"Hurt me?" Declan repeats, brows tugging together in puzzlement at that ridiculous suggestion.

Gansey's all pouty and sensitive now. The typical clingy virgin. Nothing more than that, nothing to tug at his heart, and he brushes back a wet, weighty feeling at the back of his throat, a sentimental guilt that wants him to stop lying for just one minute, but that's nothing. Lying is an instinct now, and crucial to his survival.

"You're not that big," he says, with a little smirk to dismiss it.

Easy to pop up his collar and leave. Task done, and if he leaves now, it'll be done between them. A one-time thing. Nothing to discuss ever again.

Picking up the fallen glass, Declan pours himself another drink. He keeps his back to Gansey as he pours, then drinks.