18.
8.3.11
Blueberry Cream
RoseLysander
glory, model, incandescent
Lysander was a sunshine swirl, all sun-kissed skin and golden hair that was almost incandescent in direct light, and those ohsodeep eyes of his were like twin blueberries on his face. Rose tried not to stare, she really did, but it was like her eyes just sought him out before she even knew he was there and—girl, don't you bother with him, he'd never have you anyway. He was a model of perfection, Adonis reborn in all his glory. Lysander, he was special, different, the cream of the crop that was all the other stupid, boring boys.
But that's not why she told herself not to stare whenever he was around. It was because she knew there was no chance. Rose was the girl next door, normal and plain and unassuming. She'd be cast in shadow by the rays emanating from that swirl of sunshine. He was too handsome, too smart, too everything for her. He would never even spare her a second glance.
Rose's hopes were fragile things so she kept them as low as she could and tried her hardest not to stare at that blinding Lysander and his blueberry eyes.