[Adam pulls back. His gut feels tight, like he's been hit.]

Fuck, Lynch.

[Flushing, Adam drops his eyes. The metaphor makes his heart and his stomach both roil.]

I knew you hated yourself, but wow.

[Adam is reeling. It feels like an insult to him and his judgement, that Ronan hates himself that much, that Ronan thinks Adam's that much of a fool for loving him.

He shifts, fidgeting awkwardly for a moment, keeping his distance. He scrubs a hand back through his hair, struggling to find a response to that, if I love you isn't enough, if he's fucked up badly enough that Ronan thinks he's just distasteful leftovers.]

You remember when we watched that Asian horror marathon and I slept with the lights on for a month? You came over to my place, and I was too restless to sleep, and I said stay. Stay until I fall asleep.

Every night for a week and a half you made an excuse to turn up at the church, and you stayed sitting by my bed until I fell asleep, and you let yourself out.

[Adam didn't realize the significance of it at the time. Neither of them did. They'd been falling in love, all those quiet evenings alone at St. Agnes, and Adam had been too blind to see it.]

That's the boy I chose. The boy I'm always gonna choose.