buy you a telescope so you can see (how good this could be), nate/serena, pg, 1/2
spring.
Serena makes face at him across the dining table, all formal with its starched tablecloth and four different forks at each place setting. Her hair is a curly mess, barely restrained by one of Blair’s headbands, and there’s a collection of freckles on her nose.
Nate likes to think he’s much older than her, since he’s been ten for two months and she’s still a lowly nine years old. Nate likes to think that he gets to make the decisions when they play, that he dictates the rules of the game, that she has to do what he says.
But Serena makes faces at him, scrunched up nose and goofy eyes and a stuck-out tongue, and Nate bursts out laughing without meaning to. He tries to stifle it but totally fails, ducking his head as he tries to stop. His mother shushes him, says, Nathaniel in her scolding voice
( ... )
buy you a telescope so you can see (how good this could be), nate/serena, pg, 2/2
autumn.
It’s windy and half-raining, leaves soggy on the sidewalks, when Serena tells him that she loves him.
Nate is supposed to be at an important event right now. Nate is supposed to be posing with fake smiles in pictures with his mother and grandfather. Nate is supposed to board a flight that evening, to go to London, to start a new job, to make something of himself. Nate is supposed to do all kinds of things.
But Serena’s standing there in her sweater that hangs down over her hands with her damp hair and her wet cheeks, raindrops or teardrops, maybe both. She’s standing there looking right at him and when she says, “I love you,” there’s something in her voice, all raw and honest, that tugs him toward her
( ... )
spring.
Serena makes face at him across the dining table, all formal with its starched tablecloth and four different forks at each place setting. Her hair is a curly mess, barely restrained by one of Blair’s headbands, and there’s a collection of freckles on her nose.
Nate likes to think he’s much older than her, since he’s been ten for two months and she’s still a lowly nine years old. Nate likes to think that he gets to make the decisions when they play, that he dictates the rules of the game, that she has to do what he says.
But Serena makes faces at him, scrunched up nose and goofy eyes and a stuck-out tongue, and Nate bursts out laughing without meaning to. He tries to stifle it but totally fails, ducking his head as he tries to stop. His mother shushes him, says, Nathaniel in her scolding voice ( ... )
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autumn.
It’s windy and half-raining, leaves soggy on the sidewalks, when Serena tells him that she loves him.
Nate is supposed to be at an important event right now. Nate is supposed to be posing with fake smiles in pictures with his mother and grandfather. Nate is supposed to board a flight that evening, to go to London, to start a new job, to make something of himself. Nate is supposed to do all kinds of things.
But Serena’s standing there in her sweater that hangs down over her hands with her damp hair and her wet cheeks, raindrops or teardrops, maybe both. She’s standing there looking right at him and when she says, “I love you,” there’s something in her voice, all raw and honest, that tugs him toward her ( ... )
Reply
this is all I want from them not Nate ending the series with a f'ing HIGH SCHOOLER.
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