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dead air (chainshipping one shot)

Word Count: 3275 Ship: Chainshipping/Lawrence x Adam Synopsis: All Adam hears is dead air. AO3 Link

@sawsummerbingo “summer storms”

THE DOOR CREAKED JUST AS THE FIRST THUNDER CRASHED. It rumbled low before bursting into an overdramatic explosion, reminding Adam of the radio static he’d go to sleep to as a child. It was so familiar, it was easy to ignore.

“Hear that?” Lawrence poked his head into the living room with a grin. “Just in time! Again!”

Adam pulled back from where he was dozing against the desk. “I can see that.”

Chuckling, he came over and wrapped his arms around Adam from behind, nuzzling his face into Adam’s neck. Always the same, the of his heart was as monotonous as he wanted.

“I hope your day wasn’t too bad this time.” He squeezed Adam close.

Adam rested his head on Lawrence’s shoulder. “It was fine.”

“Did you get your chores done?”

He looked away. “No, I, uh, I forgot. Well— I got busy.”

“Busy?” Lawrence raised an eyebrow. “With what?”

“Sleeping?” He laughed nervously.

Lawrence frowned, and Adam prickled.

“I’m fine, Lawrence, honestly.”

He sighed. “Okay. If you’re sure. Come on, let’s make dinner. It’s entirely too late for your first meal of the day.”

Adam huffed.

They got to the kitchen. Lawrence hummed as he looked through the cabinets. “What do you want, love?”

“Uhh, mac n cheese?”

“Adam, you’ve eaten boxed mac n cheese three nights in a row.”

“So?” He crossed his arms. “It’s good.”

He came over to lean across the bar and kiss Adam’s face. He leaned his elbows against the counter, chin in his hands.

“Why do you do this?”

Laughing, Adam asked, “Do what?”

“Any time I try to take care of you, you brush me off.” He ran a hand through Adam’s hair, who sighed into his touch. “Don’t you think we’re a little past that?”

His eyes darted away. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Lawrence watched him for a moment, expecting, before he pulled away and chatted with him about dinne— mostly one-sided. There was a gnawing in Adam’s chest, some kind of ache in his fingertips. The light hit Lawrence at the stove in such a domestic way, he almost grabbed his camera.

Then he didn’t.

The next morning, Lawrence got up early to get ready for work. Adam peeked up from his nest of blankets and pillows. There was a panda from his childhood that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. It used to be the size of his head, but he’d grown, and the bear was now small, and worn. As a kid, he’d lay there and clutch Mr. Applesauce, listening to the dead air. Now there were birds, cars rushing by. Lawrence whispering in his ear. Still, all there was, was dead air.

Lawrence pulled open the curtains, and Adam winced. His heart raced and his skin buzzed. He blocked the horrific thing with a quick sweaty palm, pulling the blanket to his hair.

“Adam, honestly,” Lawrence sighed.

“What? It’s bright.”

“You’re so overdramatic.”

Despite his heart pulsing in his throat, he stuck his tongue out at Lawrence then said, “And?”

Adam decided to get up with him this time. Lawrence was so excited he hugged Adam and made his favorite breakfast, brown sugar waffles with Lawrence’s favorite fancy blueberry syrup, and bacon.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Adam insisted. “Aren’t you going to be late now?”

He waved a hand. “I have my pager and it’s not nearly as late as you think it is.”

Adam glanced at the clock. 7am. Groaning into hands, he said, “There’s still so much day left.”

“And isn’t that the beauty of it all?” Lawrence took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Nothing like an unexplored day.”

“You’re a dork.”

Lawrence kissed him before he left for work, and told him, “Try to do something today, okay? Don’t just sit around.” He stammered for a brief moment before adding, “I’m worried about you.”

He left before Adam could respond. Sighing, he locked the door.

The sun was far too bright. It burned the surface of his skin, made his legs twitch like he had to run. Once he closed the curtains, he felt better. Less panicked.

It took a while for him to do anything but lay in bed. He’d gotten back under the covers less than a half hour after Lawrence left, and it took him hours to find the motivation to stand. He felt wobbly, like a stack of Jenga blocks ready to topple.

After watching TV and dozing for an hour or so, he rolled off the couch and wandered into the kitchen for some apple juice. He stopped in the doorway. The polaroid camera he’d left on the kitchen bar a month ago stared him down. It threatened to break if Adam didn’t use it, and soon. His stomach lurched.

He left without his juice. Pulling the covers over his head, nothing could be done about the nightmares twisting his brain. There was nothing but bathwater and hacksaws.

It’d been almost half a year since he was released from the hospital. Not long enough, in his book. Fear still had its claws in him, and he was always looking over his shoulder— even when he was alone. His hands trembled and he kept pressing his back to the wall lest he explode. He was certain someone was in the apartment, whispering in the back of his mind that he was crazy.

Lawrence got home as Adam was vomiting into the toilet. He dropped his things and ran to him, rubbing Adam’s back and talking him through it. Adam’s nails cracked against the porcelain. His skin was numb as he laid in Lawrence’s arms over the bathroom floor he was meant to clean a week ago, guilt gnawing at his throbbing eyes.

Lawrence poured him his missing apple juice and started putting together a sandwich.

“Lawrence—”

He pulled the knife from the sandwich to aim it at Adam. “Don’t.”

He held up his hands. “Jesus, you don’t need to threaten me!”

“You need fluids, sustenance. Don’t argue with me.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed.

Lawrence sat across from him as Adam ate.

“Do you know why you threw up?”

“No.”

“Well, did you eat today?”

Shifting, Adam said, “Uh, no. Not before now.”

Lawrence’s eyebrows raised. “And have you had any water?”

“Nah.” He cleared his throat. “Do you have to do this?”

Lawrence pursed his lips. Something about Lawrence’s disappointment was like coffee gone cold. Adam let it sit.

“I have something for you,” Lawrence finally said, “a job.”

He pouted. “I have to get a job now?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. It made Adam smile. “No, dear. It’s a one-off photography job. For your portfolio.”

Adam drummed his fingers along the granite countertop. “Hm. What kind of job? What would I be photographing?”

“A coworker of mine adopted an elderly dog. She wants a photoshoot with him.”

Adam perked up. “What is his name?” He sang.

He laughed, kissing the side of his head. Taking Adam’s plate, he took it to the sink and washed it as they spoke. “Lamb.”

“Lamb? Oh my God, shut the fuck up. What kind of dog is he?”

“A boxer. Pure-bred, too.”

“Woah.” He crossed his arms.

Growing up, there was a pure-bred boxer across the street— the only one Adam had ever known. She was a stocky girl, with little legs and a broad torso. Her head was the size of a watermelon. She was a crazy thing, all jumping and running and playing soccer— she was smart enough for her owner, Princess, to teach her how to‘defend her goal’ and kick it back. Princess let Adam play with her sometimes. He always tripped over the ball.

“Okay, when is it?”

“So you want it?” Lawrence beamed. “She wants to meet up Monday, after work. Can we do that?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Lightning cracked across the kitchen window. Adam’s body sagged and he smiled.

“Another night in.”

“Thank God. I don’t want any excuse to go out.”

They trudged to the couch in equal exhaustion and Adam knelt to take off Lawrence’s prosthetic. Lawrence put his leg up on a pillow atop the low coffee table, and Adam cuddled into his side. The storm roared outside. Lawrence messed with the radio, but nothing would play.

“Stupid signal,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry dear, the rain must hate us.”

“That’s okay,” he laughed.

They laid together. Lawrence pulled Adam closer and kissed him. Resting his hands on his shoulders, Adam gripped onto him as his mind muted all but the storm. There was a dichotomy Adam enjoyed— the calm of the rain and the thunder and Lawrence’s company. Nothing relaxed him quite like nights such as these. Yet, there was a rush just beneath, running under his skin with the ferocity of the wind. When this was all gone, would Adam survive it?

“Hey.” Lawrence pulled away just enough to brush his hair back and meet his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted.”

“I’m just… tired.” He forced a plastic smile. “I’m really tired.”

When Lawrence had to leave Monday morning, he hesitated by the door. “You’re sure you don’t need me to stay. Right?”

“Yes. Yes, Lawrence. Go on.”

He kissed him. “I really hope you’re serious.”

Adam scowled around the apartment. How was it so obvious? It had thus far eluded everyone in his life. Now that he’d like to hide it, it couldn’t be concealed? It wasn’t fair.

The first time Adam wanted to kill himself, he was in 5th grade. He wasn’t used to walking to school and some of the other kids noticed. He’d never been very well-liked. Not really kind, not very interesting. The idea of sticking up for himself used to make his eyes wet. So when the words or the fists hit, he let them, then sat in the bathroom and cried when the teachers asked where the bruises came from. Seven years later the system spit him onto the road and didn’t warn him about the traffic.

He was asleep when Lawrence got home. Confused, he examined the disgustingly-sunlit living room.

“It’s not raining yet?”

Lawrence laughed and straightened from waking Adam from his couch nap. “No. It doesn’t seem it will today. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” He yawned. “I just need a drink or something first.”

He stood, and the world got so bright he couldn’t think or see, his first ever image of Lawrence flashing in his mind like headlights. A rush, then he hit something soft. When his presence returned, he couldn’t breathe, and Lawrence called from across the bathroom as Adam’s nails dug into his arms.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he was yelling. “It’s okay, baby, you almost passed out. It’s okay, my love, you’re alright.”

He blinked away the tile. Raising his head with a numb face, he took in the apartment. The apartment.

It was just an apartment.

“I almost what?” He asked dumbly.

Lawrence brushed his sweaty hair back. “Passed out.” Had he been speaking this quietly the entire time? “You almost fainted. Tell me you ate today.”

Clearing his throat, he sat up. “I’m fine.”

Following Adam on his journey for water, Lawrence insisted, “That’s not what I asked! Did you eat today?”

He glared over his glass. “What do you think, Lawrence?”

Lawrence pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth to say something, probably argue, before he shook his head.

“Come. We’re going to be late.”

Going up to meet Ada, his heart was in his fingertips, his lips dry. He wanted nothing more than to go home. The radio in the car played some soft folk song. Lawrence mumbled along to it as he turned the wheel, occasionally sparing a worried glance in Adam’s direction. Adam sank lower in the seat. Out the window, they passed a massive hill that overlooked not just the main road, but the crops, flower fields, and woods surrounding. It must be beautiful up there, where no one would bother you about if you ate or what you were doing tomorrow. Beautiful and lonely.

When they arrived, they both put on a face. Part of Adam knew Lawrence’s gentle hand on his back, the praise of his work, was all genuine. But the dominating part refused. No, this was some kind of plea— plea that it will work out, just as Adam himself always begged.

He lost himself in the pictures. The more time went on, though, his body seemed to shift, the heart-pumping becoming exhilaration and the sweaty palms becoming experience. He clicked the button until a pile of Polaroids were out for the choosing.

“Alright, since it’s by the hour just take what you want. The rest will go in my portfolio, so don’t worry about waste.”

She grinned, petting Lamb with a soft hand. “These are all so lovely… you really have a talent.”

His face was hot. “Well, uh— thank you.”

Lawrence beamed. “I told you! He’s the best artist I know.”

“I’d say his photography might even challenge José’s painting,” she joked, and Adam pretended to know who that was.

“José is overrated,” Lawrence said firmly. “Everyone in the hospital is crazy for José’s work. Don’t get me wrong— it’s magnificent. But nothing can compare to my Adam.”

He was red down to his fingertips. My Adam. Someone who didn’t plan to stay did not talk like that, that Adam was certain. Another puzzle for him to solve.

Ada took the polaroids she liked and Adam bagged up the rest. On the way home, Lawrence held his hand.

“So you’re going to get back into it, right?”

Adam sighed. “It was just a job.”

“But you had fun, didn’t you?”

“Lawrence.”

“I’m just saying, if you had fun, you should keep doing it.” He watched a sky blue car zip by, well over the speed limit, and grimaced. The roads were packed today. “And if you didn’t, well, maybe you just need more time with it, remind yourself why you love it.”

“Why do you care if I take stupid photos or not?”

“Because they’re not stupid,” he insisted. “They make you happy.”

Lawrence slowed as they approached the blue mini van, trapped behind two more vehicles blocking both lanes. Its engine revved. He peered around a couple different directions to see what was going on.

“I don’t need it.”

“It’s not about whether you need it or not, Adam. It’s about— hold on.”

He grit his teeth, eyes narrowed on the road as the car ahead inched forward, mini van right on both vehicles’ asses. Lawrence tried to keep his distance. Once the cars all began to speed up, he pressed gently on the accelerator.

“All I’m saying is you need something in this life to make you happy, something in your control. And— fuck.”

The blue mini van swerved and Lawrence slammed on the accelerator to try and get between the cars on time. Mini van forcing itself between the front two cars, the one on the left lane dragged to the right. Adam’s heart jumped into his throat. Lawrence’s arm holding Adam like a seatbelt, their car yanked in the other direction, nearly slamming headfirst into the mini van— they must have spun around. Adam gasped as something cracked against his side.

His arm burst into crawling numbness. Then the pain set in.

He cried the whole time— in the car, in the hospital, and harder when they told him it was broken. The resentment rooted deep in his stomach flourished like a night time flower. When they got home, Adam went to bed.

It was a long two months. It was his dominant arm, so Lawrence called out of work for a few days to help him adjust. He had to learn how to eat, draw, use the television all without his right hand. He tried to focus on Lawrence’s car, but unfortunately, it only needed a couple of repairs, all covered by insurance. There was no hiding from the attention.

A lot of time was spent trying to use his camera despite his arm, and he learned how to kind of hold it by the end, but at the expense of many drops to the hard ground. Lawrence kept telling him he was going to break it. Adam just snapped at him and tried again. He became so frustrated at times he’d do nothing but lay in bed. By the time the cast was ready to come off, he’d grown to resent the craft once more.

He laid in bed the night it was taken off. Lawrence let him put the radio on to help him sleep. There was no rain, no static. Just some soft pop song that grated his ears. Lyrics about something that was too heavy to hold cuddled him close. There was something appealing about the pain, yet those days were behind him.

He carefully got out of bed. The moon spilled in from the window. It glowed just the same as the sun, pretty and graceful and entirely too bright. He drew the curtain.

Touching the smooth surface of his camera, he examined the lens, the buttons, the neck strap. Numbness spread. He tried to remember what made him fall in love with it. Tried to re-feel the pain that nursed it. There were high school dances, pills and armchairs, skipped meals to remind him. Nothing was tangible.

One day, on the way to the grocery store, they passed the hill Adam saw the day he took pictures of Lamb. It wasn’t too sunny today. The storms rolled overhead, gray and layered like a painting. He couldn’t help but wonder what it’d look like in film.

It was something that haunted him for days. It didn’t rain. No thunder, no lightning. Not until Friday, when Adam could crack his elbow without it hurting— though it did sound different now. Lawrence had the day off when the rain finally drizzled against the window.

“We gotta go.” His heart was racing— he grabbed his camera. What the hell was he doing? “Come on!”

He hurried to help Lawrence put on his prosthetic. They rushed to the car, as much as Adam would like to walk, and Adam told him to go to the hill, but not why. He stumbled out of the car and started climbing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lawrence laughed.

“Stay there!” He almost fell. “Keep your phone on you!”

He was sweaty by the time he scrambled to the top. Lawrence waved to him, and Adam waved back. Thunder rumbled.

It was prettier than Adam could have imagined. Miles and miles of outstretched fields and flowers like Mother Nature bringing love to humanity. Lawrence was the centerpiece, small as he was.

Adam called him to instruct him on where to go and what to do. Lawrence did it happily, caught forever in Adam’s film. He came down with an empty harness.

“You used it all?” Lawrence laughed.

Adam mused through the photos as Lawrence drove. There was a knot in Adam’s stomach on the main road.

“What? It was pretty.”

“What happened to not wanting to do photography?” He asked curiously.

Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “I’m not sure yet. I just wanted to see.”

Resting a hand on Adam’s knee, Lawrence smiled at the road. He reached for the radio.

Adam grabbed his hand.

Glancing at him, Lawrence asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He laced their fingers and tipped his head back, eyes closed. “I just want it quiet for a moment.”

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