Chapter Text
The worst decision Adam Parrish ever made was moving in with his two best friends for the summer between his freshman and sophomore years of college.
His next worst was accepting an internship on his best friend's — Richard Campbell Gansey III — mother's congressional campaign a week later, and his third worst was falling into bed with his other best friend — Ronan Lynch — the week after that, but without making his top-ranking worst decision, nothing else that summer would have occurred. Or possibly it would have, but moving in with Gansey and Ronan definitely didn't help.
For as long as Adam had known them, Gansey and Ronan had always had a vacant third bedroom at Monmouth Manufacturing — an ancient red brick industrial building dropped onto a plot of cracked and weedy asphalt in a Northern Virginia suburb otherwise populated with multi-million dollar subdivisions and stacks of high rise condos plopped on top of Sweetgreens, CorePower Yoga studios, and Whole Foods. No one knew what Monmouth had manufactured, but Gansey had manufactured an apartment out of the second floor of the building, turning offices into bedrooms and the rest of the floor into an open-plan living area that had been recently updated to make it — livable. Based on what Adam had heard of Monmouth’s prior state, he probably would not have agreed to move in for the summer if Gansey hadn't put in a real kitchen and bathroom. Adam might have grown up in a less-than-ideal situation, but he would have had a very hard time moving into a place where the kitchen was also the laundry room and also the bathroom.
The fact that Gansey and Ronan had a spare room they made no effort to rent out screamed excess. Waste. They were all nineteen years old, but Gansey and Ronan had the kind of wealth Adam couldn't fathom. The kind of wealth where remodeling an apartment to put in a kitchen full of brand new stainless steel appliances and a bathroom with a rain shower head and heated tile floor was pocket change. The kind of wealth Adam wanted, and that made his insides tangle with both anger and envy anytime Gansey or Ronan treated money casually.
Anger usually came first. It used to be that anger always came first, but over the course of freshman year, Adam had started putting some space between events and his reactions to them. Except when Gansey initially offered the third bedroom at Monmouth free-of-charge, anger had come first, and it launched them into the longest fight of their young friendship. Which meant it lasted all of three days before Adam saw Gansey in their History of Globalization class again and Gansey made a more reasonable offer of four hundred dollars per month, utilities included.
Gansey might have been stupid about money, but Adam would have been stupid to pass up rent that cheap. He’d looked into subletting an apartment from another Georgetown student, but all the flyers on the community boards around campus listed far smaller apartments at double the cost. So Adam had agreed to Gansey’s offer — they fist bumped on it before class started — and good thing he had, because when he checked his email later in the day, he had an invitation to interview for a data analyst internship on Gansey’s mother’s congressional campaign, and when Adam tried on his suit — his only suit — it didn’t fit quite as well as it had in fall semester, the last time he’d worn it.
Because over the course of the school year, thanks to the unlimited meal plan that accompanied his grants and scholarships, Adam hadn’t just gained the freshman fifteen.
He’d gained the freshman twenty-three.
So all the money he’d save by living with Gansey and Ronan would be going toward buying a new suit or three.
Adam had needed some of those twenty-three pounds. He’d been long and lean — a little too lean — his entire high school career, working three jobs that required a fair amount of physical exertion without the food security that should have accompanied it. He hadn’t needed all twenty-three though, or the soft paunch on his belly and the extra flesh on his hips that made the waistband of all his pants uncomfortably snug by the end of spring semester.
Looking at him clothed, no one would have been any the wiser. His shirts always covered up the slight muffining of his hips above his pants, and the outward curve of his lower stomach was gentle enough it wasn’t noticeable in profile. Even in the mirror it wasn’t that noticeable — he just looked a little bit soft around the middle — but Adam felt it. His stomach creased when he sat or bent over, and his hips pushed against the denim of his jeans, confining him just enough it became a relief to get back to his dorm room at the end of the day and change into sweatpants.
He knew he should do something about it. Run on the treadmills at the campus fitness center, or stop eating the entire oversized portions the staff at the dining hall served him. Except those twenty-three pounds didn’t seem to matter to Ronan when he and Adam finally hooked up during finals week after circling one another since Gansey introduced them in September. Adam definitely hadn’t worried about them when Ronan had been on his knees, face-to-face with Adam’s little bit of pudge.
So Adam could tolerate the freshman twenty-three.
Or what was the freshman twenty-three before he moved into Monmouth Manufacturing and then began his internship.
“I do believe the circumstances call for a celebration,” Gansey said once Adam deposited his final box of belongings — textbooks the bookstore wouldn’t buy back despite all being published within the past two years — in his room.
His first few trips upstairs, Ronan had helped, but once Adam made it very clear that — though they were testing the waters of being boyfriends — he would not be staying in Ronan’s room, Ronan had resumed what he’d been doing when Adam arrived: sitting on the overly large leather couch and playing a video game on the overly large high definition television. Were this not a very typical Ronan Lynch response when things didn’t go his way, it would have turned Adam off, but he knew what he’d walked into when he kissed Ronan back after Ronan kissed him. Adam could deal with Ronan being a brat. Sometimes he even liked it.
“I don’t think that’s needed,” Adam replied, hovering in the doorway of his room. At some point, Gansey had furnished it with a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk — everything plain but certainly not from IKEA — and all Adam wanted was to unpack. He didn’t need to celebrate temporarily moving ten miles outside of Washington, DC, for the summer, not when he and Gansey had to be at Gansey’s mom’s campaign headquarters by nine o’clock the next morning.
“Come on, Parrish,” Ronan cut in. He shot one more bad guy in his game before pausing it, then he leaned backward over the couch so he was looking at Adam upside down. It took away none of Ronan’s savage handsomeness — his sharp cheekbones, his pale blue eyes, his thin lips always on the edge of smirking — but it did force Adam to fight back a smile. “It’s tradition.”
“You guys are the only two people who have ever lived here. How is it tradition?”
“It can become one,” Gansey said as he perched himself on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs flanking the couch. He sat with his back to the floor-to-ceiling paned windows that made up two of the apartment’s outer walls, and the late afternoon sun burnished him more than good genes already had, catching the fairer strands of his perfectly coiffed chestnut hair and turning them golden. “How’s Thai? Does that sound good? Or should we go with that pizza place that has the good garlic knots that come with dipping sauce? Ronan?”
“It’s not me you need to convince,” Ronan replied. Giving his back a break, he sat upright and threw his arm over the back of the couch instead. “Come on, Parrish. Pizza? I’ll pay.”
The change in position still left Ronan looking at Adam — both him and Gansey looking at Adam — and though he understood it was not two-against-one, that Adam could say no and Gansey and Ronan would both go along with his decision, Adam had to shake off the feeling of being prey backed into a corner. These were his friends — his best friend and his boyfriend. They liked him. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t be standing in Monmouth Manufacturing. They wouldn’t be living together for the summer. Adam could get over himself and his principles and his pride and let Ronan pay for his dinner tonight, and next time, Adam could pay for Ronan. He could pay for Gansey too. Friends did that. Boyfriends did that.
It had simply taken Adam a very long time to get the experience needed to fully understand the concept.
“Alright. Pizza,” he agreed. “No anchovies.”
“I would never,” Gansey replied, then he clapped his hands once and smoothly climbed off the arm of the chair. “I’ll order. Lynch, your card?” Before he could finish the question, a silver credit card had been aimed at his face like a ninja star, and Gansey caught it expertly like this was an everyday occurrence. Holding it up between two fingers as he headed off to find his phone and call in their order, he told Ronan, “I’d prefer it if you confirmed I was wearing eye protection first next time, but thank you.”
“No problem, man.” Ronan veered back toward Adam as he shifted to shove his wallet back in his pocket. “Are you done?”
Adam nodded. “No thanks to you.”
“My assistance is a privilege, not a right.” Smacking the back of the couch, Ronan said, “Are you going to just hang out in the door of your new room, or are you going to come take a load off?”
If they were going to celebrate, unpacking could wait. The most important things — Adam’s new suits — already hung in his closet, fresh from the tailor and still shrouded in plastic. His ties and dress shirts — those, thankfully, still fit — were with his old suit in its garment bag, and he knew exactly which box held his nice shoes. In the morning, Adam would only have to find a pair of boxers and two matching socks, and if he couldn’t manage that considering the well-labeled packing he’d performed, he had bigger problems.
“I like my new room,” he said as he pushed himself out of the doorway, taking his time as he walked toward the couch.
“Yeah. So I’ve gathered,” Ronan deadpanned, pressing his lips into a thin line as he watched Adam’s approach.
Adam shook his head, but he smiled as he said, “Shitbag.”
Ronan just grinned back.
When he reached the couch, Adam should have been civilized and walked around, but, like he’d seen Gansey and Ronan do a hundred times on their way from their bedrooms to the living room, he climbed over the back of the couch and sank onto the cushion next to Ronan. Pressing their legs together from knee to hip, Adam instinctively — if instinct could be acquired in a few days — leaned into Ronan. But, really, it had been months of casual touching, getting a little too friendly, a little too close, that allowed Adam to do it so easily. Combined with growing up in a house where every kind of affection lacked, he was probably well on his way to becoming a glutton for physical touch.
Settling his head on Ronan's shoulder as Ronan picked up his Playstation controller again and unpaused his game, Adam said, soft enough Gansey wouldn't be able to hear it where he stood in the kitchen, “Thanks. For dinner.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Ronan replied, nudging his knee into Adam's. “Get used to it.”
“You're not buying —”
“Who said anything about me buying you dinner?” Ronan jabbed a few buttons and mowed down a few people before he continued, “All I meant is we don't cook.”
“You just got a new kitchen six months ago,” Adam replied flatly.
“And you think me and Gansey know how to cook? Do you know how to cook?”
“Not really.” Dorm living didn't provide much opportunity for appliances outside of a microwave, and, before that, Adam’s life consisted of being out of the way as much as possible, which didn't lend itself well to spending time in the kitchen of his parents’ double-wide trailer. “But I could figure it out.”
“Then by all means,” Ronan said and held the controller in one hand as he waved his other toward where Gansey was wrapping up their pizza delivery order, “the kitchen is all yours, wise guy.”
Adam would have to take him up on that offer. He couldn't claim economy as the reason he moved into Monmouth if he had to pay for take out every other night. Gansey definitely pulled strings to get Adam's internship designated as a paid position on his mom’s campaign — Adam could dislike it until the cows came home, but sometimes nepotism benefited him more than he wanted to admit — but the money wasn't infinite.
“Thanks,” he said again, this time more sarcastically than genuinely, and he knocked his knee back against Ronan’s as Gansey came back and collapsed on one of the chairs.
“Half an hour,” he told them both. “Until then, Street Fighter?”
A second controller appeared, and while they waited for the pizzas and garlic knots to arrive, Ronan kicked everyone else’s asses.
When the delivery finally came, Adam found Gansey had unsurprisingly gone overboard. Adam expected he would if he was paying, but not when their dinner was on Ronan's dime. It made sense if they'd done this before though, if they floated through freshman — or Gansey's freshman year, Ronan didn't have the same fondness for higher education as Gansey and Adam and spent his days since cutting his senior year of high school short welding metal monstrosities on Monmouth’s first floor — going back and forth paying for take out, but Adam didn't think Gansey would have ordered as much if Adam hadn't been there.
Three pizza boxes covered the coffee table — one margarita, one half sausage-half avocado, and one pepperoni and sweet peppers — with a container of garlic knots squeezed in between two of them, and Adam thought there was no way they'd finish half the order, let alone all of it. They should have leftovers for days.
Except Adam clearly underestimated his own appetite. He'd had breakfast before he left campus, his last meal at O'Donovan Hall until late August. A ham and cheese omelet, bacon, and toast. Then he'd gotten so caught up in packing his crappy car, driving to Monmouth, and carrying everything inside that he hadn’t eaten lunch, and though Adam was not a stranger to skipping meals, he'd had eight straight months of breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday with plenty of snacks thrown in there too.
Apparently his stomach was unimpressed with this change to his routine.
Being with Gansey and Ronan also made it simple to lose track. Of time. Of how many slices of pizza Adam reached for. Of how many garlic knots he dragged through buttery, herby dipping sauce. After Adam’s first slice — margherita, with a crispy crust, tangy basil, slices of fresh tomatoes, and thick slabs of gooey melted mozzarella — Ronan handed him a controller and they fought another round of Street Fighter, both of them laughing riotously at the improbable anatomy of Ronan's scantily clad avatar. When Adam lost — as he was wont to do against Ronan, who was impressively skilled at most video games — he handed the controller to Gansey, and while Ronan won again, Adam ate a garlic knot and then a piece of half sausage-half avocado: deep dished, doughy, and surprisingly good.
When the television changed from Street Fighter to Netflix and the opening credits of a movie played on the screen, Adam had a second slice of sausage and avocado, chased by another garlic knot. Then Ronan asked him Have you had the pepperoni and peppers yet? That's the superior pizza, and Adam hadn't, so he had a slice of that, little puddles of grease shining on every slice of pepperoni. During a lull in the middle of the movie, he had a second slice of margherita, and when the end credits rolled and they started packing everything away, only one garlic knot remained and Gansey offered it to Adam, and Adam ate that too.
It was only after the door of the fridge closed when Adam put away the pizza — the one and a half pies left condensed down into two boxes — that he realized how much he'd eaten. On an average day, he'd have three slices at most, and the pizza served at Georgetown’s dining hall paled in both thickness and size next to the the ones from the restaurant Gansey ordered from. Add three garlic knots on top of that and no wonder Adam felt stuffed and carb-drunk as he got himself a glass of water. He'd eaten enough for two people. When he turned the sink off, he laid a hand on his stomach and pressed gently, and his stomach had almost no give. It even whined a little at the pressure.
Adam knew if he tugged his t-shirt down so it laid flat against his body, he'd see a belly that bowed out slightly, more than it did with its bit of softness from the few pounds he'd gained. Physical proof of the five pieces of pizza and three garlic knots he'd eaten without a second thought. He couldn't keep eating this way. He wasn't on campus anymore. Food wasn't limitless and free. And he couldn't afford to gain more weight; he'd gotten a deal on his new suits, but they'd wiped out his clothing budget unless he had an absolute emergency.
Standing in the kitchen, sipping his water and listening to Gansey and Ronan debate the merits of the very bad movie they'd watched, Adam told himself he wouldn't do this anymore. That going overboard celebrating his arrival at Monmouth Manufacturing was one thing, but he couldn't keep overeating the way he had that night. The way he had during the school year. Plus, now he had Ronan taking Adam's clothes off at every opportunity, and Adam didn't want what was underneath to turn Ronan off.
It wouldn't be hard to stick to eating sensibly. Adam knew all about moderation and denying himself. Before getting to Georgetown, he'd never indulged, and even at Georgetown, he hadn't indulged. Not really. He'd just finally had enough for the first time. He could scale back to bare minimum. To just enough. Then he'd probably even lose some weight and go back to fitting into his clothes so his hips wouldn't feel like they were in a vise while he sat through lectures.
In the time it took him to finish his water — a bad idea considering how full he already was — Adam had a plan in place for the rest of the summer. He washed his glass and put it on the draining board, and he felt pretty good about life by the time he joined Gansey and Ronan in front of the television again for one more bad movie before he went to bed.
Adam felt even better the next morning once he put on one of his new suits and looked in the mirror. He wore the worsted wool like armor, and he'd fit in just fine with all the Young Republicans going into battle for Mrs. Gansey. They'd never be able to tell that Adam was a mercenary, not there for the cause, but because it would look good on his resume.
He met Gansey in the kitchen, and Adam poured himself a sensible breakfast — a travel mug full of black coffee. Then then got in the Pig — Gansey's flame orange 1973 Camaro — and drove to campaign headquarters.
Where they were met with a breakfast spread that covered an entire conference table and ruined all of Adam's summer plans for sensibility.