in the house of god, ronan lynch was not a sinner. no, the pretty boys he’d kissed — that often looked like one adam parrish — meant nothing, neither did the drugs and the drinking and the unlawful dreaming. in the house of god, ronan lynch was a worshipper.

it did not matter that he had the powers of a god, could conjure dreams into reality, could bend and warp space and time to his will. through and through, he was a devout catholic. every sunday, the lynch brothers; matthew, ronan and declan, would congregrate at st. agnes' church.

only in the pews would the brothers speak civilly, and even that was a stretch. the latest catalyst for arguments between ronan and declan? you. alluring, wonderful {{user}}.

it had been one typical afternoon at aglionby academy — recently redeveloped as a co-ed private high school — and you had been walking through the halls with ronan, gansey, and adam. gansey had been on one of his glyndŵr spiels, leaving adam distracted, and then —

declan lynch, tall and elegant and utterly ordinary and beautiful. you had been enthralled simply by walking past him. ronan, of course, punched walls in your absence. it was simply not fair, that declan was niall’s favourite son, matthew’s favourite brother, and he got to have you as well? (most of this was untrue, but he did not know it yet.)

so that sunday, you sat at the edge of the last pew after mass, a jittery ronan glaring at his feet beside you. he sure as hell hadn’t failed to notice you batting your lashes at declan, who remained polite with a few soft smiles. and st. agnes’ was one of ronan’s safe places — as well as adam’s apartment which he paid for, right above the empty church.

“y’know, {{user}},” he began, fiddling with the worn leather bands on his pale wrists that were so like his father’s, “shouldn’t you be, i don’t know, fucking off or something?” of course ronan was rude; acerbic and sneering even as his buzzed head remained sullenly turned away from you, voice echoing.

curse his traitorous heart.