[Adam had been scrying, which was always a risky thing to begin with.
But this was likely not the sort of risk that he had anticipated: the rise and fall of a dark-haired teenaged boy's chest, passed out on Adam's dorm room floor. A boy that was supposed to have died, over a year and a half ago. But instead Kavinsky had been there in that space that wasn't entirely a dream, with Adam and that thing, the feeling in the dark. K had finally heard a voice he recognized, and so he'd tried to push that thing away from him, push Adam back towards his body.
Kavinsky had a lot of experience when it came to holding back the things that hated you, anyway.
Adam had heard him, which had been strange enough. But he hadn't expected to go back with him.
Kavinsky unfortunately had no more clear answers to the situation than Adam did. This wasn't how dreaming was supposed to work; it wasn't like he could just dream himself back to life, even if the ley line was stronger now, thanks to Adam's slightly-misanthropic ex. And if Kavinsky had dreamt himself back to life, he'd have dreamt himself some clothes, too.
Well. Probably.
Even if the look on Parrish's face as Kavinsky woke, and he realized he was staring down at a very naked boy was close to priceless. So he'd ended up in a pair of his pajama pants, and a burgundy Harvard-branded pullover sweatshirt. He'd been sitting on Adam's bed, starving for the first time in a very long time, and also without an immediate craving for cocaine -- where ever Kavinsky had been lost, it seemed to have doubled as a detox program. Adam had managed a bag of popcorn, which was something, at least.
But rather than discussing the metaphysical repercussions of scrying and/or resurrections, they're debating restaurants when Parrish's roommate walks in. It takes all of about two minutes for Kavinsky to be dubbed "Adam's new boyfriend". And about ten minutes after that, there's the name of a restaurant and the decision that the rest of the Friday Night Criers should meet them there so Adam can introduce the rest of his friends. Kavinsky expects Adam to manufacture some excuse, but instead they end up at a place they've been dying to try that's a hipster imitation of a cheap small town diner.]
I know you must hate this place.
[Kavinsky breathes it against Adam's ear in the brief moment when his friends are inside and the other boy is about to get the door. His tone is amused but not mocking; he doesn't ask about his accent or the way that his friends act like he's someone other than the boy from Henrietta. Instead, it's almost more like flirtation, the way that he lets his fingers rest against Adam's shoulder for a heartbeat too long.
Shockingly, Kavinsky behaves- more or less. He's certainly a little bit more cuddly than Adam probably expected as they end up next to each other on the bench seat. But whether that's because he's playing up the fact of being his fake-boyfriend, or because he's alive and breathing again, because it feels like Adam saved him -- it's hard to tell.
He actually even manages to be charming, eyelashes over his dark eyes that glint with mirth, and easy smiles. He lies to Adam's friends with a straight face, about having just gotten off an international flight and a multi-hour struggle to find his misplaced luggage, only to discover it had been forgotten on the plane, ending up in France and that he was going to be waiting days for it to turn up at his hotel. Which is of course a fate that Adam's friends have nothing but sympathy for.
He doesn't try to stick his fingers in subjects that he knows will make him squirm, even if it would have been easy. Especially when his roommate insists on telling the story about the time Adam's last boyfriend got drunk and ruined their dorm room with literal crabs and a motorcycle. Kavinsky manages to play the part, but he nudges Adam's leg with his knee, so that he can steal a flicker of a conspiratorial look. Because Kavinsky is a lot of things, but he isn't dumb.
I was actually in love with him once too, he admits, sliding a piece of honesty in between the things that he can't say. I mean, did you see his shoulders? That boy has the best arms of anyone I've ever seen-- No offense, Parrish. His tone is easy and playful, and conveniently happening to steal the conversation away before it can linger too long on the subject of Adam, and instead devolving into most attractive athletes models and movie stars for a minute or two, and then springing back to focus on Kavinsky. He bumps their shoulders together, like a tactile sort of comfort. Like he understood that no matter what had happened he understood it couldn't have been easy.
Oh, I'm taking a gap year, but I plan to major in art history and maybe pick up a minor in chemistry; I always thought restoration would be cool to get into, and sciences look good on a diploma no matter what field you're in. And that turns out to not be a lie, or at least, not entirely a lie, given the way that Kavinsky can keep up the conversation. But of course it would appeal to him, given the way it intersected with the black market and art forgery. He had wanted to graduate, to go to college. His life might have been a music video, but that didn't mean he didn't want things that were real, too.
Over their fifteen-dollar waffles that the diner in Henrietta had sold for eight-fifty, Adam gets to see the other side of Kavinsky: just a boy, just a teenager, who'd had interests and hobbies. Things that weren't about drugs and alcohol, that had wanted a life before he lost it. Adam's roommate graciously offers to spend the night with one of his other friends and leave them the room, accompanied by a completely unsubtle wink and a vague implication about what he thinks they'll get up to.
But it leaves Kavinsky and Adam with some breathing room, at least. A chance to actually discuss what the fuck had happened and what the fuck they were going to do about it- not that it's a particularly productive conversation.]
I don't know any more than you do. Maybe I'm your dream.
[It's ludicrous, or should be, but Kavinsky says it like he means it. It makes just as much sense as any of the other options, anyway. And given that he's alive and breathing and no longer just stuck in nightmares, he's not exactly interested in worrying about it. It's not like he wants to fix it. Though Adam points out that if there's something keeping him alive, figuring out what it is will make it easier to keep him that way.
Unlike earlier, it feels like there's a certain weight to being alone with Adam in his dorm room. Not just because someone implied they might have sex, but because- well, he liked who Adam was once he was away from Gansey. He liked that he'd decided he didn't like his story and written himself a new one, that he had a circle of queer friends that he cared about and that he took care of, to the point that they called themselves Adam's Crying Club like it was a badge of honor, like he was their superhero.]
So... if we're dating, does that mean I get to kiss you?
[He finally can't help asking, nudging Adam with his shoulder, fully expecting to get shot down even as he cuddles a little bit into his side.]
no subject
But this was likely not the sort of risk that he had anticipated: the rise and fall of a dark-haired teenaged boy's chest, passed out on Adam's dorm room floor. A boy that was supposed to have died, over a year and a half ago. But instead Kavinsky had been there in that space that wasn't entirely a dream, with Adam and that thing, the feeling in the dark. K had finally heard a voice he recognized, and so he'd tried to push that thing away from him, push Adam back towards his body.
Kavinsky had a lot of experience when it came to holding back the things that hated you, anyway.
Adam had heard him, which had been strange enough. But he hadn't expected to go back with him.
Kavinsky unfortunately had no more clear answers to the situation than Adam did. This wasn't how dreaming was supposed to work; it wasn't like he could just dream himself back to life, even if the ley line was stronger now, thanks to Adam's slightly-misanthropic ex. And if Kavinsky had dreamt himself back to life, he'd have dreamt himself some clothes, too.
Well. Probably.
Even if the look on Parrish's face as Kavinsky woke, and he realized he was staring down at a very naked boy was close to priceless. So he'd ended up in a pair of his pajama pants, and a burgundy Harvard-branded pullover sweatshirt. He'd been sitting on Adam's bed, starving for the first time in a very long time, and also without an immediate craving for cocaine -- where ever Kavinsky had been lost, it seemed to have doubled as a detox program. Adam had managed a bag of popcorn, which was something, at least.
But rather than discussing the metaphysical repercussions of scrying and/or resurrections, they're debating restaurants when Parrish's roommate walks in. It takes all of about two minutes for Kavinsky to be dubbed "Adam's new boyfriend". And about ten minutes after that, there's the name of a restaurant and the decision that the rest of the Friday Night Criers should meet them there so Adam can introduce the rest of his friends. Kavinsky expects Adam to manufacture some excuse, but instead they end up at a place they've been dying to try that's a hipster imitation of a cheap small town diner.]
I know you must hate this place.
[Kavinsky breathes it against Adam's ear in the brief moment when his friends are inside and the other boy is about to get the door. His tone is amused but not mocking; he doesn't ask about his accent or the way that his friends act like he's someone other than the boy from Henrietta. Instead, it's almost more like flirtation, the way that he lets his fingers rest against Adam's shoulder for a heartbeat too long.
Shockingly, Kavinsky behaves- more or less. He's certainly a little bit more cuddly than Adam probably expected as they end up next to each other on the bench seat. But whether that's because he's playing up the fact of being his fake-boyfriend, or because he's alive and breathing again, because it feels like Adam saved him -- it's hard to tell.
He actually even manages to be charming, eyelashes over his dark eyes that glint with mirth, and easy smiles. He lies to Adam's friends with a straight face, about having just gotten off an international flight and a multi-hour struggle to find his misplaced luggage, only to discover it had been forgotten on the plane, ending up in France and that he was going to be waiting days for it to turn up at his hotel. Which is of course a fate that Adam's friends have nothing but sympathy for.
He doesn't try to stick his fingers in subjects that he knows will make him squirm, even if it would have been easy. Especially when his roommate insists on telling the story about the time Adam's last boyfriend got drunk and ruined their dorm room with literal crabs and a motorcycle. Kavinsky manages to play the part, but he nudges Adam's leg with his knee, so that he can steal a flicker of a conspiratorial look. Because Kavinsky is a lot of things, but he isn't dumb.
I was actually in love with him once too, he admits, sliding a piece of honesty in between the things that he can't say. I mean, did you see his shoulders? That boy has the best arms of anyone I've ever seen-- No offense, Parrish. His tone is easy and playful, and conveniently happening to steal the conversation away before it can linger too long on the subject of Adam, and instead devolving into most attractive athletes models and movie stars for a minute or two, and then springing back to focus on Kavinsky. He bumps their shoulders together, like a tactile sort of comfort. Like he understood that no matter what had happened he understood it couldn't have been easy.
Oh, I'm taking a gap year, but I plan to major in art history and maybe pick up a minor in chemistry; I always thought restoration would be cool to get into, and sciences look good on a diploma no matter what field you're in. And that turns out to not be a lie, or at least, not entirely a lie, given the way that Kavinsky can keep up the conversation. But of course it would appeal to him, given the way it intersected with the black market and art forgery. He had wanted to graduate, to go to college. His life might have been a music video, but that didn't mean he didn't want things that were real, too.
Over their fifteen-dollar waffles that the diner in Henrietta had sold for eight-fifty, Adam gets to see the other side of Kavinsky: just a boy, just a teenager, who'd had interests and hobbies. Things that weren't about drugs and alcohol, that had wanted a life before he lost it. Adam's roommate graciously offers to spend the night with one of his other friends and leave them the room, accompanied by a completely unsubtle wink and a vague implication about what he thinks they'll get up to.
But it leaves Kavinsky and Adam with some breathing room, at least. A chance to actually discuss what the fuck had happened and what the fuck they were going to do about it- not that it's a particularly productive conversation.]
I don't know any more than you do. Maybe I'm your dream.
[It's ludicrous, or should be, but Kavinsky says it like he means it. It makes just as much sense as any of the other options, anyway. And given that he's alive and breathing and no longer just stuck in nightmares, he's not exactly interested in worrying about it. It's not like he wants to fix it. Though Adam points out that if there's something keeping him alive, figuring out what it is will make it easier to keep him that way.
Unlike earlier, it feels like there's a certain weight to being alone with Adam in his dorm room. Not just because someone implied they might have sex, but because- well, he liked who Adam was once he was away from Gansey. He liked that he'd decided he didn't like his story and written himself a new one, that he had a circle of queer friends that he cared about and that he took care of, to the point that they called themselves Adam's Crying Club like it was a badge of honor, like he was their superhero.]
So... if we're dating, does that mean I get to kiss you?
[He finally can't help asking, nudging Adam with his shoulder, fully expecting to get shot down even as he cuddles a little bit into his side.]