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butterfly culture


They were driving east, toward the mountains.
Blue turned on the radio and messed with Gansey's music until she found something worth playing loudly. Then she wrestled down her window so that the air screamed over her. It was too cold for that, really, but Gansey reached in the backseat without taking his eyes off the road and dragged his overcoat to the front. She put it on, shivering when the silk linning chilled her bare legs. The collar smelled of him.
They didn't speak.
The radio tripped and waltzed. The car roared. The wind buffeted inside the cab. Blue put her hand on top of Gansey's and held it, white-knuckled. There wasn't anthother sould on the road but them.

15 tracks