Inside the farmhouse, everything was in black and white. The air was stained permanently with the pleasant odor of Ronan’s childhood: hickory smoke and boxwood, grass seed and lemon cleaner.

“I remember,” Gansey said thoughtfully to Ronan, “when you used to smell like this.”

“It feels the same as when you guys lived here,” Gansey said finally. “It seems like it should be different.”

“Did you come here a lot?” Blue asked.

He exchanged a glance with Ronan. “Often enough.”

the problem with wanting (is that it makes us weak) | a darkling/alina from the grisha trilogy mix | [listen on 8tracks]

1. skin, blooms 2. lose your soul, dead man’s bones 3. devil inside, london grammar 4. carter (cut), arthur beatrice 5. iron (acoustic), woodkid 6. night time, the xx 7. in the room where you sleep, dead man’s bones 8. the wolves (act i & ii), bon iver 9. falling, catching, agnes obel 10. no rest for the wicked, lykke li

What a strange, shifting person he was. The Gansey who turned to her now was a world away from the lofty boy she’d first met. Without any hesitation, she stretched her arms around his neck. Who was this Blue? She felt bigger than her body. High as the stars. He leaned toward her — her heart spun again — and pressed his cheek against hers. His lips didn’t touch her skin, but she felt his breath, hot and uneven, on her face. His fingers splayed on either side of her spine. Her lips were so close to his jaw that she felt his hint of stubble at the end of them. It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.

Oh, help, she thought. Help, help, help.

He pulled away. He said, “And now we never speak of it again.”