“Kiss me.” Blue/Gansey, TRC
Blue didn’t think she’d ever wanted a kiss as much in her life as much as she wanted one from this boy, sitting on the floor of his attic-loft-workshop, painstakingly painting a piece of his model of their eerie little town.
She’d been warned, omens rained down upon her head by everyone in her house, and still she yearned. Yearning was a word filled with a particular shape and size of desire, and Blue dreamed to herself in the middle of the night in her bed, wishing Ronan could dream her someone she couldn’t hurt with the softness of her mouth.
Gansey had asked her, even after she told him, pled with her so prettily and so earnestly. He couldn’t seem to see that he was thin-skinned and glass-hearted, a shiver and a crack away from so much nothing, and then where would they all be? A loose assortment of dandelion seeds on the wind, and wasn’t that just the worst sort of ending?
“Kiss me,” he had said to her so naively, and she was tempted, so tempted. But she knew that he had asked her because boys are always selfish and even Richard Campbell Gansey III was sometimes a boy, after all.