First there's the moment when you think you think it.
Orla beats her to the front door.
"I'm coming," Blue hollers from upstairs when she hears the bell ring, swooping up her last spoon of yoghurt into her mouth, but when she races down the stairs, Orla's already standing in the hallway, one hand on the door frame. "I said I was coming," Blue says, a bit indignantly, and Orla turns to her with a devious grin.
"Your boy toy is here," she announces and behind her, Gansey flushes at the nickname. Blue rolls her eyes - she will not be made uncomfortable by Orla - and makes the few remaining steps to the front door.
"He's not my boy toy," she mutters as she shoves her cousin out of the way. Orla makes a sound and a rude gesture and moves to lean against the wall. Gansey stands outside, handsome as ever, despite the ridiculous but regular outfit, and cheerful as ever, despite the color of embarrassment staining his cheeks.
"Good day, Jane," he greets her with a smile. Blue doesn't yet know what to make of the wildflowers in his right hand. "Are you ready?"
She nods and shoves the cup of yogurt into his free hand. "Here. Your fruit bits. Let me just put on my shoes."
Blue turns around, meeting Orla's curious stare, which she very much plans to ignore, but he calls after her, "Wait. These are for you."
He gives her the flowers and she accepts them purely on reflex because for a moment she's not sure what to think. She stares at the flowers, like a curious oddity she's never seen before, then at him, then at the flowers again and then at him. She has not expected him to bring her flowers - why is he bringing her flowers?
"Me?" It's just a simple movie they are going to see - movies do not require flowers, as far as Blue knows. She's horribly confused.
Gansey glances uncomfortably in the general direction of Orla but gives her a nod. "I picked them myself." He sounds tremendously pleased to have gotten her something without using his credit card.
And then it hits her. Her mouth makes an embarrassing O shape as she slides her gaze from the wildflowers to the Pig parked outside, - and nope. No Adam or Ronan or Noah sitting in the car. It would just be the two of them.
Blue feels rather than hears Orla sniggering behind her back.
"Oh. Oh. I thought... I didn't realize the others weren't coming." She thinks back to their late night phone conversation a few days ago. Do you want to go to the movies? Was he asking her out then? Was she supposed to know?
Maybe yes, maybe she should have. But there wasn't anything different about the way he worded it, nothing exceptional about the moment, nothing strange. The only factor which could have alerted her to the importance of the question was his far too casual voice. But she hadn't paid any mind to it.
In any case, this is forbidden anyway. They shouldn't be going on a date, just the two of them in public, in daylight. But would she have really said no if she knew?
Gansey blinks at her slowly, a spoon of fruit - her spoon - halfway to his mouth. His blush returns. His embarrassment makes him look boyish and attainable and lovely. Blue thinks, no, I definitely wouldn't have said no.
He says, slowly choosing his words, "I'm sorry. I should have been more straightforward, it's my mistake. Let me try again. Do you want to go to the movies with me, without the presence of our other friends?" He gives her a sheepish but hopeful smile. Blue resists grinning back at him.
She takes a step forward and lowers her voice because she doesn't want Orla - who is still eavesdropping next to the wall - to hear her. "Is this a date?"
"Duh, dummy," comes Orla's voice from behind her. They both ignore her.
"Only if you want it to be."
Blue looks down at her flowers - poppies and daisies and forget-me-nots - and feels a little bit silly and senseless and flustered with giddiness. Is this love yet?
She holds up her flowers, unable to not smile but successfully keeping it small. "I'll put these in a vase, wait here."
Gansey's answering grin makes her heart ache in not an entirely unpleasant way.
There's the moment you think you know it.
"Wanna dance?"
Blue looks around self-consciously. Couples are slowly moving to the beat on the floor in their ball gowns and black tuxes, whispering to each other like only lovers do, because apparently it is that kind of party, the slow dancing kind of party, and Blue hadn't expected this when she agreed to attend Gansey's family's charity event.
She spots Gansey's parents dancing among other, most probably very important individuals, and wonders where Ronan and Adam are. This isn't a good idea, -
"It isn't a good idea," she tells him regretfully. She doesn't know if she's more afraid of his parents or their friends catching them or the betrayal of her own heart that would surely occur if he got too close to her.
He doesn't look discouraged. Maybe she's transparent enough for him to see that she does want to dance, maybe a little bit, maybe a lot.
"Adam and Ronan aren't around," he tells her gently but that is only part of the problem. His parents certainly are and if Mrs. Gansey's attitude during this long weekend was any indication, she would continue to like Blue only if she isn't romantically involved with her son.
Not that Blue cares. But what's the point in making the atmosphere unnecessarily awkward?
"And," Gansey continues, still talking about Adam and Ronan, "they don't care."
"They might."
He takes her hand, tugs gently. "They don't." His expression is of a little puppy, pleading and optimistic and all kinds of adorable, and fuck, she didn't think she would ever associate Gansey with the word adorable but here she is. She's lovesick and in love, maybe, and she can't bring herself to hate it.
She laces her fingers through his. "Let's dance."
There's the moment where you know you know it, but you can't yet say it.
"Don't you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!"
She glowers at Gansey as he dares to grin at her with uncharacteristic mischief, the cheeky bastard. She would be more angry if she wasn't such a fan of his smile but as it is, she's only vaguely frustrated. He's awfully pleased of himself.
"Come on, Jane, a little snow won't kill you." No, it won't, but her annoyance is based on principle alone. She's not in a good mood and she does not want to be cheered up - although, Gansey sure tries his hardest to. It's appreciated but unwanted; she's perfectly fine stewing in her anger at Orla a little while longer. She wants to be fueled by the fire in her veins; it's that or acknowledge the truth of what her cousin said, and Blue does not want to do that.
It's the middle of February. How long until Richie Rich bites the dust? Are you prepared for that?
Blue shakes her head. Gansey still has time. He's still here. And in any case, they are going to save him. Orla was just being cruel as usual.
To avoid thinking about this, Blue lets a smirk curve on her lips as she reaches down to gather snow in her own hands. "You asked for it, Dick, prepare to be defeated."
Somehow, after minutes or perhaps hours of chasing each other with snowballs like little children, they end up laying on the snow covered ground, next to each other, close, and out of breath. Blue lets her arm spread out on one side, moving it in synch with her leg to make half of a snow angel. She can feel Gansey watching her as she does, something terrible and profound about his expression. She turns to him.
"Come on. It's your turn."
He obeys silently, doing the same with his left limbs as she did with her right, never breaking eye contact. He completes her half of the snow angel and she thinks there's something poetic about that.
Gansey closes his eyes, his face hovering close. All she breathes is mint and the smell of worn paper. She likes it a little too much. He says, "If I never kissed you... could this still work?"
Blue swallows at the heaviness of his words. She wants to say yes, she wants the answer to be yes, but she honestly doesn't know. "I don't know."
He makes a noise in response, caught between mournful and frustrated - at the universe, she thinks, not at her - and shuffles closer. As if there's any closer. He still somehow manages it.
His eyes are still closed when he says, "If I only had to never kiss you to make this work, I would never kiss you, Blue."
He doesn't see the tears in her eyes, thankfully. She thinks of Orla's words, and no, she is not prepared at all, and she thinks, I love you and I can't lose you.
She thinks, I love you and I can't tell you. That's exactly what's going to get you killed.
When he opens his eyes, she's not crying anymore.
And then there's the moment where you know you know it, and you can't keep it in any longer.
"They're on their way." Blue doesn't want to cry because he's going to be fine, he's going to be fine, but she sees the red, itchy hives on his arm, she sees the way he can't seem to properly swallow, she sees his face swelling double its size, and those tears she tries to keep at bay come anyway. It hurts to watch him in pain. "They're going to be here soon, just... just hold on."
Hold on. As if he has any choice in the matter.
She breathes through her nose, slowly and evenly to regulate her heartbeat - she can't be panicking now, she can't be losing focus, someone has to keep Gansey calm and alive - but she doesn't dare take her eyes off him. His chest falls and rises with short, panicky gasps; there's something awful about the sound of his breathing, a struggle to breathe in air. His throat is swelling too. He's wheezing and half-delirious but he looks at her like she's the one thing grounding him in reality. Like she can save him, somehow. She tries not to let him see her racing thoughts.
He's going to be fine, I never even kissed him, he didn't ask me to, this isn't how it goes, why the fuck does he not have an EpiPen with him, why don't I, why is Ronan not answering his phone, when is the ambulance coming, shouldn't they be here, this is not happening, he's going to be fine -
Then it starts raining.
"No," Blue whispers, - whimpers, really - a chill running down her spine. No, this is not how it goes. She looks up at the sky as dark clouds roll in, thunder booming in the distance, heavy rain falling steadily on them out of nowhere. She feels like this storm is somehow not natural, not normal, a bad omen. She grips Gansey tighter as he chokes on air, struggling to breathe. She cries harder.
"Blue," he barely gets the word out or maybe he doesn't at all but she looks down on him and immediately shakes her head because she can see what he's asking. No.
"No. Gansey, no," she strokes his hair, murmurs in a broken voice, "You're going to be okay. It's going to be okay."
He's gasping, barely coherent. Each word is followed by a horrible wheezing sound. Blue wants to stop listening, stop watching, but she would not leave him alone when he's dying. "It's... nice... of you... to... say... that... but... don't let... your last words... to me... be... a lie."
Blue herself feels like she can't breathe. She doesn't know if it's the force of her tears or the inevitability of seeing the boy she loves die in her arms. Gansey looks at her with all the love in the world and she can't not say it. Not if this is her last chance. "I love you. I love you. That's not a lie."
He smiles, or tries to, she thinks, but it looks like a grimace. He opens his mouth, perhaps to return the sentiment, but the wheezing gets worse. He can't get out the words and she desperately presses her forehead against his, to feel skin to skin contact, to be closer to him, to keep him with her. Stay. You have to stay. She can't speak either.
Her tears run down her cheeks, falling on his, her breath skims his face, trying to breathe life into him, trying to breathe for him. He's not dead yet but Death looms behind them, waiting patiently in the background. She can feel its ever growing presence and her stomach twists in pain. The rain soaks them to the bone and it's harder and harder to breathe. For both of them.
He reaches for her, tugs on her hair to pull her down to his face, and she allows it, stopping an inch of his mouth. She knows what he wants, can see his eyes practically begging because he really thinks he's not going to be saved this time. We might as well, he seems to say.
Denial wants to tell her to keep being stubborn, to insist on not giving up hope, but desperation pleads her to kiss him. To feel his lips against hers one time. Just one time.
She gives in.
It's not much of a kiss. He can't breathe, his lips are puffy, she's sobbing against him. She can feel his last breath in her mouth. Feel his heart slow under her hands. Hear the sirens of the ambulance echo in the distance. They're too late, it's too late.
He's already dead in her arms.