The Way It Pulls

The Adam Ronan crouched in front of now made Ronan’s heart want to implode. He wasn’t beat up, bruised, or bloody, things Ronan could clean up, soothe, or bandage. This Adam was worn. Weak. Gaunter than his usual gauntness, thin as a rail, his deep-set eyes further sunk. There was no trace of the tan from their summer at the Barns that had still lingered the last time Ronan saw Adam face-to-face.

Ronan didn’t know exactly how long Adam’s soul had been away from his body, how long he’d been trapped in the Lace while Nathan Farooq-Lane held his physical body captive, but Ronan did know there wasn’t a quick fix for days and days without food, without water. It would take more than a single good meal, whatever pizza, Chinese, or Indian Jordan and Hennessy brought back, to put meat back on Adam's bones. It would take time to figure out what bits and pieces of Adam Parrish Hennessy hadn’t been able to collect and squish back into his consciousness.

But Ronan would be there for it all, whether it was there in Boston or back at the Barns or anywhere.

Two boys being soft after avoiding the end of the world.