Kys Quotes

Why?” Lon asks in a whine. “We spent half the summer marking these paths!” I think I see a faint smile on Ky’s face and I realize that he likes Lon. Who asks the questions no one else will ask even though he never gets an answer. It strikes me that this is a kind of bravery. A wearing-down kind of bravery, but bravery nonetheless.

That’s when I met Adelita.” “And what? Klan Romeo and Cartel Juliet fell madly in love?” Ky’s shitty attitude pissed me the fuck off.

That stunning fuckin’ smile. I ain’t ever seen you smile in the whole time you’ve been at the compound.” I lost my smile, then replied, “Because I do not have reason to smile very often.” Ky’s fingers began tracing the back of my hand. “Then you make a reason, Li. Don’t make excuses for living a shit life. It ain’t rocket science. You don’t like something, find something you do. Don’t like being around someone, stay the fuck away. Wanna change your life, then get off your ass, bitch and fuckin’ change it.

I do not have reason to smile very often.” Ky’s fingers begin tracking down the back of my hand. “Then you make a reason, Li. Don’t make excuses for living a shit life. It ain’t rocket science. You don’t like something, find something you do. Don’t like being around someone, stay the fuck away. Wanna change your life, then get off your ass, bitch and fuckin’ change it.” … “Fuck, I don’t ever get down, love my damn life, but looking at you through that window every night, as miserable as shit and glaring at us like we’re demons, even makes me wanna slit my wrists. And I’ll tell you now, I’m too fuckin’ pretty to die.

And don’t worry about the cookies for Ky’s class tomorrow. I already made the packaged ones. Trust me; them kids will enjoy them just the same, child.

kys

The stuff you know...' she mocked. 'Though you're still a pussy.' Thonius snorted, but he didn't deny it. Anyone shy of an Adeptus Astartes in full Terminator plate was a pussy compared to Patience Kys.

In Ky’s eyes is such complete love and hunger that it goes through me like the sharp, high note of a bird in the canyon, echoing all the way through my body. I am seen and known, if not yet touched. The

Burning the napkin with that part of his story on it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Like the books out at the Restoration site, like Grandfather’s poem, Ky’s story, bit by bit, is turning into ash and nothing.

But as I feel Ky’s fingers tighten around mine, I think how this is always the way he is, giving me something even when most would think there was nothing left to do but let go.

But Ky’s not your Match,” Xander says. “He can’t be, because—” “Because why?” I ask. Does Xander know about Ky’s status after all? How? “Because I am,” Xander says.

And then I picture my father closing the door gently but firmly and keeping me safe inside this house. Inside these walls where I have been safe for so long. But this house isn’t safe anymore, I remind myself. This house is where I first saw Ky’s face on a microcard. Where they searched my father. Is there a safe place anywhere in this Borough? In this City, this Province, this world?

Ky’s with us.

Kys (lovingly)

Saa kom Foraaret over dem med sit Tøbrudsunder, den store Lysbejler solen og de ydmyge Træer der tog mod kys og begyndte at svulme af knopper, Fuglesang og varme Nætter; saa de lange søde Sommerdage [...]; de korte lyse Nætter der begravede en aldrig fattet Rigdom i Sjælen og hvert Aar lagde en ny Rigdom til.

The cafe-bar was small, and lit by glow-globes so tar-stained they shone orange. Kys bought a thimble of sweet black caffeine and sat where I had instructed her. There were nine other customers, all middle-aged, sallow men in black clothing. They chatted in low, tired voices. Each one had ordered a large mug of foamed milk-caff. They seemed sinister. For a moment, I feared I’d directed Kys into a den frequented by some form of secret police. It was not so. Three doors down from the cafe-bar was the Elandra crematorium. The custom on Eustis Majoris was for sombre, evening funerals. The men were all paid mourners and hearse drivers, taking a respite during the long service before returning to perform their duties on the way to the wake. They sipped cheap amasec and grain liquor covertly from cuff-flasks, and smoked short, fat obscura sticks with hardpaper filters. When they departed, the cooling milk-caffs were left untouched on their benches. The bar owner cleared them without a shrug. The mourners were regulars, the untouched caffeines their way of paying for a seat out of the evening chill.

can’t see over the tears clouding my vision. Large watery drops mark the page where my tears fall. I bury my head in Ky’s chest, needing the feel and smell of him to ground me before I can resume reading. He holds me wordlessly, knowing exactly what I need without me having to say it.