let's go out with a bang

Koa

Of the many titles Koa'd dreamed of holding, Nomad was never one. Yet here he is, cast between homes and goals and aspirations, trapped in a weird sort of static flux. The Greatwood, Halo, and now King's End - Koa feels like he's travelled more this season than the entirety of his life before. And while once he'd dreamed of the outside world, chafed against smooth stone and familial obligation, now he finds himself feeling unmoored.

For a boy who'd grown up in a floating city, he's never felt less grounded than he has these past months.

As always, Koa cuts a handsome figure as he perches at a high table in a corner of the bar. Dressed in a black leather jacket, white tee, and dark jeans, he's drawn his fair share of attention, and studiously ignored it all. He'd come to the House for drinks, not company - and besides, he has a date to plan, if he doesn't fucking chicken out. Though as of now none of his ideas seem even close to good enough, and the pressure is beginning to wear him down.

Huffing out his aggravation, Koa glares down at his notebook, the eraser of his pencil tapping a tempestuous pattern against the tauntingly empty page.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

Flora pushes through the door of the House of Midnight, keen for something both sweet and biting to soften her edges a little. She’s dressed down, for her. Just jeans and a white crop top, a little loose from wear, but the sun has kissed her collarbones bronze and the dip of her waist still flashes like an invitation when she moves. Her gold jewelry catches the candlelight in the way only real gold does—stacked rings, knotted chains, little sea-glass beads and gleaming charms that mark her like a compass trying desperately to point home. The bar smells like cedar smoke and cloves, low candlelight gilding the stone walls, and the familiar hush of conversation hums around her like it always does. She knows this place—it’s safe, familiar, a little haunted in the good kind of way—but the second her eyes land on him, on Koa, all that comfort rips out of her chest like breath knocked from her lungs.

Still too handsome for his own good. Still looking like he belongs in some godsdamned romantic ballad with that brooding posture and the glint of gold in his jacket zipper. He’s hunched over a notebook like the world’s trying to crush him into the page, and Flora spins on her heel so fast she nearly walks straight into a waitress.

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Insert the gif of godzilla walking into the sea.

But her hand tightens on the bar, fingers curling around the edge as if to steady herself. He hadn’t even looked at her in the Greatwood. Hadn’t wanted to. And now, now he was with Soh and gods but they both deserved so much more from her than selfish cowardice.

So, Flora sucks in a sharp breath, flags the bartender with a nod, and when the shot lands in front of her she doesn’t even ask what it is before tossing it back. It burns like a declaration of love gone unreciprocated. With a cough she steps off her stool, skirts the tables with slow, measured steps, and stops just beside Koa’s. She doesn’t wait for him to look up; doesn’t give herself the chance to change her mind. "Sohalia told me," she says, voice brittle and too bright, like sunlight on shattered glass. Her gaze fixes somewhere just over his head. "And not that you need my blessing or anything, but… I hope it works out for you. For both of you."

The words hit the air and are already halfway to burning when she turns—too fast, too sharply—because something is rising in her throat and gods she is not going to cry in this fucking bar.

Koa

Koa doesn't notice Flora, though the rest of the bar certainly does. Even dressed down and wan from trauma, the Doubletake lives up to her name. Eyes follow her wherever she goes, some of them glancing, some of them subtle, some of them staring with open admiration, or envy, or lust, or awe. She's the kind of woman who commands attention no matter where she goes.

She's certainly always commanded his, from the moment they first met.

Maybe it's not that he doesn't see her, so much as he doesn't want to. Does Koa really not catch the shifting glances, or is the soldier trained in situational awareness truly that focused on the empty page of his book, on the words that refuse to form in his mind as he ignores a whiff of sweet-and-spice perfume that honestly anyone could be wearing, even if he's never smelled anything like it on anyone but her? Even when Flora's stopped beside him, all golden sunlight in the periphery of his vision, Koa doesn't immediately look up. Maybe if he ignores it, it'll go away? It's been his usual go-to, and it works quite well - or had, before his problems all became beautiful and blonde.

He can't ignore the brittle voice, or the first word it says. Koa's head swivels so quickly his eyes have to catch up; he blinks at Flora, mouth half-open, utterly at a loss for what to do with this. "Uh," he says first, dumb and baffled, his voice fraying as it catches on gravel. He clears his throat, half-shakes his head, and then tries again. "Thank.... you?" The pencil's anxious tapping has stilled, but his grip upon it has become a stranglehold; it's a toss-up if it or his hand will break first.

Having bestowed her blessing like the most mystifyingly obsequious of fairy godmothers, it seems that Flora is ready to move onto the next page of her evening and leave Koa to his. And Koa ought to allow it, to take the approval at face value and not tempt Flora fate any further, especially when he's quite literally in the middle of planning a romantic tryst with her best friend.

But Koa has never exerted especially good judgment where women are concerned, and so he finds himself blurting out that "Kai told me about what happened," before he has a chance to stop it, to clamp his jaw and still is tongue and remind himself that it's not his problem, that he needs to move right the fuck on. Flora'd made her choices, and he has (will have?) Soh, and even if he wants to be there for the Doubletake, he doesn't know how, or if he even should.

But he cannot hide the concern he feels. It's evident in his expression, in the way his hands flex and close, in the openness of his body language that despite his better judgment is inviting her to stay. "Are you... okay?" Koa asks of Flora, because that's the kind of idiot he is. The kind who asks his ex if she's okay and really wants an answer. The kind who doesn't know how to quit, even when he's so far behind that the other racers have already lapped him, leaving footprints on his battered body as he crawls through the dirt.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

There’s a long silence after Koa's voice stops her in her tracks far too gently, after that maddening, impossible question she has no real answer for turns her back around. Flora doesn’t look at him right away. She just stares down at the edge of his table, at the faint ghost of an eraser mark in the corner of his notebook, at the shadow his pencil casts beneath the low bar light. Something inside her is screaming, but it’s the quiet kind. The kind that burrows into your ribs and claws at your lungs, all teeth and loneliness.

"Yeah," she says at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m fine." It’s not convincing. It’s not even close. And it probably wouldn’t be, even if Koa didn't know her as well as he did, but it’s the only thing she knows how to say, the only lie that won’t splinter either of them even more than she already has.

Flora still doesn’t look at him, and she absolutely, categorically, does not look at the warm, open curve of his body like he’s a lighthouse suddenly willing to shine in her direction again. Her eyes land on his notebook instead, and her chest tightens when she sees the clean page. Sohalia had said he needed time, that he wanted her to be sure. And Flora—fool that she is—had joked it was because he was probably planning something over-the-top. Matching jackets. Singing bees. Something ridiculous and perfectly Koa. Now, standing here beside him while the whole world tries not to watch, she’s suddenly sure that’s exactly what he’s doing. Planning. Hoping. Loving the way only he can.

"Is this..." She clears her throat, and her voice is too light when she speaks again, like sugar that’s about to crack. "I bet she'd really enjoy something to do with cartography. Y'know, like a map of your heart, or...a map of the stars the night you're going to see her next or something." The suggestion might have sounded more earnest if her voice didn’t wobble at the end. If she didn’t have to blink so fast to keep the tears at bay.

She wants to say she’s happy for them the way she did with Soh. Because she is, as much as she can be. But it still feels like someone’s replaced her ribs with glass and is daring her to breathe anytime she even thinks about meeting his gaze. Whatever else Koa is now, he’s still the boy who once looked at her like she was something sacred, something beautiful and worth holding onto. And she’s still the girl who answered I love you with there's someone else. It was why she'd told Sohalia not to wait the two weeks to tell Koa that she was sure, because had the pair not thought their summer romance wouldn't ever have an end, had they treated their time together like it was precious and not something they had in spades, it would have been him.

Trying for a smile because her sharp edges and mismatched pieces no longer have any place in Koa's hands, Flora swallows hard before blinking up at the ceiling as if she can keep the tears in just by refusing to acknowledge them. The difference between Jack and Koa has never felt so blinding: One walked away and told her it was all her fault.; the other is looking at her now like she’s still worth worrying over. And gods but she can’t bear it.

Koa

Sure, Flora- you're totally fine, and Koa's totally a rocket scientist. Honestly, girl. Choose a better lie. Koa's eyes narrow in open disbelief; he knows her too well to be fooled by the answer, even if her voice wasn't as fragile as a skeletal leaf, stripped its protective skin and left shivering in the wind of their collective mistakes. There's a beat where it seems like he might challenge her, where his diaphragm contracts as he readies himself to announce that no, you're not.

But then he thinks better, because it's not his job and if she wants to lie about how she's doing then that's her right. "Okay," he says instead, sounding much like a deflated balloon as the fight drains out of him and into a shrug, trying to respect the distance she's put between them, the distance he knows he has to maintain if he wants any chance of keeping his life from becoming a mess of tangled threads.

It ought to have ended there. Flora ought to have moved on, toward some brighter horizon, some warm and unburdened hunk who would be absolutely delighted to lavish the Queen with the attention she commands; Koa ought to have returned to his book, to brainstorming a romantic escapade wonderful enough to match Sohalia's smile. He's halfway there, the pencil raised intentionally as he turns back to the empty page.

But Flora's voice brings him whipping back, the way it always does.

"Don't do that." It's almost a plea, plaintive and raw, with a glinting edge beneath. "I can't... talk about that, with you. Talk about her. I know you guys are friends, but..." He trails off, jaw feathering, throat working, struggling against a torrent of things that really shouldn't get dislodged.

His eyes fall back to the edge of a table, to a groove upon the wooden top. He scowls at it, as though that crack had personally offended him; as though it represents the fracture she'd left in his heart. "I can't pretend that nothing happened between us, Flora. Or that I don't... that the way I feel about you- felt about you-..." He shrugs, feeling rather lost. When he looks back at the Doubletake there's a searching, complicated gleam in his copper eyes, something even he's not sure he can name.

"Does it really not bother you at all? The idea of Soh and me?"

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

"She's not just my friend," Flora says, and her voice, though quiet, cuts clean through the bar’s soft din. Her gaze stays locked just above Koa’s shoulder, because looking at him—really looking—is a luxury she doesn’t trust herself with. Not right now; not when she’s on the verge of shattering into something that will cut them both to ribbons. "Sohalia's my best friend."

The words sit between them like something sacred and untouchable, and for a moment Flora can’t breathe. Because saying them is also a reminder—of every night they spent tangled in laughter, of secrets exchanged in tangled whispers, of the way Soh had held her while she cried over the man now sitting in front of her.

When Koa says he can’t pretend nothing happened between them, it’s not his voice that undoes her—it’s the memory of her own. Her fingers twitch where they rest against the curve of her thigh, her rings pressing cold indentations into her skin. She remembers the warmth of Koa’s hand wrapped around hers, steadying her against the waves. Of anonymous gifts too thoughtful to have been from anyone but him. Remembers him saying he loved her, and the almost of it all. And she remembers walking away, choosing the telepath who'd stolen her heart even when she'd warned him away from it.

Flora swallows. Her eyes glint like sea glass under pressure, and still she can't bring herself to look at him. "Koa," Her laugh is soft around the shape of his name even as tears score at the backs of her eyes. "I..." Flora forces her gaze to meet his, finally, and there’s no hiding her answer. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, with frustration, with a heartbreak she’s still too proud and ashamed and selfish to name. "..love her too much to answer that."

Her breath leaves her in a shaky exhale, and she smiles—small, wry, and utterly, devastatingly sad. Because what else is there for them now but to name the silence, to acknowledge the fractured timing and the ache that doesn’t go away just because it’s been outlived? She knows what she walked away from. Knows that Koa was steady where Jack was a storm. That he’d have built a life with her that felt like sunlight and sea salt and belonging instead of secrets and silence and the ever-growing ache of being chosen too late or not at all. But the moment passed. The door closed. And to ask him to look back now, to look at her now, would be selfish in the most cruel way—would be standing between two people she loves and asking them to choose.

So she doesn’t, won't.

Her fingers tighten in her lap, nails biting into the soft skin of her palm. You were almost everything, she wants to tell him, knowing that for both better and worse, Koa is no telepath, so instead she forces herself to say, "and I know you love her too much to ask me that again."

Koa

Seeing the way Flora looks in that moment, hearing the things she says (and even moreso the things she doesn't say), Koa knows that it would be very, very easy for him to make a terrible mistake. One look from those aqua eyes, one shed tear, one sign. He's always been like butter in the sun with her, malleable and quick to melt in the heat of her attention. It isn't always healthy, has never worked out in the way he's so desperately craved, but those fleeting seconds of burning radiance as addictive as the sweetest sunlight, leaving him blackened with scorch marks he'll never be able to buff out.

'You love her too much to ask me that again,' cuts like a shadow through the sunlit haze, sharp and cold, a yanking rope that tugs him back to solid ground. Koa inhales as sharply as if he'd been slapped, quickly glancing away; his hand jerks back to the notebook, and he thumbs a paper tucked between the pages he hasn't reached. A letter written by Sohalia, bearing the faint scent of her perfume and the weight of her heart. He hadn't answered it, hadn't known what to say, and now guilt creeps into his features, shame and confusion rippling in his clenched jaw. For the very first time he thinks he understands how the Luminary felt that day in the Tower, or Flora in the Celestine. It's a very hard thing, to love two people.

And he isn't even being asked to choose.

"Yeah, you're right," Koa answers after a moment, but there's an unsteadiness in his voice, something that wasn't there when he'd said those words to Flora. . He does love Sohalia, love her kindness and compassion, her resilience, her stubbornness. Loves the way she loves so fiercely, loves the courage she's always displayed in a terrifying world. He loves that she finds so much wonder in small things, that she is selfless and protective, that she is strong, that she is good. There are so many things Koa loves about the Luminary, but is he in love with her?

Maybe he could be, if he's brave enough to try.

Swallowing, he pulls the letter further from the notebook, his thumb brushing over the scented paper, tracing the letters of the elegant script, faint, fond smile tugging his handsome mouth. "I do."

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

Flora knows better—she does—but gods, it's hard not to think about just how easy it would be to slip into the empty chair beside him, to feel the heat of his body pressed close against her own like an anchor, or better yet, a lifeline. It would be easy, too easy, to let herself lean into the warmth she knows he would offer without hesitation. A quiet touch, his arm brushing hers, fingers tracing softly over the back of her hand like they used to. Like they could again, if only she let him.

She could do more than just sit with him, and Flora feels a dangerous curl of desire whisper along the edges of her thoughts, vivid and tempting. She could take him back to the room she'd rented just to escape the weight of her empty house, could let him kiss away the salty tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, feel the solid, comforting weight of him pinning her to the mattress until the entire evening faded into nothing but whispered promises and tangled limbs.

Koa might not be a telepath, but gods—he had never needed to be. With him, everything had always been easy, straightforward, clear. She would never have to wonder how he felt, would never have to unravel layers of silence and secrecy just to find the truth behind his eyes. She had felt safe with him once, warm and cared-for, cherished even, if only she'd allowed it. Flora knows exactly what she'd left behind when she'd walked away from him that first time, and every aching, selfish part of her heart now screams at her to reach for him—to choose the comfort, the ease, the light he offers over the bruising shadow Jack had cast across her soul.

But then Sohalia’s smile flickers vividly into her thoughts, bright and trusting, and the selfish fantasy cracks sharply against reality. Soh, who had been there through every heartbreak, every nightmare; Soh, who'd chosen Flora when it mattered most; Soh, who deserved to be loved without complication or regret. And Koa—Koa loved Sohalia now, perhaps more deeply, more honestly, than he had ever loved her. The thought burns bitterly in Flora’s throat, and guilt rises fast and harsh. What kind of friend was she, that the idea of Koa loving her best friend more than he’d loved her felt like a betrayal rather than a relief?

She swallows hard, finally nodding when he doesn’t press, because how can she ask him to reopen a wound that’s only just begun to heal? Her throat tightens, words tumbling out quietly to fill the silence that feels like it could drown them both.

"Haulani will be protected soon," she says softly, forcing herself to sound steadier than she feels. "From the Family, I mean. There'll be a barrier—somewhere safe to lay low if you or anyone else needs it."

Koa

For most of his life, Koa has not thought particularly hard about his choices. His path had been set from an early age, straightforward and signposted, an easy road to traipse along. When faced with an obstacle he'd let the vibes carry him, and even when led astray had never wound up particularly far from where he'd meant to be. Being a soldier had reinforced this further: why bother with critical thinking, when there was always someone to do it for you, a ranking officer ready to step in and steer you on your course? Some might call it laziness, even cowardice, but Koa preferred to think of it as just being chill, man.

Except that somewhere along the line, things had taken a turn for the decidedly not chill. Now Koa's trapped in a scalding desert, full of painful, difficult choices, and with no skill in determining which one is best. He can hear his cousin's voice in his ear, whispering and insidious (two things that, to Kaisel's credit, the boy has never actually been). You still matter and Go get her rattle around his empty head until he thinks he might explode. He wants to reach out and use his thumb to wipe the moisture pooling in her tear ducts; he wants to pull her into him, to hold her until the weight she carries so goddamn stubbornly ebbs away. Koa has always been a sucker for a damsel, and Flora is nothing if not in distress.

He knows he won't survive it if he reaches for her, but gods does he want to touch the sun.

Instead he tightens his grip on the notebook, swallowing back that terrible urge. "I heard a little." His steadiness is just as feigned as Flora, a forced lightness that rings hollow, even to him. He pushes the letter back between its pages, suddenly unable to look at it, to bear the thought of Sohalia's certainty that he is a better man. Glancing back at Flora without any eye contact, he shoves his mouth into a half smile. "I guess this means your big plan worked?" And you didn't need my help at all. She'd never really needed him- that much had been made quite clear when she'd chosen someone else.

"Any response from the Family yet? Besides the broadcast." They'd all heard that.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

Flora doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until Koa speaks again, and only then does it leave her in a slow, careful exhale. She steals glances at him when he isn’t looking—tracing the curve of his jaw, the dark, earnest set of his brows, the way the lamplight catches against the edges of his lashes.

"My plan..." Flora trails off, shoulders rising in a helpless shrug as she tries—and fails—to summon the words that would make everything seem less devastating than it is. "I mean, technically, yeah," she murmurs, brushing a curl behind her ear just for something to do with her hands, needing a distraction from the sudden tightness in her chest. "Haulani will be safe." The words are steady enough, carefully measured, but her tone betrays the frayed edges beneath. She bites the inside of her cheek, gaze dipping briefly to the ground, because how can she tell him that the sanctuary cost her everything without sounding selfish or weak?

"It also..." she starts again, quieter this time, her voice nearly lost beneath the steady hum of the bar. "It cost more than I expected." It had blown her life to smithereens. It had left Sohalia angry, Hadama furious, and Jack—Jack had walked away entirely, casting her aside like a sun-bleached sail that had finally outlived its usefulness. Flora had lost her home, her bar, her sense of security. She had lost the man she'd chosen, and now she stood before the man she hadn't, feeling the sting of that decision sharper than ever. Flora’s throat tightens dangerously, but she swallows it down, blinking rapidly to clear the mistiness from her eyes. She doesn’t want Koa’s pity, doesn’t want to lay this at his feet when he's already carried so much for her, but gods, she’s tired, and he's always been too good at playing the knight in shining armour. "But I mean, who am I when compared with my entire region, right?"

His question about the Family draws a bitter, humourless laugh from her, brief and quiet. "Nothing beyond the broadcast," she says, shaking her head slowly. "And hopefully it'll stay that way, as long as I don't break my side of the bargain. Dahlia seems twisted enough to actually keep her word, if only because she likes seeing me suffer." Flora tries for levity, but her voice falters halfway through, the joke landing hollowly between them as she glances down at her hands as if expecting to see the shards of glass that the Reaper had forced her to clean up sparkling there in her palms.

She shifts her weight, feeling suddenly and painfully aware of how close they are to slipping back into the dangerous familiarity they've always shared. Every moment she lingers makes leaving that much harder, and yet the thought of stepping away feels impossible. Her fingers flex against the edge of the table, betraying her desire to reach out—to touch him, to anchor herself to something solid and real. Instead, she forces herself to take a step back, creating a small but deliberate distance between them.

"I, uh..." Flora's voice wavers, catching on words she can't quite form. "I should go." But she doesn't move immediately, her gaze still searching his face as though she might find an answer to questions she's too afraid to ask. "It was really good to see you, though," she finally whispers, knowing the truth of it will hurt him just as much as it does her, but thinking he was owed at least one truth not veiled behind layers of doublemeanings.

Koa

Haulani being safe is a win, one Koa wishes he was in any sort of position to celebrate. It's something akin to an out-of-body experience, this conversation; he feels he is watching a version of himself that he doesn't fully understand, while another one dances in his head, feeling like something he really ought to be. His brows furrow at the mention of cost, and he wants to ask about it, but Kai already told him a little bit - Jack gone, having to move, the loss of the bar and her home. It seems to him like devastation, but he bites his tongue, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

Which becomes impossible as she devalues herself so utterly that he's left raising his brows, his head shaking before he can think. "You're you," he counters automatically, and there's so much held within the pronoun that it swells with things unsaid. She's a queen, a person, a life with value. And more than that, far more than that, she is Flora. She is fire and sunlight and yes, a bit of a nightmare at times, but those flashes of darkness unapologetically her,, and make the dreams that arise between them so much sweeter by comparison.

Those things shine in Koa's copper eyes as he gazes ardently at the Doubletake, his control briefly fractured. "You put yourself aside to save your people, Flora. And it cost a lot, but you'll recover. You're a queen, remember?  A boss ass bitch." He quirks a smile, raising a brow. "You'll come back from this stronger than ever, and anyone who doubts you- well, that's their mistake."

Maybe if he hadn't doubted her all those years ago, they wouldn't be in the position they're in: two ships without a harbor, circling each other in the dark.

Realizing what he's saying, what he's doing, the way his hand has slid across the table to halfway reach for hers, Koa forces himself to recoil, to re-build the wall they've got to maintain. But it's cracked now, missing bricks letting the shape of her through, and it would be so easy to touch her through that gap- or worse, to blast the whole thing down. He wants to clear the slate between them, to be able to treat her with the friendly ease he wears so comfortably when he's at a loss. But he can't, because the slate is not clean between them, and the words I love you and there's someone else can never be pulled back.

So then why does it feel like he's loosing her all over, the ache within him as she moves to leave as sudden and hollow as it was that day? "Wait--" Koa says automatically, then bites his cheek as he realizes he doesn't have a good reason to make her stay. That it's better she go, before they break things further, doing irreparable damage to themselves and the woman they both love. Huffing lightly in his frustration, Koa looks away, his hand running through his hair. "I mean... just, take care of yourself, Flora. It's okay to not be okay sometimes. To let other people carry the weight for you. Not everything has to be a fight." He's not sure if it makes any sense, but it feels like the safest version of what he wants to say.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

Flora wants—gods, wants—to believe him. To believe she's still that girl, still the queen he paints her as with the shape of his voice. But the words slide over her like rain on glass, unable to reach the places inside her that feel broken beyond repair. How is she supposed to feel like a boss ass bitch when she goes back not to a house filled with laughter and promise, but to the lonely shell of a boat she barely knows how to live in yet? How is she supposed to believe she’ll recover when everything that once felt like hers has crumbled away?

She doesn’t realize she’s taken a step closer to him until his hand recoils. Until the sudden space between them snaps taut like a frayed rope and leaves her standing there, hollow and stung, blinking against the sharp sting at the backs of her eyes. The moment—the one they’ve both been dancing around for so long—evaporates like morning mist, leaving nothing but the ache of another loss neither of them can touch without bleeding for it.

For a second, Flora just... stands there, anchored in place by the terrible weight of almost. She lets herself look at him properly, because she knows—deep down, knows—this is the last time she’ll get to do it without guilt knotting in her chest. Koa, with his easy, open smile and the warmth that always radiated off him like sunlight through salt-washed windows. Koa, who could carry her weight across the entirety of Torchline just to toss her into the sea and still have the breath to make her laugh afterward. Koa, with the stubborn set of his jaw that only softened when he looked at her like she was the best mistake he ever made.

Even now, with his copper eyes darkened by things unspoken, he’s beautiful in a way that steals her breath; something earnest and steady woven into the strong lines of his face, the boyish curve of his grin still flickering faintly even when everything else is bleeding between them. She remembers teasing him about how badly he danced, about the forest of flowers he'd once left at her door, at the corny and romantic letters in his soldier's scrawl. She remembers moments collapsing against him for unspoken support that he always so freely gave, the way their fingers and lips and limbs so seamlessly fit together.

Gods, she misses him. She misses them. And she knows—knows—there’s no going back.

Her throat tightens painfully. Still, she makes herself smile, brittle and trembling. "I'm happy for you, Koa," she whispers, and for once, it’s not a lie, even if it costs her everything to say it. "That you finally get your happy ending." It had been Sohalia first after all, and while Flora might be the Doubletake, Sohalia was the Luminary; what was a second-spared glance when compared to the sun?

"Bye.." The tears slip free the moment she turns away—hot, stinging trails that carve their way down her cheeks as she forces herself toward the door without looking back. She doesn’t trust herself to survive it if she does.

~FIN