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“So. Parrish.”
“Yeah?”
“Birthday’s coming up.”
“Mhm.”
“What do you want to do?”
Adam chewed for a moment, considering. Then he shrugged. “Not make a big deal over it.”
Ronan looked flatly at him from across the table.
“Never really been a big celebrator,” he explained as he turned back to his stir fry.
Ronan still said nothing, but Adam’s spine prickled with awareness as he looked down at his dinner. Even now, after so many months together, Ronan’s eyes on him still felt like radiation. The kind of thing that sank through skin into bones, leaving a permanent trace.
He did his best to ignore it. He knew he had some lingering hang-ups about his past, and he also knew that Ronan knew it, but it wasn’t something that he really cared to unpack at the dinner table. That was what therapy was for.
Not that he went to therapy, but still.
Birthdays in the Parrish household had always been shaky, uncertain things, so Adam had never developed the muscle memory for uncomplicated celebration. For Robert, they took the form of late nights at the bar without family obligations. Those were the best ones. For Lorie, it could be a new dress from a secondhand shop or a night out at the local diner so she would have a break from cooking. Or, on years when the money wasn’t good, it could just as easily be a twisted wrist and a snarl that everyone needed to make sacrifices, and she wasn’t special just because she was a year older and ten years uglier.
Adam’s birthdays were largely ignored by everyone. When he was younger, his father might remember to pat him on the shoulder and give him a gruff word about how he’d be a man soon. He might get a card stuffed with a few dollars from the grandmother he’d never met, or an hour in the garage learning how to use a new tool. As he got older, his dad seemed to think he’d learned enough and it was time for him to start doing something about it, and Adam realized it was better for everyone if he avoided the trailer park.
Instead, he’d go watch neighborhood kids set off illegal fireworks in a nearby field choked with weeds, but he never joined in their joyful destruction. The idea of an Independence Day weekend party always felt like a cruel joke to a boy who chafed under the petty tyranny of that household. And anyways, the neighbor kids all hated him, so they wouldn’t have let him join even if he’d wanted to.
These days, though, his birthday was less of a trigger point than a habit, so he didn’t really mind when his boyfriend continued pushing.
“Come on,” Ronan said. “I missed it last year. We were still at each other’s throats. And not in the fun way,” he added, as a corner of Adam’s mouth twitched.
“We had that pool party, though.”
“Okay, but you didn’t tell anyone your birthday was that weekend, so it doesn’t count. Plus, you still hated me then, so it definitely doesn’t count.”
Adam nearly smiled again. “That’s what you think.”
He could still remember the first time he thought—involuntarily, he might add—about kissing Ronan Lynch, and it was much earlier than that day they’d spent at the pool with the Ghostbusters. They had been in some work meeting together and Ronan had stood up and dramatically slammed his hands down on the conference table to underscore whatever stupid argument he’d been trying to make. Adam, fed up with Ronan’s antics, had suddenly found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way that Ronan’s shirtsleeves pulled taut against his upper arms. He’d looked up and caught Ronan’s eyes instead, and the challenging glint he saw there had him swallowing an honest-to-god whimper.
He looked up now to see that Ronan was wearing the same expression. It sent the same cascading explosion through his stomach. God, some days he thought he’d never get used to it. Ronan Lynch, so prone to gleeful destruction. He had to have been an illegal fireworks on the Fourth of July weekend kind of kid.
Adam pressed his lips together. It was a new year, a new relationship. A new Adam Parrish. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to make new memories, too.
“Fine,” he allowed. “I leave the day in your large, capable hands. But no parties, and no weird surprises. And no ghosts.”
__________
On July third, Adam woke in darkness. Since he knew what night and day were, he assumed this meant it was the middle of the night. He rolled over and pressed his phone awake. It blinked 10:43 AM at him.
What the hell?
He looked toward the windows, wondering stupidly whether the sun had decided not to rise today. That would be typical, a nice little birthday present from the universe: Surprise, we got you the apocalypse! Hope you like it!
As his eyes adjusted, he realized the darkness was caused by blackout curtains covering the windows rather than some sort of biblical plague. Still utterly confused, he rolled back over, and only then did his sluggish mind notice that he was alone in the bed. He reached out to press a hand against the cold sheets.
He texted Ronan: What is happening
Less than a minute later, the door opened, and Ronan came in holding a tray.
“What did you do,” Adam grumbled.
“Don’t worry, they’re not permanent. Just wanted to see if I could trick you into sleeping in. Happy birthday. Want to sleep more?”
“No, no, I’m up now,” Adam said, turning on the bedside lamp and blinking into the sudden brightness. He focused back in on the thing in Ronan’s hands.
“What is all this? What the hell is happening?”
Ronan grinned. “You’re so dumb when you just wake up. As we’ve established, it’s your birthday. That means you get to sleep in, and then you get breakfast and blow jobs in bed.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Family tradition?”
Ronan picked up a pillow from the ground and threw it at Adam’s head as he sat up. “Shithead.”
Adam laughed at his own joke, and it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. He took the pillow Ronan had thrown and used it to prop himself up against the headboard.
“Fine. Gimme the pancakes.”
He motioned Ronan forward with two fingers, and Ronan brought the tray to him. He gulped quickly from the steaming mug of coffee, and then took a huge bite of the stack of pancakes slathered in peanut butter and soaked in gooey syrup just the way he liked it.
“Mmm. Not bad,” he pronounced.
Ronan stood there watching until Adam looked up, expectant.
“Didn’t you have something else to do?”
Ronan narrowed his eyes. “What, while you’re eating? I was going to wait until you’re done, I didn’t mean, like, simultaneously—”
“Nope, sorry,” Adam cut in. “You promised me birthday breakfast and blow jobs in bed. Sounds like a packaged deal if I ever heard one. I can multitask.” He smirked and cocked his head imperiously down the bed. The gesture was probably a little toothless with his mouth stuffed full of breakfast. “Get to it.”
“God, this is the least sexy you’ve ever looked,” Ronan grumbled as he began to crawl up the bed. “The fucking sacrifices I make for you, I swear.”
Adam smiled more broadly at that, mashed pancake and syrup covering his teeth.
By noon, Adam was rested, sated, and dressed, and he couldn’t find a single thing to complain about as Ronan pushed him out the door. He was surprised once again when they ended up at the Wharf on the southwest waterfront, an area of the city that neither Ronan nor Adam had ever expressed any desire to explore before.
“You wanna rent a paddleboard?” Adam asked. He was pretty proud at the restraint in his voice; barely a single note of judgment crept in.
A slow grin stole over Ronan’s face. “No, I want to hang out on the dock and make fun of the people falling off the paddleboards.”
Adam laughed, feeling that fizzle inside again.
“Do you think Gansey’s done that?”
Ronan snorted. “Made fun of tourists? No, he’s usually snapping at me for it.”
“Rented a paddleboard.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure he and Sargent have done something lame like this. He used to row crew in high school. Bet they come out here and do tandem kayaking like a couple of assholes.”
They whiled away the afternoon in happy judgment, eventually making a drinking game out of watching people fall off the standing boards into the channel. A cup of gelato and three beers later, they were loose enough to bite the bullet and rent a two-person kayak themselves.
Adam sat behind and zapped at the back of Ronan’s neck with Persephone’s gift. It never ceased to thrill him to see the hair on Ronan’s arms stand on end, to know that his magic was the cause of such a physical reaction.
“Keep that up,” Ronan growled over his shoulder, “and we’re about to have a real problem.”
Adam liked getting those kinds of reactions, too. His hands found the skin at Ronan’s waist under his shirt, and he sent another small current out, smiling as he felt Ronan stiffen in response.
“What, you don’t want me to get you off in the middle of the public river?”
“I will throw you overboard, I swear to Jesus—”
“I think you sound like the one who needs a cold water dunking, not me—”
Ronan stopped squirming at once. “Wait. Hold up, seriously.”
He turned and nodded his chin in the direction of the shore. A small figure was sitting on the end of the dock, looking out toward the green of East Potomac Park on the opposite side of the channel. The boy was kicking his feet back and forth in a forlorn sort of way, and his dark skin was glowing in that indefinable way of the dead.
Adam sighed, suddenly feeling very sober. “Of course.”
He’d been having such a good day that he’d almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and birthdays always kind of sucked.
They paddled back to shore to return the rental, and then walked down the dock toward the small ghost.
Adam’s step faltered a few yards away. Sometimes he wondered whether he was a bad person for not being more eager to do this sort of thing. Not like Ronan, who always dove in headfirst. Ronan Lynch, fucking superhero that he was, saved people first and asked questions later.
Adam straightened his shoulders. Ronan propelled them forward again until they were close enough to sit down next to the boy.
“Hi,” Ronan said casually.
He looked up at them, teary-eyed. Thin arms poking through his blue t-shirt clenched as he gripped the wooden edge of the dock more tightly.
“H—hi.”
He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, probably. Adam’s heart squeezed in his chest.
“What’s your name?” Ronan asked, still using that calm, casual voice. It was the same steady way he spoke to Opal—not condescending or saccharine, the way that some adults thought you were supposed to talk to children. Ronan treated them like people.
Adam swallowed. He could do this, too.
“Jason,” the boy answered.
“Hi, Jason. I’m Ronan, and this is Adam.”
He gestured toward Adam to his left, who gave the boy a small, awkward wave.
“Can we help you, Jason?” he asked.
Jason hiccupped softly. “I’m dead.”
“Yeah. We know,” Ronan replied. “We can’t change that. But we still might be able to help.”
“It wasn’t her fault!” he said, starting to cry again. “She thinks it was, but it wasn’t. And I can’t tell her. I don’t want her to be sad anymore.”
Adam inhaled, quick and sharp. Ronan reached over and squeezed his hand, hard, and he felt his breath steady again. He could do this.
“Okay,” Ronan continued. “Who is she? We can pass on that message for you. And—if it wasn’t her fault, whose was it?”
“I fell,” he replied quietly. “She wanted to play by the water, and so we went away from Mom, and I fell in. She thinks if she wanted to stay home and play on the playground, I would still be here.”
Privately, Adam agreed, just a little bit. But of course it wasn’t another child’s fault. Not everything had malicious intent. Accidents did happen sometimes, as shitty as that might be.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“Nikki. She’s always at the playground on Sunday after church. But she never plays with anyone. Not anymore.”
“Okay. We’ll find her. What playground?”
He shrugged.
“Is it near here?”
“Near home.”
“Okay,” Ronan said again. “Where’s home? Do you know your address?”
Jason pressed his lips together. “Not s’posta tell strangers.”
“And that’s a good rule. But we need to know the neighborhood if we’re going to find Nikki.”
The boy shrugged again. Ronan sighed slightly and looked at Adam, at a loss.
“What school do you go to?” Adam asked.
“Fitzgerald”, the boy said immediately.
Adam pulled out his phone and did a couple seconds of googling. “Hill East. Not that far from you, actually.”
Ronan clapped a gentle hand to Jason’s shoulder. “Alright kid, we’ll solve this. Want to come along?”
He nodded and stood up. Once he was standing in front of them, it was clear he was clutching something in his hands.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Ronan said lowly in Adam’s ear. “Rare to see a new ghost interacting with their surroundings.”
“Maybe it’s really important to him,” Adam said.
Ronan crouched down to the boy’s level. He asked, “Whatcha got there?”
The boy opened his fist cautiously to reveal a shiny blue toy car.
Ronan grinned approvingly. “Is that a Mustang? Nice choice.”
Jason smiled, looking happier. “It’s my favorite one. Nikki’s too. She always wanted to race with it instead of the white Mercedes.”
Ronan glanced up at Adam, still clutching tightly at his hand. Adam could recall a little plastic car of his own, years ago, one of the only toys he’d possessed. He’d never had anyone to play with. He just rolled it back and forth on the threadbare carpet of his tiny room alone.
He shook himself off and tried valiantly to join in their banter. “Okay, we’ve got a mission. Find the right playground in your neighborhood. Agent Jason, you ready for this?”
Jason nodded.
As they reached Ronan’s car, the boy stopped, looking awed.
“Whoaaaa, is that a Beemer?” he asked excitedly, skipping forward to look closer.
“Sure is.”
“Can I ride up front?” he asked, eyes shining.
“I don’t think you’re tall enough for that,” Adam said automatically, then closed his mouth as the realization sank in. Jason would never grow big enough to sit safely in the front seat of a car.
On the other hand, it wasn’t like he could die twice.
He exchanged a look with Ronan, who shrugged. Adam inclined his head.
“Yeah, you can sit up front. Still gotta fasten the seatbelt though.”
Jason rolled his eyes dramatically, but he nodded.
They all piled in, Adam sliding into the backseat and Jason jumping excitedly into the front. Ronan silently reached his right hand back and Adam gave it a tight squeeze before dropping it to let him shift gears.
It didn’t take long for them to get to Jason’s neighborhood, and Ronan drove slowly down the residential streets as Adam directed him toward various parks marked on his phone’s map.
Finally, Jason shouted, “That’s it!”
They parked and followed the boy down the street to the park. In the late afternoon sun, it was filled with running and chattering kids, fighting over turns down the slide and across the monkey bars. A group of parents congregated around strollers and benches to one side.
Jason stopped at the edge of the grass.
“That’s Nikki,” he pointed to a Black girl with puffy pigtails high on her head, squatting apart from the other kids and tracing absently at the ground with a stick.
Adam felt a tug at his hem. “Could you—could you give her this?” he asked, holding out his blue car. “She should let the other kids race it too. But only if she wants. And not Joseph. And say sorry that I have to miss the fireworks.”
Adam took the car, his heart constricting painfully. He looked back at Ronan, whose overbright eyes mirrored how he felt.
“Sure, Jason,” he said. “We’ll be right back.”
They walked together into the park. The little girl looked up as they approached, unhappiness etched into her face. It was a look that shouldn’t be possible for children to wear. Ronan squatted down to join her, and Adam followed suit a second later.
“Hi,” Ronan started softly. “Are you Nikki?”
She nodded warily.
“We, uh—” he paused. This was always the strangest part, although it was far easier with children than adults. “We knew your friend Jason. He wants you to know that what happened wasn’t your fault.”
Her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “But he wouldn’t’ve gone in if I didn’t say so. I wanted to explore.”
“Yeah but—you’re supposed to explore, as kids. That’s what your whole job is. Jason doesn’t blame you. In fact, he wants you to have this.”
He held out the car, and she took it, sniffing wetly. “His Mustang? But—but this one’s his favorite. He never let me touch it.”
“He said it’s yours now. You can let the other kids play with it too, but only if you want. And he said not Joseph.”
She giggled wetly. “Joseph is mean. Serves him right.” She bit her lip and looked down again at the car. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Jason said he’s sorry he has to miss the fireworks, but maybe you can ask the other kids and their parents if you can watch together with them. And—if it helps, he’s happy now. Now that you’re okay, I mean. Keep being strong, and he’ll keep being happy.”
As if on cue, Jason called out to her. “Nikki!”
She looked up, startled. “Was that—?”
She stared intently over toward where her friend stood by the edge of the playground. Suddenly, her eyes widened in wonder. Jason waved at her, smiling, as he slowly faded out of view.
“Wow,” she said softly. And then, in the way that kids do, she shook herself off, wiped her eyes, picked up the toy car, and ran over to the group of children nearby.
“Do you wanna play racecars?” Adam heard her asking the group shyly.
As the other kids clamored in chaotic agreement, Ronan and Adam turned away.
“Well. That wasn’t exactly part of the relaxing birthday I planned,” Ronan sighed as they headed back to where the BMW was parked.
Adam groaned softly and thunked his head onto Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan wrapped an arm around him, and they walked down the street like a pair of three-legged race participants.
“How are you so good at this?” Adam asked.
He felt the shoulder under his cheek lift. “Oh, you know. Compartmentalization.”
Ronan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and drew Adam into his chest, wrapping tight arms around his neck. Adam pressed his face into Ronan, clinging to his back. There was something heavy stuck in his breastbone.
“God, I hate that shit like this still rattles me.”
“What, dead children? Parrish, I’d be worried if shit like that didn’t rattle you.”
“I know, I know. I just—every time I see a little boy, it’s just—” he stopped.
The what-if possibilities were endless; the countless paths that could have led to that being a young Adam. All the alternate universes in which Ronan might have stumbled upon his own small ghost sitting alone, dead and forgotten, just another tragic puzzle to solve.
“Yeah. I get it.”
Ronan kissed the side of Adam’s head.
“On the bright side, you’ve brought balance back into the world, or whatever. Helped a little kid overcome some major fucking trauma. You’re doing good, here.”
“How much, though?”
Ronan grimaced. “Who knows. Butterfly wings and tornadoes, and all that shit. A small thing can go a long way.”
Adam smiled, though it felt a little tremulous. “You know, that was the opposite point that Lorenz was trying to make with his whole chaos theory thing—”
His boyfriend stopped his half-hearted rant with a kiss. He murmured against Adam’s mouth, “Shut up, nerd. I’m making you feel better.”
Adam pulled back and smiled more surely. “You are, actually. You’re pretty smart sometimes, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t spread it around. You’ll ruin my rep.”
__________
The next day, the Ghostbusters assembled at Ronan’s house to watch the fireworks. Ronan had texted the group chat that it was explicitly not a celebration for the United States, and furthermore, not a celebration for Adam’s birthday. The gang had accordingly arrived with red-white-and-blue cupcakes (courtesy of Gansey; surprisingly decent), neon green weed cupcakes (courtesy of Henry; unsurprisingly strong), and a chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday Adam!’ written and then crossed out in icing (courtesy of Blue; accompanied by an evil grin and a kiss on the cheek).
Adam rolled his eyes fondly and gave each of them a hug in thanks, and they trooped up to Ronan’s tiny rooftop balcony with lounge chairs and a case of beer. The city’s building height restrictions gave them a clear view toward the National Mall, so they could watch with no need to brave the crowds down below.
Ronan passed around drinks. Their first toast was to Adam, who bore it with exaggerated patience but couldn’t contain the glow in his chest or the smile on his face. He was so grateful for their friendship, and their unwillingness to take his shit seriously. He’d always considered himself lucky—lucky for staying alive, lucky for getting out—but now he felt…fortunate. Rich. Alive in a way that he could never have imagined even a few years ago.
Their second toast was to Noah, who had decided to move on a few months ago. Adam wasn’t sure if he believed in a Heaven; he had no idea what happened to ghosts after they left the physical plane. But now, more than ever, he found himself hoping for one.
Finally, Adam and Ronan looked at each other and raised their cans in silent acknowledgment. To Jason, and to Nikki, and the families left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and put them back together. The shape they’d take would be different, Adam knew, but eventually they’d be alright.
The air crackled, then exploded in a shower of light.
“I don’t even really like fireworks,” Adam commented mildly as they all looked up at the sky awash in neon.
“Well, luckily it’s not your birthday anymore, so we don’t have to listen to you,” Ronan said, flicking him in the ear and then kissing him on the side of his face. “I love fireworks. Of course this corporate official crap is nothing compared to shooting them off yourself.”
Adam smiled to himself. Ronan was so predictable.
“Next year, you can plan that for my birthday,” he said.
“Next year? Fuck it, Parrish, we’re doing that next week.”
“Did you have a good birthday, Adam?” Gansey asked as they turned back toward the sky.
And for the first time in his life, Adam didn’t need to lie when he said, “Yeah, actually. I did.”