As a bartender, Adam Parrish saw a lot of drunken people on a daily basis. He had called countless customers' friends to come pick up the person passed out on the bar with their ass in the air. Once, he had seen a sixty-year-old man get so drunk that he stripped and started doing the chicken dance on a table. That night had been interesting, to say the least.
And yet, in his year and a half of working at a shitty bar and serving shitty alcohol, Adam had never once seen someone drink, get drunk, or just live like Ronan Lynch.
Ronan Lynch was anomaly all on his own, whether he was drunk or not. Adam had caught a couple glimpses of Ronan before he had started going to the bar Adam worked at, since Ronan lived three doors down the hall from Adam in their apartment building. Their mutual friend, Richard Campbell Gansey III, owned the building, and Adam suspected that that was the only reason Ronan hadn't been kicked out or sued for property damage yet. More often than not, Adam could hear Ronan punching walls or throwing who-knew-what around in his apartment. Ronan seemed to be constantly angry and on edge, like he was expecting to be attacked at every moment. He's a bomb, Gansey had once explained to Adam. He's a time bomb fighting to go off as fast as possible so that he can take as few people down with him as possible.
Adam thought it was an accurate statement. Ronan never seemed to have any friends over except the odd, nearly ghostly man named Noah who lived across the hall. Other than him, the only person who ever seemed to visit Ronan was Gansey, and that was really only to tell Ronan for the hundredth time that property damage wasn't an outlet for anger. Ronan didn't seem to have any family or many friends; Adam never even saw him with anyone who could be considered a one-night stand.
Not that Adam was paying any attention to Ronan. Not at all.
On three separate occasions, Adam had taken Ronan back to the apartments at the end of his shift. The first time, Ronan had passed out and Adam had had to carry him out of the bar. Despite all of his very visible muscle, Ronan was worryingly light, as if he hadn't eaten in months. Adam preferred to imagine that he had hollow bones, like a bird. Noah had shooed Adam away as soon as Ronan had been handed over, leaving Adam standing outside Ronan's apartment, torn between his concern for Ronan and his own exhaustion. The exhaustion won, as it so often did.
The second time, Adam had barely even been able to get Ronan inside his apartment before Ronan began to violently expel every last drop of alcohol he had consumed. Thankfully, Adam was able to get Ronan to the bathroom before the vomiting started, so he didn't make too much of a mess. By the time Ronan was done, he was on the verge of passing out, so Adam ended up carrying him again, though he was able to do so all too easily. It was scary, how light Ronan was. Once Ronan was settled in bed, Adam left the apartment. From then on, Adam made a point to check in every few days and make sure Ronan was eating semi-regularly.
He was still too light, in Adam's opinion.
The third time, Ronan hadn't actually been all that drunk. He had had a couple shots of whiskey and had stopped to actually hold a conversation with Adam rather than getting drunk off his ass like he usually did. It was interesting; Ronan was actually a fairly profound person when he wasn't drunk. That night when they parted, Adam felt lighter than he had in years and warmth that he didn't want to try to explain was blooming in his ribcage. It was odd and a little unnerving, but not unwelcome.
That makes this the fourth time, then, Adam mused as he half-dragged Ronan into the apartment building's elevator. Ronan was drunk again, which was nothing new, but he seemed clingier than usual. Adam shrugged it off, figuring that it was just another side effect of the alcohol.
He's still so light, Adam noted worriedly as he gave in, picking Ronan up and draping the inebriated man over his back. It was a bit of a struggle to open Ronan's apartment's door – it had been jostled out of place so often that it didn't sit right in its frame anymore – and even more of a hassle to pry a clingy Ronan from Adam's back. Adam helped Ronan out of his shirt, knowing that Ronan didn't like sleeping with a shirt on, especially when he was drunk, and tried not to stare, then turned to leave.
A hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped him. Adam turned to meet Ronan's sleepy, slightly alcohol-dazed gaze.
"Stay," the word was croaky and a bit slurred but firm, more of a command than a request.
Adam hesitated. He knew what his reaction should be; he should pass it off as drunken rambling, should shake off Ronan's hand and leave. And yet, he couldn't manage to do so. Maybe it was the way Ronan's grip on Adam's wrist seemed so desperate, or maybe it was the way Ronan's eyes practically glowed with so much loneliness and repressed hope that Adam had never picked up on before, but whatever it was, it made Adam not before he had realized what he was doing. Ronan seemed vaguely surprised that Adam had agreed but smiled slightly and released Adam's wrist. Ronan scooted toward the wall, leaving space on the bed for Adam. Adam toed off his shoes and crawled beneath the blankets, not surprised to find that the mattress was so small that Ronan and Adam were pressed so close together that some part of them brushed together with every movement. Ronan didn't seem to care, either, because he curled up a little and tucked his head contentedly beneath Adam's chin.
It took Adam a moment to figure out how to respond, but eventually gave up with logic and went with what instinct told him was right. That was how Adam ended up curled around a drunk, shirtless Ronan, idly tracing patterns on the tattooed skin of Ronan's back with his fingertips. In the morning, he knew, his anxiety and his habit of overthinking things would kill him over the decision to stay, but Adam couldn't have cared less as he fell asleep. For the first time in almost three years, he stayed asleep for the entire night without a single nightmare to make him wake up screaming.