_les mois filent comme le vent à la fac, dit Lévi. Surtout en première année. Il se passe des milliers de choses... Un mois de première année c'est six mois normaux. C'est un peu comme... Des mois de chiens, en fait!
- J'ai aidé à un accouchement de jumeaux, une fois, annonça Lévi. Des veaux. La vache a failli y passer.
Les yeux de Cath jaillirent presque de leurs orbites.
- Comment c'est arrivé?
- Parfois, quand un taureau rencontre une vache, ils s'entendent pas mal, alors...
“No," Cath said, "Seriously. Look at you. You’ve got your shit together, you’re not scared of anything. I’m scared of everything. And I’m crazy. Like maybe you think I’m a little crazy, but I only ever let people see the tip of my crazy iceberg. Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and socially inept, I’m a complete disaster.”
“It's okay if you're crazy," he said softly.
"You don't even know-"
"I don't have to know," he said. "I'm rooting for you.”
“I'd rather pour myself into a world I love and understand than try to make something up out of nothing.”
“I just want to know—are you rooting for me? Are you hoping I pull this off?"
Cath's eyes settled on his, tentatively, like they'd fly away if he moved.
She nodded her head.
The right side of his mouth pulled up.
"I'm rooting for you," she whispered. She wasn't even sure he could hear her from the bed.
Levi's smile broke free and devoured his whole face.”
“What's that thing you wrote about Simon once, that his eyes followed Baz 'like he was the brightest thing in the room, like he cast everything else into shadow'? That's you. You can't look away from him.”
“The professor leaned forward. “But there’s nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing.” Her lovely face turned fierce. “Think about it Cath. That’s what makes a god—or a mother. There’s nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself.”
“No, I know,” Levi said. “But it’s not you. You don’t push through every moment. You pay attention. You take everything in. I like that about you—I like that better.”
Cath closed her eyes and felt tears catch on her cheeks.
“I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.” He kissed her mouth. “Look at me.”
“I choose you over everyone.”
“Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object?”
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