Ronan killed the engine of his BMW, and sat back in his seat. He folded his arms beneath his shaved head, and watched the other students enter Aglionby. He was early; an event unseen and unheard of.
Ronan Lynch was not one who lived to impress teachers, in fact, the pile of not done homework was ever growing on his desk back at the Barns. He glanced at the back seat of the car, there, resting in a heap, was his bag. Peeking out of it, ruining the scene, was Ronan's orange latin book. There was too, slightly quirked, with dog ears and a slightly-torn front page, his latin dictionary. Scribbled inside, unseen, were most of his notes. Latin was the only thing Ronan ever stopped to do the homework of.
He checked the time on his car radio's screen. 8:41. Barely on time, he thought, and smiled. Just before a bike almost collided with the front of his car, narrowly missing the fender. Ronan cursed, and slammed his door open, stepping outside. He was ready to beat up the unlucky guy who had crossed his path this early in the morning. But he stopped short as he saw Adam Parrish splayed on the tarmac in the middle of the street. His uniform was teared in multiple places, his collar especially. And Ronan couldn't help but feel the twitch of anger—and the follow up of him replaying every boxing move he knew—as his eyes fell onto the bruise that was prominently displayed on Adam's cheek. There was no mistaking it; this was his father's work. Ronan's fists clenched, but he did not say a thing. He knew that Adam wouldn't want him to do anything, and, despite how much it enraged him—made him want to slam Adam's father's head into a wall—he did not do it.
Adam's eyes were closed, and his school uniform ruined. There was now a tear on Adam's sweater, at the level of his elbow, and it was contoured by a dark stain. Ronan knew that was from the fall from the bike, but the rest, the ripped collar and cuffs, was his father's. The left leg of his trousers was ripped in two places, and Ronan supposed it was that which had taken the bulk of the hit. By that, he meant Adam's leg. He was lying on his left side, his cheek against the asphalt, one eye covered by the shadow of his cheekbone. The more Ronan stared at the bruise, the more it outraged him. He looked away.
Ronan sighed as Richard Campbell Gansey III's Camaro churned and spat as it stopped before the two boys. One sprawled on the ground, and the other standing over him, his jaw clenched. Gansey jumped out of his outrageously burnt-orange car, and kneeled next to Adam.
The boy's hands were now against the asphalt, and he was pulling himself up. Ronan did not take a step back, but neither did he step forwards to help him. He noticed that a small lip plagued Adam's right leg. His lips pursed, anger seeping through him. I'm going to kill his father, he thought.
"Are you okay?" this was Gansey. His first-hand, unused uniform was perhaps a bit roughed at the collar. For the rest, he looked exactly like the heir to a Virginian old-money family looked. In his private school sweater and trousers. In his cool, cultivated accent of someone who had means and expensive cars.
Adam's head whipped up to look at Gansey. "I guess," he replied. He proceeded in wiping what remained of his uniform from the dust, and then bent again to pick his bag, which had skittered to where Ronan stood.
The Lynch brother regarded him coldly. Gansey had stood too, and his bag was slung across his shoulder as he walked back into the car and went to park. They both did not mention the bruises, or the limp, or the way Adam's hands shook. They both knew he would not do anything. Gansey left the other two boys alone. Without a glance at Adam, who had picked up his bike and was currently locking it to the light pole, Ronan turned and grabbed his bag from the BMW. Then, they waited for Gansey to join them, standing shoulder to shoulder on the pavement before Aglionby's entrance.
Ronan's gaze fell on Adam's hands as they interlocked again and again on the backpack's straps. The boy was shivering softly, his lips big and varying between shades of blue and purple. The autumn's moderate heat and quickly been substituted by the hardness of winter, and Ronan was glad for his body heat for once.
He wished to hug Adam. Sometimes, Ronan's heart would press against his ribs, as if it were attracted by Adam. As if Adam were a magnet. He knew he wasn't much—all edges and broken shards—but at least he was something. Ronan had something to offer, and Adam could take, take and maybe, maybe fill.
He saw Gansey approach. Ronan Lynch turned, and entered the school, followed by Adam and his slight limp.