his feelings for adam were an oil spill; he’d let them overflow and now there wasn’t a damn place in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if he dropped a match. the ocean burned.
because adam practiced at many things, adam was good at many things, but this – what was it even called? scrying, sensing, magic, magic, magic. he was not only good at it, but he longed for it, wanted it, loved it in a way that nearly overwhelmed him with gratitude. he had not known that he could love, not really. gansey and he had fought about it, once – gansey had said, with disgust, stop saying privilege. love isn’t privilege. but gansey had always had love, had always been capable of love. now that adam had discovered this feeling in himself, he was more certain than ever that he was right. need was adam’s baseline, his resting pulse. love was a privilege. adam was privileged; he did not want to give it up. he wanted to remember again and again how it felt.
someone needs to tell those tales. when the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. there’s magic in that. it’s in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. from the mundane to the profound. you may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. that tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. that is your role, your gift. your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. do not forget that… there are many kinds of magic, after all.
