Chapter Text
“Seriously?” Adam says, his voice skirling upward, incredulous. “That sounds like my idea of hell. How can you even stand there and ask me?” He feels the familiar flush of agitation creeping up his neck, blooming on his ears.
Blue frowns. She had not expected him to say anything but yes. She sighs.
“Please, Adam?” There’s an undercurrent of irritation in her voice that she thinks she’s hiding.
He scrubs a hand through dusty hair that is shaggy and in need of a cut. He can't believe Blue sought him out after her costume meeting, that she didn't wait to ask him at home. He walks over to the workbench, his back to Blue, and returns the tools he's been using to his toolbox.
"I'm dying to go," she says quietly. Adam's hands rest on the workbench for a moment. "I can't afford those tickets, which - you’re aware. I know you're not invested in seeing Hamilton, but it would mean the world to me."
“He’s paying for all this, isn’t he?” Adam asks. He resumes gathering his tools.
Blue sighs again. “Yes. Of course. That bothers me a little.”
Adam huffs, and Blue huffs back.
“But - it’s Hamilton.” He’s sure Blue can hear his eyes rolling.
He turns around, leans his ass against the workbench, crosses his arms.
“Why are you letting him sponsor this experience? And why do I have to go?”
"I want to see this show. In New York. On Broadway," she says, the irritation surfacing. "If you go with me it's just - better. I want to go, but I'm not sure I want to be alone with him that long - or that I like the implications if I'm the only one who goes." She looks at the tools hanging on the shop wall behind his shoulder. He's fairly sure the main reason she wants him to go is so he won't be alone for two days in the city. She's made every effort to ensure he doesn't spend too much time by himself, especially if he has to walk anywhere.
“Any idea how much I detest the thought of being a third wheel in NYC for you and Richard Campbell Gansey III? At a Broadway show?”
“You won’t be a third wheel,” she tells him, “Gansey’s bringing someone, too.”
Adam frowns. “If there’s already someone else going, then surely my presence isn’t required.”
Blue shakes her head. "Your presence is absolutely required."
The discussion has gone from irritating to exasperating. "My presence is desired, but not required. Clearly. You'll be fine," Adam decides, turning back to his tools.
Her voice dips into petulance. “I won’t be fine,” Blue says behind him.
He feels her arms go around him from behind; her cheek lays against his back.
“Please,” she says against his tee shirt. “I need you, Adam.”
A realization presents itself to him. “You’re into Gansey, aren’t you?”
Blue whines pitifully.
“How is that possible?” He turns to face her again, mostly so she’ll stop hugging him.
“I’m not sure,” she admits, her brow creased, blushing slightly. “But I’m - intrigued. I want to see what happens. And I want to see Hamilton. And you have to go.” He knows she’d cut out her tongue before she’d make this about his safety.
“I can’t even -,” he starts, then remembers. “Who is Gansey bringing?”
~~~
Adam and Blue decided to stay in Boston for the summer after their freshman year of university, both unenthusiastic about returning to Henrietta after finally acclimating to life in a big city. Blue was interested in bigger experiences during the free time summer would allow her; Boston would certainly provide bigger experiences. Adam simply never wanted to go back.
Just before the end of the spring semester, Blue met Adam for lunch and told him about a summer program she'd discovered.
“Huh. Theatre,” Adam had said.
“For inner city kids, yeah,” Blue said, poking through her salad until she speared a mushroom. “This is the first production. Grease. I’m on the costume team.”
"So you're going to shred the T-Birds' leather jackets?" he asked, smirking before taking a huge bite of his burger.
"Ha," Blue said. "No, I'm assigned to costumes for two specific scenes." She thought for a moment. "I'm excited. Never really had time to indulge my interest in theatre before."
"Well," Adam drawled, his warm grin widening across his face. "You found the right opportunity. Good for you."
Two weeks after the end of the school year she came back to their tiny apartment following the first production meeting.
"So, I need to ask you for a favor," she said to him, sinking into the other lawn chair on their terrace, which was barely large enough to accommodate two lawn chairs. She scooped a spoonful of the yogurt she had brought with her. He slid the index card he used for a bookmark into the copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane he'd spent the evening reading.
“We’ve got a great production team, really great people,” she started. Her eyes snapped with excitement. “But there’s one spot we need to fill.”
“I’m no good at costumes,” he said, shaking his head, “You’ll need to find someone else.”
“Not costumes,” Blue said, “The car.”
"What?" he said, confused.
"We need someone with some expertise to build Greased Lightning. The car. It's an important piece of the show."
He breathed out a small laugh. "I do know what Greased Lightning is." He remembered the VHS copy of the movie he'd gotten at the thrift store when he was a kid.
He looked up at the night sky, forgetting all the light noise that blocked his view of the stars. “You’re asking me to build it?” he said, turning his gaze back to her, a note of doubt snaking through the question.
“Yes,” she said. “Would you be interested at all? Most of us are working on the show in the evenings. You’ve got time for that after your shifts at the garage, right?” She eyed the book in his lap; her question held a note of hope.
"Hmm," he said. "Maybe? Let me think about it, and I'll let you know tomorrow."
Blue smiled, her face aglow, around another spoonful of yogurt.
~~~
Blue yelped and pumped her fist in the air.
“You’re really on board?”
Adam nodded. “It happened kind of fast,” he said with half a smile. “Thanks for coaching me on using his last name.”
Richard Campbell Gansey. The third.
Blue told Gansey Adam might be interested in working on Greased Lightning; they’d met to discuss Adam’s involvement.
Gansey’s mother, the senator, funds the theatre program and Gansey’s been dispatched to run things. He's from an old-money family and looks it. Brown hair with the requisite expensive cut. Energetic hazel gaze. Coral polo shirt. Plaid shorts. Top-Siders. Top-Siders. Politeness thick enough to slice.
Adam's familiarity with that particular look had sharpened over the last year.
“He just finished his first year at Harvard, too,” Adam said.
“I think I knew that. Maybe?” Blue said. “I probably should have mentioned it.”
“It’s okay. We got around to that.”
They’d spent some time commiserating over a simultaneous first year before Gansey welcomed him to the team and invited him to the upcoming production meeting.
Which is where things almost went entirely to hell.