Adam Parrish bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. When Ronan Lynch walked into Adam's apartment, the first thing he noticed was how Adam's back curled almost protectively over his overflowing pile of schoolbooks, as if he intended to shield them from the horrors that the universe cupped in its palm. Although Ronan was sure that Adam was aware of his presence, Adam didn't move to acknowledge Ronan, only to flip the page of a textbook and hurriedly write something down. For a while, the only sound was but Adam's pen, faintly scratching against his notebook, filling the college-ruled lines with letters and words and sentences and paragraphs. When he stopped writing, the silence was filled by constant clicking as he took out his anxiety on the ballpoint pen. Ronan decided that he's had enough of Adam's stress when the tempo of clicks reached a crescendo. He walked over from where he'd been standing and plucked the pen right out of Adam's hand.
"Jesus, Parrish, you're going to break the pen," Ronan says in an abrupt, almost harsh tone, but makes sure to gently place the pen down on top of Adam's cluttered table. Adam said nothing and picked up his pen again. If he hadn't stopped clicking, Ronan would've thought that Adam hadn't heard him – or was ignoring him. Looking over Adam's shoulder, Ronan saw pages and pages of overly elaborate notes Latin notes – as if Adam needed to write out all the endings of all five declensions multiple times. His textbook was as close to overflowing with annotations as any textbook would get – every page had post-it notes stuck on the margins, every post-it note lacking even one square inch of unwritten-upon space; because Adam refused to write in his rented textbooks. Adam slammed his Latin textbook shut and then squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out everything that wouldn't help him on his exam tomorrow – or as if trying to contain something.
It was then that Ronan understood.
"Parrish," Ronan sighed, "Get up."
"No." Adam's response was short and clipped. And his hands – Adam's elegant hands that Ronan couldn't help but notice; Adam's hands, hands that were designed for delicately pressing down on piano keys and creating lovely music, but were forced to resort to crude work that left dirt and grime under his chipped fingernails and his hands constantly haunted by the faint smell of oil, no matter how many times he washed them – his hands are clenched into firsts, as though he is trying to forcibly contain all of his anger in those five fingers of his and if he clenches them tightly enough not a drop will spill out.
And Ronan reaches out and gently pries open Adam's right hand, because he wants every drop to spill out.
"Ro – Lynch, I – can you – I need to –" By this point, Ronan has wrapped two fingers around Adam's wrist and pulled him upright.
"You need to let yourself get angry." After a pause, he added, "ex mea sentential."
Adam rolled his eyes. "In your opinion," he scoffed, "– and no, I don't."
"Adversus solem ne loquitor, Parrish."
"Do not speak against the sun," Adam murmured, and then sighed. "Ronan, you know I have to stu –"
"What are you angry about?"
Adam let out a breath, and quietened. In the silence, Ronan noticed his chest rising and falling. In the silence, Ronan noticed how he was biting his lip unconsciously. In the silence, Ronan noticed how he wrung his hands and twisted his fingers around his wrist. In the silence, Ronan noticed more things than he'd ever admit to being able to noticing.
"I'm angry because I still feel that I have to prove myself, to get perfect grades, to hide bruises and emotions. I'm angry because, despite still feeling that I need to prove myself, I'm only now realizing my own self-worth. I'm angry because I'm only now realizing that I deserved better. I'm angry because I'm allowing myself to be angry. I'm angry because…because, although theoretically all my problems have been resolved, I don't feel like they have." Adam felt a tear slide down his face and drop onto his hand. "And now, I'm angry because I'm crying." Before he knew it, he was sobbing. His breaths were coming in quick pants and he was sure that his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks stained with tear tracks and he tried to turn away but Ronan was hugging him. Ronan could feel Adam's hesitation, but before he could loosen his arms, Adam leaned into the hug and rested his forehead against Ronan's shoulder.
They stood there, taking comfort in one another.
"To the stars through hardship," Ronan whispered.
"Ad astra per aspera," Adam whispered back.