and Blue looks up from where she's pouring batter into the pan. This is how this goes: Noah makes batter, she helps pour, he serves: pouring is the easy part, but it still feels like helping. (Also, she can do what she's doing right now, which is turning the pancakes into shapes.)
"Wrong city," she says, turning, smiling but her stomach already tightening around the out-of-context, unplanned-ness of the word.
Everything after that seems to happen at once, or slowed down, out of order in Blue's consciousness. A pan is dropped, Ronan at the table goes stiff. Someone laughs, or has already laughed, too loud.
Gansey walks into the kitchen, shirtless and pressing a thumb to his lips because of course, and because he's Gansey, as if she hasn't spent the last four months figuring out how to fill the gap he left behind.
Unbidden, the way she signed off on the last letter she dropped in the Mailbox comes to mind. Find your way back to me someday -- Jane. It sparks a sort of weird panic, as though everything she's said to that box has made it to its recipient.
There's something different about him than the way she last saw him. (Besides lacking a shirt, sort of adorably like he just rolled out of bed for breakfast.) He's different; a little tanner, very slightly more relaxed around the eyes even though right now he's calculating and anxious.
"You look different," she says out loud, and shakes her head because it's stupid, it's stupid, and all of a sudden her eyes are filling with tears.
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and Blue looks up from where she's pouring batter into the pan. This is how this goes: Noah makes batter, she helps pour, he serves: pouring is the easy part, but it still feels like helping. (Also, she can do what she's doing right now, which is turning the pancakes into shapes.)
"Wrong city," she says, turning, smiling but her stomach already tightening around the out-of-context, unplanned-ness of the word.
Everything after that seems to happen at once, or slowed down, out of order in Blue's consciousness. A pan is dropped, Ronan at the table goes stiff. Someone laughs, or has already laughed, too loud.
Gansey walks into the kitchen, shirtless and pressing a thumb to his lips because of course, and because he's Gansey, as if she hasn't spent the last four months figuring out how to fill the gap he left behind.
Unbidden, the way she signed off on the last letter she dropped in the Mailbox comes to mind. Find your way back to me someday -- Jane. It sparks a sort of weird panic, as though everything she's said to that box has made it to its recipient.
There's something different about him than the way she last saw him. (Besides lacking a shirt, sort of adorably like he just rolled out of bed for breakfast.) He's different; a little tanner, very slightly more relaxed around the eyes even though right now he's calculating and anxious.
"You look different," she says out loud, and shakes her head because it's stupid, it's stupid, and all of a sudden her eyes are filling with tears.