#blueseyedit

Blue, Bluesey & Crystal Clear

Right after he spoke, Blue threw her arms tightly around his neck. Right after he spoke, she pressed her face into the side of his. Right after he spoke, she held him like a shouted word. Love, love, love.

— “I wish you could be kissed, jane,’ he said. ‘because I would beg just one off you. under all this.’ he flailed an arm toward the stars. 

i suppose... she makes me quiet. like henrietta.

Right after he spoke, Blue threw her arms tightly around his neck. Right after he spoke, she pressed her face into the side of his. Right after he spoke, she held him like a shouted word. Love, love, love.

"Blue," he warned, but his voice was chaotic. This close, his throat was scented with mint and wool sweater and vinyl car seat, and Gansey, just Gansey.

"What care is it of yours," he asked, "what I think of Orla?"      This felt dangerous, for some reason.                                                                       [ . . . ]      Blue held his gaze, unflinching. Crisp, she replied, "None at all."      And it was a lie.      It should not have been, but it was, and Gansey, who prized honesty above nearly every other thing, knew it when he heard it. Blue Sargent cared whether or not he was interested in Orla. She cared a lot. As she whirled toward the truck with a dismissive shake of her head, he felt a dirty sort of thrill.