ya lit meme: eight otps (3/8) — adam parrish & ronan lynch
once, when adam had still lived in the trailer park, he had been pushing the lawn mower around the scraggly side yard when he realized that it was raining a mile away. he could smell it, the earthy scent of rain on dirt, but also the electric, restless smell of ozone. and he could see it: a hazy gray sheet of water blocking his view of the mountains. he could track the line of rain travelling across the vast dry field towards him. it was heavy and dark, and he knew he would get drenched if he stayed outside. it was coming from so far away that he had plenty of time to put the mower away and get under cover. instead, though, he just stood there and watched it approach. even at the last minute, as he heard the rain pounding the grass flat, he just stood there. he closed his eyes and let the storm soak him.
that was this kiss.
they kissed again. adam felt it in more than his lips.
“Say my name.” I told him.
“Why?” He asks.
“Just do it. Please.” I reply, clenching tighter onto his jacket.
Then he spoke the hopeless 7 lettered name and from that moment, I knew,
Nothing was the same. Nothing was going to be the same again. There was no joy in his voice; no happy memories, not a single bit of care.
I let go of his jacket and walked away.
Never did I ever write my name the same way again.