It had gone three by the time they fell asleep, but Adam woke up again before another hour had passed. This time, it wasn't Ronan who woke him but the cold breeze. Even if he was eternally grateful for being able to stay at St. Agnes, Adam couldn't deny that it was freezing at night, and lying there naked (even with Ronan's body heat) was a very uncomfortable thing (Not to mention the aching in his backside).

He rolled over. Usually, he'd cling to Ronan to conserve body heat but Ronan hadn't been getting much sleep recently. He couldn't bear it if he woke his boyfriend up with his freezing skin.

The light was scarce in the tiny attic room, but what little there was illuminated the floor. Clothes were strewn across the floor where they had been haphazardly thrown last night. Adam vaguely remembered dropping his shirt next to the bed. Pulling away from the warmth of the blankets, he scooted over to the edge of the bed and fumbled around trying to find it.

Eventually, his fingers closed around a soft fabric which he pulled up and over his head. Not bothering to check if it was his, or the right way round, he turned back to Ronan. He snuggled up to him, letting himself drift off to sleep.

When Ronan woke that morning, the first thing he noticed was the slight breathing sound, coming from a heavy wait on his chest. The second thing he noticed was his obvious nakedness. The third thing he noticed was that Adam clearly wasn't naked. None of these things were all that interesting, but then he glanced down at Adam. Adam, sweet, gentle, careful Adam who gave off an air of being unassuming and naïve, yet probably knew more about the trials of life more than anyone. Adam, who was lying on Ronan's stomach and snoring gently. Adam, who was wearing Ronan's shirt.

He was beautiful in the early hours of the day, with sunlight dusting over his features which –for once- weren't covered by worry. Heck, he beautiful always, but at times like this Ronan felt blessed. This sweet, scared, scarred angel was his. And this sweet, scared, scarred angel was wearing his fucking shirt oh holy mother of-

Adam shifted in his arms, and yawned. "R-Ro? You 'wake?" he mumbled into Ronan's collarbone.

"You're wearing my shirt."

"Oh? Am I? Sorry… I w's tired…. last night." he murmured again.

"Don't be. It looks- eh, it looks…. It's kind of hot, Ad."

Adam gave a little giggle then shifted in his arms again before giving a hiss of pain. This time it was Ronan who laughed. "You still sore?"

Adam didn't dignify that with an answer, just rolled over and groaned. Ronan smirked. "You feel like getting up yet?" clearly that was too soon, as Adam just groaned and lay face down on the bed.

"Not likely. Not freaking likely Ronan." His breathing slowed down again, and Ronan instinctively knew that he was about to drop off to sleep. Ronan smiled down at him.

These moments were pure bliss. These moments with Adam where they could just lay down and be themselves were what Ronan lived for. No school, no magic, no anything. There was just Adam, Ronan and the bed. Pure, happy bliss.