Blue doesn't miss the way his hands spread toward her for just a second, or the way her lungs fill, unfairly, with wanting him to reach out. She wants to press herself against his chest and tuck her face against his collarbone and breathe him in.
She also wants to break something, a little bit.
Blue manages a little smile. "Yeah, he -- kind of fucked up your room when you disappeared." She nods at the room he'd come out of. "And some other stuff." Other stuff, in this case, was mostly Ronan. She assumes Gansey will know that.
She closes her eyes when his hand fits to the curve of her shoulder, takes a breath and allows it. There has to be a way through this chasm, a way back to normal. He's here, and it's not fair to blame him that he doesn't remember all of this or that she hasn't lived the part where she was just with him. That she's spent months learning how to stop crying over a giant hole in the middle of everything and start living with it. It's not his fault.
But it sucks.
"What month was it?" A road trip could be Christmas break, she rationalizes, especially somewhere warm like Tulsa. It just sounds more like the thing you do in summer, but maybe it's because it's summer and she wants it. That's impossible. Gansey doesn't live past April, back home: he can't. Can he?
"I mean there's nothing," she says, and looks up at him. "You go to the edge, and you always end up driving or walking or swimming back to the beginning somewhere. Like a video game. No Wales. No Venezuela. No way back through the magic portal. Just this."
no subject
She also wants to break something, a little bit.
Blue manages a little smile. "Yeah, he -- kind of fucked up your room when you disappeared." She nods at the room he'd come out of. "And some other stuff." Other stuff, in this case, was mostly Ronan. She assumes Gansey will know that.
She closes her eyes when his hand fits to the curve of her shoulder, takes a breath and allows it. There has to be a way through this chasm, a way back to normal. He's here, and it's not fair to blame him that he doesn't remember all of this or that she hasn't lived the part where she was just with him. That she's spent months learning how to stop crying over a giant hole in the middle of everything and start living with it. It's not his fault.
But it sucks.
"What month was it?" A road trip could be Christmas break, she rationalizes, especially somewhere warm like Tulsa. It just sounds more like the thing you do in summer, but maybe it's because it's summer and she wants it. That's impossible. Gansey doesn't live past April, back home: he can't. Can he?
"I mean there's nothing," she says, and looks up at him. "You go to the edge, and you always end up driving or walking or swimming back to the beginning somewhere. Like a video game. No Wales. No Venezuela. No way back through the magic portal. Just this."