Inside, they pretended they would dream, but they did not. They sprawled on the living room sofa and Adam studied the tattoo that covered Ronan's back: all the sharp edges that hooked wondrously and fearfully into each other.
'Unguibus et rostro,' Adam said.
Ronan put Adam's fingers to his mouth.
He was never sleeping again.

I'm not asking him to stay, Ronan thought. Only to come back.

Making Ronan Lynch smile felt as charged as making a bargain with Cabeswater. These were not forces to play with.

“For what?”
“Emptying another student’s backpack over his car. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I do,” Ronan said.
“Well, I don’t. I’m not proud of it.”
Ronan patted her leg. “I’ll be proud for you.”

“To think you could have been dreaming the cure for cancer," Blue said.
"Look, Sargent," Ronan retorted, "I was gonna dream you some eye cream last night since clearly modern medicine's doing jack shit for you, but I nearly had my ass handed to me by a death snake from the fourth circle of dream hell, so you're welcome."
Blue was appropriately touched. "Ah, thanks, man."
"No problem, bro.”

“You're asking me to define an abstract concept that no one has managed to explain since time began. You sort of sprang it on me," Gansey said. "Why do we breathe air? Because we love air? Because we don't want to suffocate. Why do we eat? Because we don't want to starve. How do I know I love her? Because I can sleep after I talk to her. Why?”

When Adam kissed him, it was every mile per hour Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every window-down, goose-bumps-on-skin, teeth-chattering-cold night drive. It was Adam’s ribs under Ronan’s hands and Adam’s mouth on his mouth, again and again and again. It was stubble on his lips and Ronan having to stop, to get his breath, to restart his heart. They were both hungry animals, but Adam had been starving for far longer.

A day at Aglionby was a smash-cut slideshow of images that didn’t matter and conversations that didn’t stick. But the same day, spent at the Barns, proceeded with lazy aplomb, full of four times as many things. Reading in the window seat, old movies in the living room, lazy repairing of a slamming barn door. Hours took as long as they needed.

“Not today!” Artemus said. “No, thank you! Too many events this decade. Perhaps later! Cannot do the shock! Thank you for your time.”

She was not afraid of the dark, nor of the things in it. Fear was unworthy of her devotion; the rightness was.