.

“Yup,” Adam says, lets Ronan adjust the mask on his face and smooth his hair back before he’s wandering down the hallway after the nurse. “Gansey’s tagging along today. He’s the one I’m stealing an organ from,” he says to her. He’s walking so slowly that staying behind him is a challenge, and the nurse is just looking at Adam like she can’t decide what to do about it.

“How are you feeling, Adam?” she asks, and Adam just gives her a dead-eyed stare. “Look, I just need to know the best way to get everything done.”

“M’...” Adam starts, but his face pales, and his hand goes over his mouth. He swallows it down, even as someone gives him a container to throw up in. “I’m nauseous,” he says. “Muscle pain, but there’s no fever.”

“Okay,” the nurse says, continues walking until Adam’s sitting in a curtained off area. “We’ll hold off on the blood until the end, and hopefully the nausea subsides.”

Adam has to get some cosmic points for timing, because it’s right as she says the word nausea that he can’t hold it back anymore and he’s throwing up what Ronan had gotten him to drink that morning.

“Ready to start?” the nurse asks, after Adam’s done. She deftly replaces the container with a clean one, and Adam just glares. “Vitals first, then weight, and then we’ll do a baseline EKG.”

Gansey takes a back seat, watches as the nurse takes his blood pressure and temperature and listens, briefly, to his lungs. Then it’s the art of getting Adam up and on the scale.

“How dry of a weight is this?” she asks, as Adam sits on the edge of the exam surface, peels his shirt off.

“I have dialysis after this,” Adam says. “So pretty wet. I forget the number.”

Gansey easily provides the information.

“Okay,” she says. “How bad is the nausea? Can I trust you to lay on your back for two minutes without aspirating?”

“Obviously,” Adam says, but as he goes to lie down he shakes his head, sits back up, and pauses for exactly one second before he dry heaves for half a minute. Then he just lays back down, lets her stick the leads to him and waits for the results.

“Okay, let me take them off of you,” she says, and when she’s done removing the adhesive pads, Adam makes no indication that he’s going to move. “We have a few minutes before we have to head up for the MRI. Let’s go through some pre-op questions.”

Adam groans.

Gansey forces him to be honest, on the few occasions Adam wanted to sugar coat.

“We have to go a little ways to get to the MRI. You good to walk?” the nurse asks, after the end of it all.

“Yes,” Adam says, because this is the hill he will die on. “It isn’t a problem.” There’s some lines in the sand that Adam isn’t willing to blur; his kidneys are a shitshow but his legs are able and he’s in a rare spot of not being forced to not do things like walk between rooms.

“I guess,” she says, but she and Gansey stay close despite Adam’s small steps and slow pace. “You know the drill. No dye, so just lay still.”

“Yes,” Adam says. “There’s gonna be blankets, right?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t say anything after that, but she knows there’s a high probability that Adam is going to fall asleep. There’s two ways this scan is going to go: he passes out and they get it done quickly but waking him up again is a struggle, or he doesn’t and he’s restless and hurting and it takes forever to get a good read.

But she doesn’t have time to think about it. She looks to her left, and Gansey is holding the bucket under Adam to stop him from vomiting on the walls.

It’s a relief to get Adam to the room, even more a relief when the schedule is running on time and they don’t have to wait. She doesn’t have to stay, but she helps get Adam up and covered in blankets and into the machine before she goes to find his doctors to provide an update for the meeting. She’s also going to ask for an order for some strong anti-nausea meds, and she has a feeling one of them is going to want to see Adam to make sure his blood pH and fluid levels aren’t being affected by the vomiting.

Gansey stays, makes small talk with the technician.

Adam stays awake for a valiant five minutes in the machine before both the tech and Gansey hear Adam’s breathing even out, and Gansey sighs.

He’s not going to wake up easily.

Adam is sitting with his head between his knees, trying to breath through the nausea when Blue and Ronan come out of the meeting. Ronan has some idea of what’s going on, because one of the doctors in the meeting wrote an order for some anti-nausea meds and apparently they can’t leave until some doctor verifies that the vomiting hasn’t messed with anything that they haven’t already tested for.

“Hey,” Ronan says, a hand gentle on Adam’s back.

“Hi,” Adam croaks back, turns his head and gives Ronan a toothy smile. “They’re giving me the good shit. I’m gonna black the fuck out.”

“Oh, now you’re all about drugs,” Ronan says, but there’s no heat to it. “Think you can make it to dialysis?”

“You fucking know it,” Adam says. “Actually, unclear. There’s an elevator involved.”

“The fuck?” Blue asks, but Ronan just sighs.

“It’s weird. Gravity, and shit,” Adam says.

“Yeah, he almost puked up a wall after the elevator to the MRI,” Gansey confirms.

“Excuse me?” Ronan asks. “You’re messy today, Parrish.”

“Fuck off,” Adam says, but he lets Ronan help him to his feet. “For real, I’m fine. I can get there and then I’m gonna take the good pill and someone will get my body into the chair.”

“Not a great way to think about this,” Ronan grunts. “Keep the mask on, as long as you’re not about to upchuck.”

“If everyone in dialysis is immunocompromised, is no one immunocompromised?” Adam asks, his eyes tired enough that no one can tell if he’s really smiling beneath the mask or not.

“You get super weird when you’re exhausted,” Blue comments, as they slowly make their way towards the elevator. They’re all matching Adam’s pace, and Ronan’s grip on Adam’s hand isn’t just there because it can be, it’s a physical support.

Sure enough, Adam’s grip on both Ronan’s hand and the elevator rail is tight, his knees quaking and his eyes closing as he just tries to keep it together.

“Adam, man,” Gansey starts, because he’s not certain Adam’s going to take another step. “You good? I can get a—”

“I’m fine,” Adam gets out, only gags once on his way through the preparation. Ronan does most of the hard work, the cleaning of the fistula and the food log talk, and he basically lifts Adam onto the scale for the dry weight.

Adam is already mostly asleep as the nurse goes through the pre-dialysis routine, his blanket already laid over him. Ronan has Adam’s laptop out, is responding to emails so he can ask questions before Adam becomes completely dead to the world.

“Only two more,” the nurse says, as she maneuvers Adam’s arm to insert the connections to the artificial kidney. “You’ve almost made it.”

Adam opens his eyes, just a little bit. He’s smiling underneath the mask, but his eyes keep fluttering closed.

“Holy shit this is strong,” is what Adam replies, and Blue chuckles. Gansey is off socializing with every single person in the center, and Ronan only looks up from Adam’s laptop briefly.

“Hey, asshole. What the hell do I say to Lucia? She says she uploaded some weird NMR data to the Dropbox and doesn’t know what to do while they sort it out,” Ronan says, and Adam’s head turns, but his eyes stay closed.

“Tell her to take some TLC, and to actually cospot this time. If that doesn’t tell her if it’s different than previous attempts, have her try a different Lewis Acid catalyst,” Adam says. “I don’t know what’s in lab right now, but maybe something silver instead of copper?”

“Done,” Ronan says. “I’m shocked you’re still conscious.”

“S’ warm. Gonna sleep,” Adam replies, and it’s at most three breaths later that he’s asleep.

“I don’t know how you do this,” Blue says, once they’re confident Adam is out for the count. “It’s been a total shitshow of a day and you’re not even phased.”

“It’s not that bad, today,” Ronan says. “There’s no fighting with doctors, and, like, this is manageable. Yeah he feels like shit, but there’s not a lot that can be done about it.”

“We didn’t realize how… that it gets this bad at all, much less regularly,” Gansey says. “I know you think it’s fine and manageable, but he’s… he’s not even functioning.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ronan says. He sounds frustrating. “Look, all this shit is almost over.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t hard,” Blue says. She reaches a hand out, and Ronan grabs it. She squeezes hard.

As expected, waking Adam up is borderline impossible. They start the process a solid ten minutes before it’s even over, because Ronan starts to gently coax Adam back to consciousness, and it takes fifteen minutes of quiet words and strong but gentle touches for Adam’s eyes to stay open for longer than a few seconds.

“Is it over?” Adam slurs, his head turning to look at his arm. Sure enough, a nurse is washing the rest of Adam’s blood out of the machine and back into his body. Adam looks at Ronan, and Ronan thinks Adam’s is smiling a little bit beneath the mask.

“Yeah. We gotta go back up for a minute, but then we can go home,” Ronan says, one hand carding through Adam’s hair as the nurse unhooks him from the machine.

“Tired,” Adam replies, is already closing his eyes again when, quick as a viper, the blanket is gone. Adam’s eyes shoot open, and he looks ready to kill. “I’ll murder you in real life, Blue.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she says, already packing the blanket into the bag. “Now, let’s go. You good for another elevator trip?”

“No,” he says, is getting ready to get up and physically fight Blue Sargent, and Ronan just sighs.

“He’s awake, but at what cost? What cost, Maggot?” Ronan sighs, even as he helps Adam to his feet. He doesn’t bother with the wheelchair argument; he knows, without a doubt, that Adam is going to be too worn out after talking to the doctor that they don’t have to worry about it.

In fact, Ronan is the one keeping Adam’s velocity from going completely to zero. He keeps an arm around Adam, and Adam leans on Ronan’s shoulder gratefully. In the elevator, both of Adam’s arms go around Ronan, and Ronan’s arms are holding Adam up at the waist.

To no one’s surprise, Adam isn’t dying, and after a quick examination, the doctor sends them home with orders for Adam to rest. They’re left alone in the room, told to take as much time as they need to get Adam moving, because Adam is laying on his back and shows no intention of moving in the near future.

“Come on, man, our bed is way nicer,” Ronan argues, and Adam opens his eyes. He’s moving at glacial speed; Ronan’s worried enough that he’ll sink back to laying that he keeps a hand on Adam’s back as he sits up. “Keep going at this speed and we might get to see our apartment door before we have to come back.”

Adan shoots him a filthy glare, but his head is between his knees and he shows no signs of moving to stand any time soon.

“Keep it up and we’ll get back before Christmas,” Ronan continues. “No, really, take your time. I think you’re a strong contender for the snail olympics.”

“Fuck off,” Adam breathes out. “I got this.”

“Never doubted it,” Ronan says. He gives a look to Blue, throws his keys at Gansey. Blue comes back with a wheelchair, and by the time she gets back Adam is on his feet and he doesn’t even fight Ronan’s hands on his shoulders, pressing him down into the chair.

Adam is so tired. It’s been a long day, and he knows there’s going to be a fight about food. He has to pick his fights, now, and he’s got nothing left to even start one right now. It’s not the worst thing, and it’s almost the end. Adam reckons that he should have run out of energy or fight or whatever long ago, should have never been able to get out of bed today. But he did. And he does.

It’s not the worst thing, letting Ronan wheel him carefully down one hallway, when if Adam’s honest it could have happened so many times before. He sees the way Ronan looks when Adam is struggling, the fear and worry and anxiety that hadn’t made a home on Ronan’s face since they were teenagers. This will make this day just a little bit easier for them both.

That’s all this is, making things just a little bit better, a little less worse, until it can actually get better. It’s coming soon.

It’s got to get better.

“Any concerns?” Ronan is holding Adam’s hand. It’s the night before his surgery, and they’ve just gone through the admission process. Gansey gets to arrive tomorrow morning, but they want to make sure going nil’ by mouth doesn’t cause any wild imbalances in Adam’s body, and there’s a bunch of stuff they want to monitor, anyways. They’re also starting Adam on the new immunosuppressants early to minimize any chance of rejection tomorrow.

“He was way too excited to start the fast,” Ronan comments, and Adam gives him a small smile. Ronan’s hand sifts gently through Adam’s sandy hair, and the nurse chuckles. She goes back to doing what she was doing, adjusting Adam’s IV and looking at the heart-monitoring.

“It’ll be an easy night,” she says to Adam, who’s more than half-asleep. “Especially if you’re this tired and compliant.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. You’re gonna wanna look up the hospital restraint policy, because he’s a nightmare when he has greater than zero energy,” Ronan shoots back.

“Fuck off,” Adam says, puts the arm without the IV up to cover his eyes. “Or I’ll make you go hang out with Declan.” Tomorrow is going to be wild; Ronan has no idea how Blue plans on handling all of the Ganseys on her own, because he has to worry about Adam and not decking Declan at the same time and he knows he’s not going to be helpful.

“Unfair,” Ronan says. “I have to spend all day with him tomorrow.”

“What an inconvenience. Sounds like your day is going to be awful,” Adam says mildly. He’s got all the hospital blankets and his own covering his chest, and Ronan’s hand hasn’t left his hair. He doesn’t have to worry about eating or anything the fuck else. All Adam has to do is not die and get a functioning organ.

“I know you’re only being a little shit because you can,” Ronan says. “But the fact that you pick now to pull the kidney card is a low blow.”

“What card? I think I’m running at a solid 5% kidney function,” Adam shoots back. “It isn’t a card if it’s true.”

“Keep being mean and the head massage stops,” Ronan threatens. Adam scrunches his nose, but he doesn’t say anything in response. So Ronan keeps playing with Adam’s hair. “You nervous?”

“About what?” Adam asks, his eyes still mostly closed. “No, ‘m just tired right now.”

“You’re not?” Ronan asks. Adam’s eyes open fully then, and he gets himself into a sitting position, his arms wrap around Ronan, pull Ronan’s head to his own shoulder and his hand runs up and down the buzzed hair.

“It’s going to be okay,” Adam says, refuses to let go when Ronan squirms. “Hey.” Adam’s hand is gentle on Ronan’s head. “No matter what happens. There’s not a way this gets worse. Only better.”

Ronan allows himself one exhale, allows himself one second to lean into Adam’s arms.

“I don’t know what to do if this doesn’t work,” Ronan admits, tries to bite back the tears that have lived underneath his eyelid the whole week, the whole month, the entire time since the doctor said Adam’s kidneys weren’t working, anymore.

“We keep doing this,” Adam says. “It’s gonna suck.”

Ronan laughs exactly once, a watery thing, before he pulls away just enough so that he can see Adam’s eyes. They’re just as warm of a blue as ever. Adam gives Ronan a smile, moves a hand to squeeze one of Ronan’s.

“Okay,” Ronan says, kisses every knuckle on Adam’s hands. It’s the last time he’s going to do that for a while. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Adam says back easily. Ronan kisses his cheek, then his mouth, then his nose, then his forehead. Adam is laughing, and he refuses to let go of Ronan’s hand, even as he lays back down.

It isn’t much longer until Adam’s asleep again.

Ronan stays the whole night, and Adam is still mostly asleep when the rest of the Parrish-Gansey team shows up. Blue wraps Ronan up tight in a hug, and immediately leaves Ronan with the families while she goes to say hello to Adam.

She’s a traitor.

Blue is gentle in waking Adam up fully, and it’s clear Adam does not want to be woken up. They’re going to start dialysis soon, but they’ve been giving him time to actually wake up, because they don’t have to force him to eat, and the rest of his vitals have been stable.

Soon enough, Gansey is lead into the room and they go through getting him admitted and ready for surgery. For right now, they’re in the same room on the unit, but that’s going to change after the surgeries; Adam has to be contained, because he is not only going to be on much stronger immunosuppressants, but it’s also after a major surgery. Infection is the biggest concern.

“What’s up, Gansey?” Adam says, offering his fist out. Gansey bumps it, because they’re truly both the same nerds that fist-bumped right before Gansey died.

“How are you feeling?” Gansey asks, even as he’s quickly distracted by the nurses needing to do their jobs. Both of the families have trailed in, and Ronan is being manhandled by Matthew. That’s the best description for prolonged hug/frog-march situation happening that Adam can come up with.

“Hello, Adam,” Declan says politely, taking a seat. “I wonder if Ronan will ever manage to free himself from Matt.”

“Probably not,” Adam says, not even looking as a nurse comes to start setting up stuff for dialysis. Ronan is back at his side, and he’s kind of glad there’s no awkward ‘I’m so grateful your son is giving me one of his vital organs’ conversation to be had with the Ganseys.

Ronan moves to help Adam stand, but the nurses are careful about moving Adam and getting him on a scale, though he shivers at the lack of blankets, and they’re equally as careful about settling him back in the bed. Ronan does tuck Adam back in under the blanket, his hand finding Adam’s once the vitals are over and it’s just a matter of attaching him to the machine.

“How’s first year of grad school, Matt?” Adam asks, his breathing slightly labored from the activities before. He’s not at all bothered by the commotion around him as they prepare the machine.

“All right .TA-ing is fun,” Matt says, plopping down next to Declan. “It’s a lot of work though.”

Adam lets out exactly one laugh, but then his attention is turned to the nurse who just wants to stick the needles in him. Everyone is looking slightly concerned at the sight of Adam’s blood leaving his body, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Gansey is being prepped for surgery, and Adam barely has a chance for an ‘I love you, Man,’ before the number of people in the room is reduced in half. Ronan looks different than he had that morning, and Adam starts frowning. He looks scared, and nervous, and he’s playing with Adam’s hand like he’s scared to let go.

“Ronan?” Adam says quietly. He’s looking at Ronan, who isn’t looking at him.

“Yeah, Parrish?” Ronan asks. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Adam says, confused. “What?”

Honestly, Parrish might have a PhD but Declan knows these two are both complete idiots. Ronan is clearly having a very delayed panic, and honestly while it’s probably justified, the last thing anyone here needs is that panic transferring to Adam. Declan isn’t blaming Ronan—every time Ronan has deigned to answer his phone the past few months has been an increasing amount of either Ronan being exhausted, Ronan freaking out, or Ronan just not wanting to talk because Adam just fell asleep on top of him. But, clearly they need a Time Out. Right now.

Declan isn’t stupid. He knows they’re going to need Ronan when Adam is hurting and trying to do things way more quickly than he has any right to, but right now Parrish is tired and essentially tied to the bed so now is the time to make Ronan come up for air.

“All right,” Declan says. “One of you is going to see some actual sunlight right now.”

To their credit, both Adam and Ronan gives Declan a confused look.

“All right. Let’s go,” Adam says, and Ronan almost loses his shit trying to stop Adam from fake pulling stuff off of his body.

“No you fucking won’t,” Ronan says.

“I don’t need that pint and a half of blood.” Adam’s voice is plain.

“Okay, clearly Adam isn’t going for a walk,” Matthew says, tries to jump in before Ronan bursts a blood vessel. “Let’s go, Ronan.”

“I would love a walk,” Adam says, and Matt just hauls Ronan out of the room before he can say anything else. When it’s just Adam and Declan, Adam sags visibly. Any energy he had been presenting is gone, and he just looks at the arm connected to the dialysis machine and sighs.

“They’ll be gone a while,” Declan says.

“Good. He’s full of pent-up energy,” Adam says, his eyes mostly closed. “He’s been sitting around too long.”

“Seems like you could use some of that energy,” Declan comments. “They really are going to be gone for a while. Might be your only chance to nap.”

It says a lot that Adam doesn’t even fight him. Declan thinks he’s going to be spending a lot of time with Adam in the next twenty-four hours, because they need to strategize. Ronan is running on empty and the surgery hasn’t even happened; when Adam has a functioning organ, he’s gonna be a lot more of a handful and that’s when they need Ronan. Declan can sit with a high Adam if it means Ronan gets some sleep.

At least, he hopes.

Sitting with an asleep Adam is easy. The nurses are making sure he’s not dying or dead, and apparently the surgery with Gansey is going well. Declan can just read his email, and he knows Matt will be okay with Ronan. Matt is going to make Ronan eat, make him laugh.

Hopefully it’s enough when Adam is in surgery.

Ronan and Matthew come back right when they start surgery prep on Adam. Adam is begrudgingly awake, and only mildly uncomfortable as an entire separate IV is inserted for whatever they’re doing specifically for the surgery. Adam can see Ronan grow visibly more concerned and nervous the more things happen, and he just wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay.

“Hey,” Adam says, as soon as there’s a lull in the bustling happening around him. “Ronan.” Ronan grips Adam’s hand tightly, his mouth a thin line. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re going to be okay.”

“Adam.” Ronan’s voice is hoarse. He’s thinking about all the things that are going to happen when Adam is out of his sight. “I love you. So much.”

“Asshat,” Adam says, closes his eyes for a second. Ronan’s hands flitter over them, his thumb resting on Adam’s cheekbone. “Love you, too. Don’t need to worry.”

Ronan knows they’re giving him some Ativan to make sure he keeps it calm before the surgery, but like everything, it’s making Adam sleepy. But Adam’s hand comes up to wrap itself around Ronan’s wrist, moving it from his face until their hands are intertwined.

Declan gives them space. Blue Sargent is there, kisses Adam’s forehead and goes to wait with Gansey’s family until she can see him in the recovery room. Ronan’s lips press to Adam’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips.

The last thing they say to each other is ‘I love you’.

Ronan makes it a valiant half hour into surgery before he starts to crack. His head is between in the waiting room, unable to read or look at farm inventory or anything useful. His left leg is bouncing, and it takes everything in Declan’s power not to snap and tell him to cut it out.

“Parrish is strong,” is what he says instead. Ronan’s head peaks up just slightly, his eyes red-rimmed and lip bitten a dark red from the struggle of keeping all of his emotions boxed up inside. “It’s gonna go well, Ronan.”

“You don’t fucking know that,” Ronan shoots back, because it’s easy to start a fight with Declan.

Or at least it used to be.

“He’s got good doctors,” Matthew says hesitantly. “It will be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” Ronan’s voice cracks. “Like, what if it doesn’t work?”

Ah.

It’s hard to find something to say when the worst case scenario isn’t what they thought it would be. I mean, there’s the obvious worst case, but honestly Declan is pretty sure the doctors have made it clear that the Unspeakable one is unlikely to happen that Ronan’s brain has latched onto what would be the worst thing at the end of all this.

“It’s fucked up his entire life,” Ronan says. “He can’t work, can’t do anything he wants to because either he’s too tired or he has appointments or we’re so worried about him getting infection that he can’t do it, anyway.”

Declan has no idea what to say to that. Luckily, Blue Sargent does.

“Then we try again. I have two kidneys, and with enough drugs they can eliminate the crossmatches,” Blue says. “But you are spiraling, man. Take a breath.”

“I can’t,” Ronan says.

“They just started, after all the shit they gotta do before they cut him open. It’ll be a few hours. Gansey is okay, and they aren’t worried about Adam’s surgery.” Blue’s voice is slow and calm, and her hand spreads across Ronan’s back. “I’m gonna be right here. Just breathe.”

Adam doesn’t register that he’s awake, but he hears a voice.

“Hey, Adam.” It’s soft. And kind. But everything is heavy and dull and his mouth is full of cotton, so it’s hard to tell who it is. “Can you open your eyes?”

That’s when Adam realizes his eyes are closed. It takes too much thought to focus on raising his eyelids, but he does and there’s a nurse, or doctor, or someone wearing a mask looking at him.

“Great. You’re doing so well,” the person continues. “The surgery went well. We’re getting you set up in a room, and then Ronan can come back. Okay?”

Adam’s eyes have already closed again. He’s so tired.

The second time Adam wakes up starts almost the same way. He feels his fingers first, which is weird, because he can’t feel anything else. They’re heavy. Like, really heavy.

Something squeezes them. What the fuck?

How did that happen?

Adam feels his hair next. Are you supposed to feel hair? It’s moving, and there’s something comforting about the way it’s moving and the light pressure and Adam wants to lean into the touch but it’s hard when he doesn’t even know what it is.

His ears have started working. No, that’s not right either. His one ear. Right? Left?

Fuck.

Something is computing that sounds are happening. There. Scientific. Accurate.

It’s mostly just a beeping, and Adam does not care for that shit at all. It sounds weird, floaty, and he’s gonna choose to blame the deaf ear for that one.

There’s a tickle right by his right ear, and then there’s a voice.

There’s a Ronan. No. There’s just one. There’s the Ronan? No.

“Hi,” a-maybe-the-Ronan says, and Adam wants to open his eyes now. He just doesn’t know how it works. Does he have to move rocks, and then Cabeswater opens his eyes? That’s it, right? “Adam. Hey. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It feels like he’s lifting a boulder, but Adam finally manages to open his eyes. He blinks, and then he can see Ronan’s face. It’s so close to his. Adam goes to lift his hand, but he still can’t really feel his limbs at all.

“Hi,” Adam says, winces at how it sounds and how it feels. There’s something in his neck.

“Hey,” Ronan says, his hand gently holding Adam’s. “How are you feeling, Adam?”

“Heavy,” Adam mumbles. He wants to feel what’s making moving his neck weird, but the weight of Ronan’s hand is too much. “Ro’, what’s—”

“You’ve got a decent amount of tubes in you, man,” Ronan says, and his free hand smooths back Adam’s hair. His face is so creased, so confused, and Ronan just wants to smooth out the lines. “Leave them be.”

Adam just looks at Ronan’s face for a moment, before the lines start smoothing one by one, making room for the dimples that ripple out from Adam’s growing smile.

“Hey. You’re pretty,” Adam says. Ronan allows himself a chuckle. “No, really. I’m serious. And you’re hot. Like, really hot.”

“You’re a mess, Parrish.” But Ronan is smiling. “I got some ice chips. Want to suck on something?”

“Kinky.” Adam’s voice is plain, but he opens his mouth when it looks like the object is close enough to his mouth, and the ice feels so good and cold on his tongue that it takes Adam a moment to get over the sensation. “Did it... Did the thing go?”

“Yeah, it did. You got three kidneys now,” Ronan says, and Adam thinks he can see Ronan crying, but he’s not sure. He wants to move, wants to brush the tears off of Ronan’s face or kiss them away or something, but he can’t see anything beyond his hand and Ronan’s.

“Oh, fuck,” Adam says, once the chips have finally melted. “Where’s m’ blanket?”

“It’s down here. You cold?” Ronan asks, looking around. Adam puts all of his effort into squeezing Ronan’s hand.

“Yeah,” Adam says, tries to tilt his chin down to see what’s happening to his body. He doesn’t get far, but it’s enough. There’s one of the hospital thingies, but there’s like… a shitton, or something, of wires and a tube coming out from underneath it. Where do they go? Where do they come from? “What the fuck?”

“What’s wrong?” Ronan asks, pausing in smoothing the blanket over Adam, and Adam just shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to explain what’s going on. Suddenly, there’s someone else there, who starts doing things so quickly that Adam can’t even keep up with where their limbs are.

“He’s just confused. It’s normal,” the nurse says. Adam feels his eyes closing. The words are too fast, and it helps when he doesn’t have to see and hear at the same time.

“I’m not confused,” Adam mumbles, but he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “Shit is just weird.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Ronan’s voice is calm, just a little bit amused. Adam puts all of his effort into throwing Ronan an annoyed look. “There you are.”

“We have some things we need to do, but we can let you back in soon.”

“Okay,” Ronan says, and then he turns back. Adam feels Ronan’s lips on his forehead. “Get some rest, shithead. I’ll be here when you wake up next.” There’s a pause, a moment where Ronan moves to leave but the stops. “I love you, asshole.”

“Mmh. Fuck off,” Adam responds. And then he’s asleep.

Ronan squeezes his hand again, even though he doesn’t really feel it. He snaps a quick picture for proof of life to everyone still waiting, brushes Adam’s hair off of his forehead, and heads back.

He allows himself a single exhale, and the stress and worries of the last months, years, roll off his tongue. The next inhale will be saturated with new ones, about Adam’s immune system and how he’ll want to take this recovery too fast, so he just savors the exhale.

It’s as sharp and cold as sea water, as a promise, on the tip of his tongue.