metrops | ( i am unknowable. )

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( i am unknowable. )

an adam parrish open post
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[ adam always knew gansey was going to die. somehow, at some point, adam thought gansey knew it, too. maybe he always did. maybe he knew before adam did. or, maybe he never knew at all. maybe it was a surprise, in the end, even if it wasn't really a surprise at all. no one and everyone saw it coming; all at once, not at all. and yet the pain of it, the feeling -- like something was being ripped out of him, something vital, something adam needed more than his own two lungs and his tiny muscle of a heart -- the feeling he never could have anticipated. the shock of persephone's death had been just that: a shock. and, despite the relative closeness they shared, the strange and mystical relationship they'd developed, adam felt like he hardly knew her. at least, he didn't know her like he knew gansey, the real gansey, the one who filled adam's most private moments with the soothing scent of mint leaves pressed gently against his lips and the warmth of a safety he'd never known until he met richard campbell gansey iii all those years ago. ]

Gansey -- [ whatever he'd been about to say evaporates into the cold air of cabeswater, nothing more than a breath drifting from his lungs. cabeswater is timeless, seasonless, everything and nothing at once; adam knows it knows, he can feel the ley line hum beneath his, almost as if it's in mourning. but gansey is already dead and not even born, even as they sit here, in the wintry clutches of cabeswater, watching their breath take form in front of them. the strange part is, he isn't cold, exactly, despite the light chill of the air against his cheeks, or the way his nose reddens; maybe it's cabeswater keeping him warm, or maybe the winter is just an illusion, cabeswater's way of telling him -- them -- all things die, in time, and now it is time, for one of them, the only one of them who doesn't deserve it. ]

[ it makes him angry, almost -- no, not almost, he can feels thrums of it just under his skin, prickling at his fingertips, bubbling up inside him like a volcano about to erupt -- to think of a world without gansey in it. what is adam parrish without dick gansey? what are any of them without gansey? they would all blame themselves, in their own different ways, if they let gansey die. let, he thinks, like they even have a choice in the matter, like it's something for a jury to decide, like it isn't supposed to be adam's fault. the vision sometimes still keeps him up at night, when gansey isn't there to fill the dark emptiness, the space that only cabeswater ever resides otherwise. it won't let him forget; adam doesn't want to forget, either, as much as he tries to convince himself he does. the blood is on his hands, and if he can't change it, he'd rather keep it that way then let it be blue -- even ronan, for as sharp as his edges are, wouldn't be able to live with himself if he cut gansey that deep, too deep. ]

[ could adam live with himself? he's lived with so much else, lived with knowing just how broken and unwanted and dangerous he can be. he isn't dangerous like ronan is; ronan is the tornado you see miles away, never knowing if it will hit you or not, if you'll get caught in the whirlwind of debris hurtling at a hundred miles an hour; or if it will pass you right by, in some kind of miracle, while the rest of the world gets run down, destroyed by a thoughtless storm. but adam -- adam isn't something you see coming, adam isn't a natural disaster. adam's brand of danger was manmade, born from nothing more than a life he would never know, from the normalcy of fists and shouting and degradation in place of hugs and laughter and praise. he knows it's a fantasy, to think family could be anything but family without fighting -- he's seen gansey's and blue's and ronan's, and how they all fight, but it isn't the same. there's love, somewhere in between the shouting and indignation; declan, for all his ire, still loves ronan, wants to protect him from the evils of the world. adam never could say his father loves him, not when their only conversations begin with alcohol and end in adam's face beaten and bruised. but it's his pride that makes him truly dangerous -- the pride he had to dig out of the ground instead of being handed it to on a silver platter. what wouldn't he do to prove that he isn't just the dirt beneath people's shoes? that he can save gansey instead of living with the knowledge that maybe he isn't any better than his father after all? ]

[ he turns his head, brows pensive, and looks out at the snow-covered treetops, their boughs heavy with a downfall unseen, unheard, unknown. adam feels it, too, laden with things unsaid, things he might never get to say, things he's already said, things he regrets. he doesn't regret this, cabeswater, or gansey, or the thing they've become, the two of them (the three of them, because cabeswater is part of adam, just as he is part of cabeswater). adam can practically feel the pulse of gansey's heart through the ley line, pounding hard against his ears, and even in his bad ear he can hear it, the deafening roar of gansey's life. it's gone before he looks back, eyes downcast for a moment, staring at the perfection of gansey's hands, like someone took great care and caution to make them. it used to make him mad, gansey's lack of visible flaws, in contrast to every one of adam's glaring imperfections. but now, he looks upon gansey in wonder, in awe, of everything he is and everything he could be, if given the chance. ]

[ his eyes wander up the length of gansey's arm, over the curve of his shoulder, the line of his jaw. god, that perfect jaw. he would kiss it, if he didn't have something to say. or, he could kiss him anyway, he thinks, because their chances to do this are becoming fewer and more far between. for all adam knows, this could be the last time. so he leans over, one hand settled against gansey's neck, drawing him closer; their lips touch and adam feels like it's the first time all over again (and maybe it is the first, or the last, or somewhere in between, depending on when you happen to look at it from), little butterflies turning his insides to a warm, gooey mush, and it occurs to him then just how much he loves richard gansey iii and how much he wants him to be his, for as long as they're allowed. it isn't fair that their allowance is almost up, that gansey could very well be taken from him. he hasn't had enough of him yet. ]

[ he presses his forehead against gansey's, fingers gripping tighter at the base of his neck. adam doesn't open his eyes, too afraid of seeing gansey and knowing that he knows. his voice is very nearly shaking, but he manages to keep it even, low, almost a whisper. ] I don't know what I'll do if you die.

[ ah, there it is, out in the open: the quiet, undeniable truth known between them, the inevitability of a fate nothing, no one, can escape. he knows it's not an if, really, it's just a matter of when. he's thought endlessly about asking glendower for gansey's life, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes: hasn't glendower already granted gansey his life? noah died; gansey lived. would it be asking for the same favor twice to save gansey again? who would have to die in his place? he doesn't want to think about it, or the possibility of gansey ending up like noah; he wouldn't be able to bear having him at his fingertips and not really being able to have him, not with all the warmth and life and energy he was once afforded. it wouldn't really be gansey, just like noah isn't really noah, not like he used to be (and, really, they'll never know what the used to be was like). adam would hate knowing how gansey was and have to live with knowing how he isn't. he just wants gansey, but he knows good things never last. he can't keep this one forever. ]

[ I don't know what I'll do if you die.

Gansey closes his eyes, forehead pressed to Adam's, breaths coming out in a small puffs of condensation while they settle here in the midst of the chilly winter trees, in Cabeswater, and hears Adam's words echo right into his bones.

If.

There is no if. It's absolutely a matter of when, and Gansey thinks he's known that now for a while. Maybe for longer than he's actually been fully aware of, all the way to the very moment he'd been brought back to life.

Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not.

(-- but for how long? And why? Why him? Why save him?)

Gansey doesn't believe in coincidences; he doesn't believe it was a simple matter of timing and place.

But what is the point of it, the use of it, when in the end, he knows that he's running on borrowed time, a time he really owes Noah, because it's his life he'd traded for that night?

He can feel his throat growing thick with the pain of wanting to cry and trying his very best to remain the stable, solid presence Adam needs, fingers grasping for the other boy's, to take them in his and give them a gentle squeeze.

He's afraid. Of course he's afraid. He'd been on this quest for nearly seven years now and he can taste the conclusion on his tongue, bittersweet, especially knowing how much he might be forced to leave behind.

He might find Glendower, but at what cost? ]

It's all right. [ It's not, and the words feel empty and unfeeling in his mouth. Does he sound convincing? Probably not. He can't even convince himself right now, even if the thought is so terrible, so selfish. Is it bad that all he wants right now is to run away, somehow? Take Adam and run.

(But where? You can't outrun your fate.)

His voice is quiet, trembling too. ] We still have time.

[ he drops his head to gansey's shoulder, trying not to sound too hysterical as he laughs. we sill have time. no, that's the problem. they're running out of time. they hardly have any time left, but of course it's gansey who looks at it like they still do. ever the optimist, where adam is ever the pessimist. he wishes he could look at the world and believe there was still hope -- and maybe there would be, if gansey's death didn't already feel so finalized. ]

Yeah, time. [ he laughs again, raising his head to look out over cabeswater, the only place where they really do have all the time in the world. ] We could stay here and nothing would ever change. I bet Ronan's mom would love the company.

[ he's talking nonsense, he knows he is. they can't stay here, not really. theoretically, they could. adam knows cabeswater better than anyone, now. he is cabeswater. he could find a place no one would ever find them and they could stay there and nothing would ever change. they might change, but cabeswater wouldn't. he knows they can't do that, though, even if it is possible. he couldn't live with himself knowing blue and ronan (even noah, probably) would be out there never knowing what really happened. he can't just abandon them, even if it means letting gansey die. watching him die. not being able to save him. having his heart shatter into a million pieces because gansey is the one person who means everything to him. ]

[ sometimes, he wishes it could have been blue. that way, he could have saved himself an extra ounce of pain and watching gansey die would be more like getting punched in the gut than someone ripping your chest open with their bare hands. but it was never blue, even then. it's always been gansey, and it always will be. and that's the worst part, really -- that he can't just stop feeling. one look at gansey is all it takes to send him reeling all over again; one kiss and adam melts like warm butter; one touch and his heart flutters. it's never enough, and now it never will be. he wants to believe it's going to be alright, in the end, but that would just be setting himself up for more misery than it already will be. ]

[ he turns back to gansey, really looks at him. he's already memorized every part of him, but a memory is never quite the same as the real thing. and, for a moment, he just wants to look, while he still has time. ] What are you thinking? [ it's impossible to know with gansey. even after all this time, he's never been very good at reading him. ]

[ Gansey tilts his head towards Adam's face, leans in to press his mouth against the line of his jaw for no real reason other than he could. He shifts again to kiss him properly this time, lips finding Adam's.

If he gives into his fears and the pessimism that threatens to drown him at every moment he isn't battling against it with a relentless optimism, then he wants to kiss Adam as much as he can, for as long as he can, until he quite literally can't do it anymore.

It's terrifying to know just when it is you're going to die. These days, Gansey finds himself preparing without meaning to as if that will make it better - the leaving. But this isn't a quick trip to England. This is forever.

Historically, Gansey hates goodbyes; he's not very good at them. When he discovered Henrietta's connection to the ley lines, he'd left London - and Malory - without a word or a note. He regrets it and he promised he would never leave like that again, but now with the end too near, he finds he wants to leave and spare the pain of a goodbye.

He could never do it though. Malory isn't what Adam and Ronan and Blue and Noah are. No one could be what Adam is to him. Adam is everything. The most fucked up thing he could think to do is to leave him without a word. He considers the mercy in that - a clean break - but in the end, Gansey's too selfish for it anyway. He could never do that to Adam and he certainly couldn't do it for himself.

A moment later, breaths shaky, Gansey pulls back. ]

I'm thinking that I don't want to be afraid. But I am.

[ going to college together is nothing short of a miracle. going to college together is an entirely different miracle all its own. gansey should be dead, and adam shouldn't have realistically gotten into an ivy league school, and adam and gansey shouldn't even be a thing because gansey should be dead. adam knows he shouldn't look whatever this gift horse is straight in the mouth and question it and instinctively try to reject it, but for all the relief he feels at having gansey by his side -- gansey, alive and breathing and real -- there's still the ever-present sense of dread, like it isn't all over, like there's no way they could possibly live normal lives after everything. ]

[ is this even a normal life? he can still feel the touch of cabeswater even when he's hundreds of miles away from it. it's still in his dreams and part of who he is. he's never going to be normal again, and it feels like such a farce to even try. adam's always been good at pretending, like he's a good person, like he isn't made from dirt and blood and beer, like he isn't just a boy who grew up in a trailer in some podunk town that never should have been important. (instead, it's the most important place adam's ever known, and it's almost laughable, when he thinks about it, since it's the only place he's ever known, too.) pretending to be good enough for aglionby was one thing -- honestly, he's not sure he can keep it up for four more years, not when all gansey does is attract people who could see through him in an instant. ]

[ still, he wants to be here -- or, at least, he keeps telling himself that. he can't just throw away all his hard work for nothing. he can't just give up because he thinks he doesn't deserve it. (he doesn't think he deserves a lot of things, let alone gansey, or this.) he just wishes he could stop feeling so paranoid. he wonders if it's a side effect of cabeswater, of being too far away, or if he really is just crazy. it comes and goes, and it's easier to ignore when gansey is around. for all of adam's refusal to live with him at monmouth, he'd given in a lot easier when gansey asked if he'd like to move into an apartment off campus with him. maybe he's just tired of saying no, or maybe he just hates being apart from gansey more than he hates the idea that living with someone might mean relinquishing his hold on independence.

[ it's co-independence, really; not co-dependence, because adam doesn't need gansey to live, nor the other way around. they can function just fine on their own, go to classes without each other, have friends outside of each other. adam and gansey are still two separate people, they just happen to spend most of their time together, and it's not like their relationship is a secret. adam had been more hesitant about it back in henrietta, but only because everyone knows everyone, and he really didn't want the attention or the talk. he just wanted gansey, and no one else needed to know. but here -- no one knows them here. some people still recognize the gansey name, if they pay any attention to politics, but it's just a name. ]

[ sometimes, he still feels like gansey's side piece, like all he is is someone to show off to his rich fraternity friends. but that's not entirely fair. adam knows it isn't, and he hates that he still feels inferior when he knows perfectly well gansey doesn't see him like that. it's everyone else who does (because no one else like gansey is actually like gansey), even when he's adam parrish, my boyfriend. they probably all think it's funny, or cute, in a horribly condescending way. none of them have ever actually said as much or even treated him as such (he knows they're thinking it), but it's that paranoia again, that every person worth more than his whole life savings has to look down on him or feel sorry for him in the way they would if he were one of those sad-looking dogs from those stupid commercials that guilt you into caring by playing some depressing sarah mclachlan song. ]

[ freshman year, he felt like one of those dogs, deaf in one ear and with a schedule so full with class and work, he kept missing important meals. he'd kind of been counting on the freshman fifteen to fatten him up a little, but he's not even sure he gained any weight that year. it's all evened out by now, now that he's not trying to overload himself with so much. he thought aglionby was hard but -- this is on a whole new level. gansey makes it look easy. but, then, he always has. everything is easier when your name is richard campbell gansey iii. adam parrish doesn't mean anything, which is both a blessing and a curse. he's more invisible here than he's ever been, and he sort of wonders if this is how noah felt all the time. it's not that he doesn't have friends, it's just campus is so much bigger that it's easier to get lost. ]

[ he always finds gansey, though. or gansey always finds him. no matter where they are or what they're doing, they always gravitate back to each other -- and it's not just because they live in the same apartment. gansey wanted a house, but adam insisted he wouldn't know what to do with all the space and it would drive him crazy, so they settled on an apartment instead. sometimes, adam thinks gansey really did settle, that he's disappointed with their little two bedroom. (not that they actually sleep in separate bedrooms; one of them they've turned into a den, of sorts, or a study, like out of some old film. gansey even bought one of those damn globes to put in one corner. adam still thinks it's ridiculous. and he absolutely doesn't want to know how much it cost.) it's certainly not monmouth, but it's theirs, isn't it? ]

[ it's a quiet day, a good day for not doing anything, which is exactly what they've been doing. gansey is reading something next to him -- it looks like it's required reading, but with gansey, that's synonymous for "fun." he's wearing his glasses, too, which ... well, it actually does a lot for adam. more than he's usually willing to admit. he's so used to gansey without them, that it's always sort of a turn on when he puts them on. ]

Have I ever told you how much I love these glasses? [ he sets his laptop to the side and shifts to adjust the frames on gansey's face gently so they rest farther up on the bridge of his nose. sometimes they fall down when he's reading. ] On you, I mean. [ he laughs, then, shaking his head fondly. ] Not that you need any more help looking distinguished or intelligent... I'm just saying -- you know, if I didn't know you, I'd definitely be getting a hot-for-teacher vibe right now. [ he shrugs like what he's saying isn't really important. why is he even saying it? ] Maybe I still am...

[ it's an admittance that wouldn't have been an easy one even so little as a year ago, but he's found a particular comfort in the way gansey makes him feel, like no one else has ever made him feel. there was a time he'd hate the thought of letting himself get this close to anyone, to acknowledge he's worth getting close to. he always used to think gansey could do better, but maybe better isn't what gansey wants. maybe he just wants adam. and it's startling and arousing all at once, as it always is when he thinks about gansey choosing him. adam was gansey's choice, and, against all his instincts, gansey was adam's. he still is. he always will be. ]

[ but he can't keep a straight face for long, blushing as he laughs and looks down, wringing his hands together. even after all this time, he still can't manage to get through a line without getting embarrassed and trying to back out of it. ] Sorry, that was lame.

[ adam is awake when the call comes -- these days he always is. but it isn't necessarily for gansey that adam stays awake, even if adam would like to believe that were true. it's happenstance more than it is anything else, but adam likes, sometimes, to think that he isn't awake because he works three jobs and gets home at the same time a normal person would be going to bed -- and then still has homework on top of that that he can't afford not to do, unlike some people (ronan). maybe that's why gansey calls, because he knows adam will always pick up, because when have either of them ever gone to bed at a decent hour since they've known each other? he wonders if that means gansey has come to count on him or if their late night phone calls are simply a coincidence of their mutual insomnia. adam certainly thinks better of gansey, that he always calls with a purpose, but he doesn't necessarily think the best of himself. ]

[ they don't always talk about much, or hardly anything at all. sometimes it's enough, just to listen to the sound of the other breathing. but tonight gansey seems to be on a mission and adam is too tired to change the subject. more and more often, his nights have been consumed with welsh kings when he should be focusing on english or math, but there's almost something comforting about it, something inspiring about the fervor in gansey's voice that adam isn't quite sure how he manages at half past midnight. he's not even sure he'd been fully paying attention until gansey asks if he's still there, if he'd heard what gansey said. he nearly startles himself when he starts rattling off everything he wasn't sure he actually heard -- and then there's a breathy laugh from the other end of the line and adam trails off, managing a weak laugh himself. ]

[ maybe it's just from adam's recap that gansey realized he'd been talking too much. adam never minds. he could listen to gansey go on and on for hours and relish simply in the sound of his voice -- the kind of voice adam wishes he had, the calm confidence of someone who knows exactly what he wants, the assured intelligence of a boy whose honor and worth has never been questioned a day in his life. gansey's cool, smooth voice would never betray him for what he really is, because his voice is what he is. what else is there to give away about richard campbell gansey iii? adam can hear the low, subtle hint of his own accent trying to creep its way into his intonation, the inflection of every word he tries to keep neutral. he isn't sure why it's so important to him to do so even around gansey, who has never once seen him as lesser for it, but it's a private shame adam can't quite shake, even after all this time. ]

[ lost in his own head, he almost misses when gansey asks if adam would like to go for a drive, and adam almost says "gansey, i don't have a car," until he realizes gansey obviously means he'll be picking adam up. he doesn't know what else to say but yes. (when has he ever been able to say no to gansey on nights like these?) they let each other go and adam sits in silence, staring blankly at the rest of his homework that will end up going unfinished until morning, until the familiar roar of the pig prompts him to grab his jacket and leave the smallness of his apartment behind. the pig is smaller, of course, but sitting next to gansey always makes him feel like something grand is about to happen. where is gansey taking him? what are they doing? ]

[ they drive out of town, and then farther still, until the stars in the sky seem to be the only things illuminating the road, especially when gansey finally stops and the pig's headlights go out, leaving just the two of them and the open road. trees surround them on either side, and for a moment adam wonders where they are, but he finds that it doesn't really matter when gansey is next to him, and even in the dim light he can make out the line of gansey's jaw, the ridge of his nose -- and that ever present scent of mint leaves. was there a reason for this? or did gansey just want to get out of monmouth for a while? adam has a million questions, but he can only seem to settle on one: ]

What about Blue? [ a self-destructive question, maybe, but if this is what adam thinks -- wants -- it to be, doesn't he have to be sure? it didn't work between him and blue. why should it work between him and gansey, when blue has always been between them? it's better to let himself down than to get his hopes up. maybe it isn't even anything, and he'll just look like an ass. that would be the best case scenario, he thinks, but then he catches gansey's gaze, and he can't help but think he's wrong. ]