taking more from everything that ends

flora

Flora’s heart skitters as Kaisel sweeps her up effortlessly, stealing the breath from her lungs and scattering all her careful composure across the Sugar Tide’s sunlit deck. The warm slide of his arm beneath her knees, the way he holds her so securely—it’s so painfully gentle, so tenderly protective, that all she wants to do is drown herself in it. Flora's love language is all of them, but perhaps none more so than physical touch. A dangerous wanting sparks hot in her belly, heat spilling low and honeyed, the need to turn this honest, careful affection into something familiar, something she knows how to control.

Her legs instinctively wind tighter around his waist, her fingers tangling into his hair like a lifeline, the silk-dark strands twisting softly around her knuckles. She feels his heartbeat against her own chest, achingly close beneath his cartoon shark shirt— her own a rapid staccato that pulses behind her eyes. Her breath comes in small, delicate sips against his neck, each exhale whispering a half-prayer to stay in this moment, to keep holding on even as she feels her grip on everything else slipping.

But as quickly as desire blooms, reality crashes in after it: the crushing certainty of how it would ruin what they had. That she'd turn Kaisel’s quiet strength and earnest kindness into something she could shatter into pieces between her fingertips, leaving them both burned and brittle; a poor trade for a momentary bliss. She stiffens slightly in his arms, fighting the trembling urge to ask him below deck where putting her to bed would turn into asking him to stay, and where she could easily turn harmless cuddling into something that would set them both burning bright. But using sex as a balm against all of her jagged pain? At Kaisel's expense?

Gods, when did she become this?

She closes her eyes, breathing slowly through the ache, feeling impossibly small and fragile despite the sunshine haloing her curls and the larger-than-life presence she usually carried like armour. This Flora—the one tucked up small in Kaisel’s arms, uncertain and vulnerable, stripped of bravado—feels far more real, far more breakable than she's been in a very long time.

Instead of speaking, she tightens her arms around him, fingers softly flexing against his neck, silently pleading him not to let go. Not yet, anyway. She presses a soft, trembling kiss to the skin just below his jawline, lingering a heartbeat longer than she should, holding the moment on her lips as if it might anchor them both and that he might feel her appreciation over and above anything else.

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

He doesn't know what possessed him to think he has a right to hold her like this—like she is his to soothe and shelter from the world. Sometimes he gets so focused on the end, he doesn't always stop to consider the means to get there. Just like that night at her house, so driven to get back at her and put surprise on her damn face, all at the expense of smudging a line. He's doing it again, he realizes too late, when he feels her twine around him like a vine. Her fingers through his hair are like a match strike, and his skin feels too much like kindling in the places where they connect.

He put them here. Gods, what is wrong with him? Like this, her in his arms, tucked to his chest and twisted against him, it's far too easy to ask for more when all this time he's been staunchly demanding less. He just wanted her to feel better. Wanted her to stop. Couldn't stand to watch her belittle herself. Now he's holding the sun in his hand and it burns.

Her kerosine kiss nearly undoes him. He exhales something like gravel as his teeth set against the sensation, and he reels as he turns to carry her down the stairs he watched her descend previously. He needs her out of his grip now or else he doesn't think he can remain her, and he's certain leaping off the boat to escape her won't improve her day. "You need to get out of the sun," he works his voice over the hoarseness of resistance; it's subdued. "I think it's fried your brain," he aims for a tease, safer territory for them both.

Steadily he takes them down, and as he walks her murmurs into her hair, "I want you to tell me all the good things you think about yourself." He glances around for a bench or a seat to place her on, this ghost of the girl he knows. "I'll tell you when I've heard enough, otherwise you don't stop."

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora's heartbeat trips and falters at the rough exhale from Kaisel's lips, the scrape of gravel in his voice leaving her senses tangled and electric. The world seems to spin briefly out of orbit when he turns abruptly, carrying her toward the Sugar Tide’s stairs, and her mind stutters helplessly in confusion. The brush of her lips against his jaw had been reckless, but she'd meant it mostly in a friendly way. A kiss on the cheek that had missed its target and lingered, one Kai might blush at, but she hadn't expected this sudden, decisive movement toward the close quarters below deck. Her breath catches sharply in her throat, confusion sparking hotter, brighter, and altogether more dangerous.

"Kai," she whispers softly, uncertainty lacing through the quiet murmur of his name. She tenses slightly in his grip, not to resist but to make herself easier to carry through the tight passage below deck. It doesn’t help at all that her mind immediately stumbles into the worst—or possibly best?—conclusion: Is he thinking about it, too? Sex as a salve, as an escape from pain? Why else had he so abruptly brought her down here after her lips had brushed against his skin? The thought fills her chest with anxious butterflies, fluttering against the hollow ache she'd been nursing.

Below, the Sugar Tide is exactly what one might expect from Flora. The small cabin is a compact riot of colour and texture, a blend of comfort and chaos that somehow still manages to feel utterly hers. A narrow kitchenette runs along one side, stacked with delicate cups and bottles of wine tucked securely into fitted shelves. A polished wooden table sits snugly bolted down, ringed by plush bench seating scattered with vibrant throw pillows.

Further back, through a partially ajar door, lies the cramped, decadent nest of her bedroom—nothing but a sea of bedding, cushions, and silken sheets in pale shades of rose-gold and ivory. The small space practically pulses with a warmth that's entirely too inviting, too intimate.

When Kaisel murmurs into her hair, demanding that she list her good qualities, Flora snorts softly under her breath, tension diffusing slightly into something gentler. But then he continues—I'll tell you when I've heard enough, otherwise you don't stop—and gods if her mind doesn't do a backflip straight into a gutter from which she can't pull it free. Heat pools low in her belly again, sharper now, vividly imagining his voice roughened and stern, those same words falling from his lips as he looks down at her kneeling before him.

She blushes fiercely, turning her face away into his shoulder, thankful he can't see her expression clearly. "Gods, no," she mutters stubbornly, voice muffled against his shirt. "I'd literally rather burn to a crisp out there than talk about myself any more than I already have." Scoffing, the queen gives her head a decisive shake. "Maybe instead we should" think about this? go straight into the bedroom? "hydrate? Spice has made a small hoard of ice for drinks. If you really are worried about what the heat is doing to my brain."

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

There it is again. That subtle query in his name, an ask to cease, still at odds with the way she clings to him, compressing even tighter as the space narrows. She doesn't continue to say what she's asking, and he can't read her damn mind. He hesitates for a step or two, but he's still sure that he needs her out of his arms as quickly as possible, like a hot potato, so he continues regardless, ignorant to the fact that each step tugs them closer to her line she's trying not to cross.

She squirms against his command, as uncooperative as ever. He scoffs and jostles her in his arms as rebuke. "Way ahead of you there Flo-ro, water was next on the list," he reassures. "But, if you can't say any good things about yourself, then we have a bigger problem on our hands." He lets it linger like a threat, uncertain what he'll do exactly, but he isn't above waterboarding it out of her if he has to. Hydrate her and complete his request, perfect.

As they hit the bottom of the steps he lingers, taking in her living space for the first time since she moved. It's an organized chaos that suits her, vibrant with life. There's tucked away comforts, testaments to things she refused to yield, and though it lacks the same careful curation of her home, it definitely goes beyond most people's boat arrangements—delusions of sea-grandeur. He sets her on the bench by the table, careful with the exchange, and glances down at her with a finger jabbing at her shoulder. "I wanna hear 'em."

He sets distance between them by moving into the kitchen, flipping open every drawer and cupboard on the hunt for glasses.

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora’s brow arches sharply at Kaisel’s playful rebuke, feigning shock as she peers up at him through thick lashes. "Wow, Kai," she says dramatically, pressing a palm to her chest. "Are you calling me fat? Because currently I'm the thing you've got on your hands." Her lips quirk upward in faint amusement, but beneath it is confusion, nagging and persistent.

He sets her down gently on the bench, and Flora is left blinking after him, thoroughly bewildered by the ease with which he moves away. The heat lingering in her belly turns cold, uncertainty replacing desire so swiftly it leaves her dizzy. Hadn't he been sending signals—every gravel-edged word, the careful tension in his jaw? She'd fully expected a decision to be forced, a line to be approached if not crossed. Yet Kaisel had stepped neatly away from that line and left her dangling, uncertain whether to feel relieved or rejected.

She watches silently as he opens every cupboard and drawer in the little kitchen, pointedly refusing to help, until her tidy kitchenette looks like a scene from the Exorcist, doors and drawers yawning open in every direction. With a quiet huff, she crosses her arms, curling one leg beneath her on the bench. "I don't want to do your weird Dragoon trauma-bonding exercise, or whatever this is," she announces with exaggerated stubbornness. "And for the record, I wouldn't be feeling like shit if it wasn't for you. I was having a perfectly nice day before you swanned aboard." She doesn't mean it cruelly—her voice is teasing despite the edge of truth beneath it—but she's definitely not about to play along with his stupid positivity training. Not today, anyway.

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

He finally settles on a wineglass and a measuring cup for water glasses when he can't find actual ones after checking every damn corner of the tiny kitchen that she's managed to pack to the gills. It's just as well she doesn't offer any help, like taking anything else from her right now might be too much. Whatever distance and clarity among all her pots and pans he's hoping to find is as elusive as her cups, but he stumbles across plenty of frustration. Mostly at himself, but that is muddled and she's mixed into it now too because she's so fucking stubborn sometimes.

As he's filling the cups with ice from Spice's frosted box she denies him again. He glances up at her from his inclined head, the stare a cutting one, though his lips quirk in a half smile. "I imagine it would go as well as this attempt." Which is to say, like utter shit. Another cube or two makes it in before her next words cause him to pause. This time he doesn't look at her, doesn't think he can bear it if her face matches her words. He can guess she means it as a jest from her tone, but it lacks the usual dramatic flare—just enough truth layered in to sting.

He's hurt, a bit, and considers offering to leave then and there if she'd prefer for her day to get better. There's a moment where he contemplates throwing it back at her and telling her that she's the one who brought up the heartaches, and that her shitty mood is her own doing. Or that he had also been having an excellent day, up until the reminder of just how spectacular her chest is and how fucked up it is that he's even thinking that. Also, what the fuck does it matter if he says drive or pilot?

Instead, he sighs, and finishes filling the glasses with ice, and then water. "If you won't indulge me, then I'll just have to do it for you." He glances over at her with a tight smile, his humor flaking away where she's scorched him—leaving behind only bits of char and confusion. Not her words just now, those are just a breeze against the injury. It’s the lick of fire he still feels on his jaw, where her lips had lingered too softly, too long, in a place far too delicate for friendship. It's the burns on his chest where she tucked in too perfectly, felt too right in his arms. It's everything she is, but can't be, that prickles too fresh in his mind to move past completely just yet and attempt to keep pretending never was there at all. Fuck, he should have poured shots.

He delivers her wineglass of water and sits across from her with his measuring cup. He stares intently at her for a moment, looking nothing more than faux-serious for this exercise she wants no part of, when truthfully he's trying to bury the thought of what else is under that cotton shirt slipping free of her shoulder. He wants to make sure he doesn't say one of those thoughts.

"You light up the room every time you enter one," he begins, sipping slowly from the ice-cold drink.

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora's gaze softens as she watches Kaisel set the mismatched glasses down, the tension in his shoulders and the tight edge of his smile making her stomach clench in ways she isn’t prepared for. After seasons of trying—and failing, apparently—to decode Jack’s silences and unspoken needs and wants, she’s become far too good at filling in blanks, too attuned to the smallest shifts in expression, posture, tone. But unlike Jack, Kaisel isn’t able to read her mind. His quiet is just quiet, not a loaded weapon. His pauses don’t come with trapdoors, but they don't come with the ability to listen, either.

She’s trying so hard not to read into it, but the way his smile seems chipped around the edges despite how he soldiers on, has warmth blooming unexpectedly high in her chest; her heart, not the heat she'd been battling lower down. It feels foreign, dangerous even, because this isn’t something she knows how to manage, let alone ignore.

As he delivers his first sweet affirmation, all faux-seriousness and sincerity, Flora flushes despite herself, colour rising high along her cheekbones. She ducks her head briefly, curls tumbling forward, and her fingertips trail along the condensation beading rapidly on the surface of the wineglass. The ice rattles softly, a quiet distraction she's disproportionately grateful for.

She glances up again, meeting Kaisel’s gaze with a soft shake of her head. "Kai," she says softly, almost apologetic, shaking her head as a quiet plea crosses her lips. "No—really. I don't want to do this." Because if she lets him continue, if she has to sit here and listen to someone speak so warmly, so kindly, without an angle or agenda, she doesn’t think she can handle it. She isn’t built for sweetness that comes without strings attached (#abandonment issues).

"It...it just isn't a good idea."

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

She is abruptly and delightfully shy in response. It's a rare sight for the Crow of Torchline, who gilds herself in confidence and gold in equal measure, to be bashful. In fact, Kaisel isn't certain if it's blush or the sunburn he warned her about. He grips his glass with a bemused smile, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly, as if it might help him decode her. He hadn't expected this response.

Then it comes back—that plea from earlier.

There's something sad now in the shake of her head. The gleam in her eyes is dull, stripped of all the wicked edge he's so accustomed to. Even the tumble of her seaswept hair feels smaller, compressed by a weight she insists on carrying. He stills, resisting the urge to keep slipping the compliments out until she forces him to stop, or finally accepts them. One look at her though, and he realizes he can't match a broken heart's strength. He's been trying to iron out the wrinkles that got folded into her heart, but he's liable to scorch a hole instead. Accepting he can’t change it leaves a new crease in his own chest.

He leans against a hand propped up on the table, watching the sweat of the drink drip down. "You ever wish on a star, Flo-so?"

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora’s heart twists a little tighter in her chest, a knot of confusion and warmth tangled into something almost painful. It isn’t her broken heart that has her desperate for Kaisel to stop—no, it's the relentless way he’s pushing against her barriers, gentle words slipping beneath her defences so easily she feels helpless against it. One more kind word, one more earnest look, and she knows she won’t be able to stop herself from tearing her shirt off and crawling into his lap, grinding her hips into his the way her traitorous mind has been vividly imagining since the moment he'd scooped her up. That thought alone has her throat tightening.

She takes a slow, cooling sip from her glass, welcoming the chill as it slides down her throat. But at Kaisel’s question, Flora tilts her head back, laughter bubbling up despite herself, sudden and bright even with the bittersweet memory it conjures. Her eyes glitter softly when she looks back at him, half-glaring, half-affectionate. Gods, Kai. You have a serious talent for finding all my soft spots, you know that?"

Her smile softens, becoming something quieter. "I only really wished on stars once. Properly, I mean." Her gaze drifts slightly, caught on the distant, sunlit edge of memory. "After Enzo died. I used to sit on the beach for hours, staring up at the stars, wishing on every single one for him to come back." The ache is still there, familiar and tender, but the sting has faded into something she can hold without flinching. Besides, she had a plan to get him back. Just one more level to go.

She shrugs softly, gaze sliding back to meet his. "When we were kids, our nonna used to take us to the observatory in the Greatwood. We never really wished on them then, though—mostly we’d just learn all the Fae stories about the constellations." Such had been commonplace when you were raised by a witch in an enchanted forest.

Pausing to take another slow sip of water, Flora arches a brow slightly, turning the tables with gentle curiosity. "What about you? Ever sent your wishes up into the dark?"

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

It's probably for the best neither of them are able to read minds. Either one of them picking up on the other's staunchly denied desires would have sent them both to ruin. It would certainly have alleviated the confusion that chafes against them, threatening the gentle ease they could normally lean into. Still convinced Flora's braiding her own noose based on the conversation on the deck, Kaisel is startled by the free-flowing laugh she unleashes. His 'brows shoot up to his hairline, but it coaxes a more honest smile from him in turn, as if the sound of her joy is all it takes to smooth out his ruffles. "Maybe they're just all soft," he teases gently, still wary about those sharper edges she kept leaning on earlier.

There's still something too docile about her, but he'll take the fragile smiles over the too-quiet denials, so he props his other hand under his chin too, content to imagine the dreams and stars of her past along with her. At the mention of Enzo he better grasps the shadow that lingers under the upturn of her lips. One of those bittersweet memories, where the cherished moment is happy, but the present echo of loss is staggering. He did not mean to drag her through this, thought she doesn't seem to resist as she wanders down those corridors of her past, lonely as they are now with only her feet gracing them.

She quiets with a drink and Kaisel tilts his head further into one hand as her story fades. The other ruffles his hair with idle energy, the memory of the beach bonfire and the star he'd searched for feeling so distant in this moment. "Yeah," he says with a long exhale, as if he regrets the childish notion that a dying light had any power. "Like you, the wish has not been fulfilled. Starting to think it's all a hoax that Safrin romanticized to see who she could trick into whispering to her." Safrin had enough of his dreams, he need not send her any more. "It's nice to think something so easy could change it all though," he says with a wistfulness and an upwards glance, as if there's stars overheard right now beckoning for fantasies to pluck into creation. "Nothing's ever that easy though," he admits, his gaze flicking back to her's. He's still for a moment, contemplating his next words carefully, which is rare for him.

"What was Enzo like?" Risky, he knows, but there's a genuine desire to understand this large part of her that has always been buried.

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora snorts, playful indignation dancing in her gaze as she narrows her eyes teasingly at Kaisel. "Wow," she says, stretching out one long, bare leg and casually settling her foot onto the bench between his thighs, toes flexing slightly as she makes herself comfortable (unless he isn't manspreading, in which case on the bench next to his leg). "Now I definitely know you're calling me fat." Her lips curve into a quiet smirk, the humour lingering in the tilt of her head.

When Kaisel exhales, wistfulness clouding his voice, Flora shifts her attention fully to him. She props her chin in her palm, unconsciously mirroring him as she watches him carefully, lashes dipping as she considers. "And what was your wish?" she wonders, tapping a thoughtful finger against her lips. "Bigger muscles? World peace?" A grin flickers at the edges of her mouth, teasing now. "Extra desserts at dinner?" Her gaze flashes mischievously, before she huffs a soft laugh. "Or—hear me out—maybe Ludo made up the whole thing, just so everyone would start getting bitter staring up at Safrin's pretty stars."

His question about Enzo softens her instantly, the playful edges smoothing into something tender. The queen looks down at the table, the corner of her mouth quirking gently, wistfully. "Trying to explain him is sort of like... trying to describe a colour to someone who's never seen it," she begins softly. "Like, if you’ve never had a twin, it's basically impossible to get it right."

She exhales quietly, her gaze unfocused, tracing the subtle grain of the tabletop. "He was literally my other half—only he was definitely the better half of the two of us. Charming, funny, strong, witty." Her voice grows quieter, fondness swelling behind every word. "He'd always stand up for me, but not in a way that made me feel weak, you know? It was more like..." Her fingers spread slightly, searching for the right words, "he just wanted first crack at anyone who dared think they could ever go toe-to-toe with me."

There's a pause, her smile shifting towards bittersweet as her thumb brushes absently over a chip in the edge of the table. "I still see him once a year, thanks to my dad. I tell him everything he's missed—so that when I bring him back from the dead, he won't be behind on things." She glances up abruptly, catching herself, realizing only belatedly that Kaisel likely has no idea what she's talking about.

Her jaw sets stubbornly, determination flaring like sparks behind her eyes. "I'm bringing him back," she says, voice firm with absolute certainty, chin lifting slightly as she braces for whatever incredulity might follow. "I have a plan. Mort's going to do it—he just...doesn't know it yet."

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

As her foot rests right near his most precious body part, especially as one of her toes grazes a sensitive curve as she wiggles them, he jumps slightly. "Freeeeey," he hisses with a jitter to match his movement. He drops a hand to rest on her foot, a cautionary barrier against her clearly accidental brush as she gets comfortable again.

"Are you fishing for compliments after telling me not to?" he demands with a narrowed eye as she refers to herself as fat for the second time. One time is already a red flag with a woman, but twice?! It's all a joke, until it isn't. "Because I can start up again if you have body image issues," he threatens, partially delighted to uncover this weakness of hers.

He shakes his head at her question, laughing at all her suggested wishes for him. "I knew I should have run my ideas past you first, those are all amazing ideas. But, no. And for someone who made so many star wishes I'd expect you of all people to respect the sanctity of them." He rolls his eyes in exaggerated fashion. "You know I can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true-er." A pause, to think, because if it hasn't come true then can he tell her? He wouldn't anyway, but it's a star-law he's not sure of. Maybe it isn't true yet but will be later? Maybe if it isn't true, and he tells, he'll be cursed? Lots to consider. "More untrue than it already has," he clarifies with a nod.

She doesn't crumple, so he breathes a sigh of relief that his question hasn't splintered something further. Though there's grief, she carries it well, leaning into her well of love for him and the fond memories she's gathered there. He doesn't think he's ever heard her speak so highly of someone, each description carefully composed with beautiful care and rich with an unblemished affection. It's rare, such undiluted adoration. He smiles, warmed by her unrelenting care for him.

Something shifts then, and she lifts her head with newfound purpose, an edge set to her like she expect she needs to cut something down. "If anyone could convince Mort, it's you." She could start by repeating some of this.

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor

flora

Flora pauses, realization flickering across her face as she acknowledges—maybe reluctantly—that Kaisel isn’t entirely wrong. Her teasing, her playful accusations, they might just be fishing after all—but not from a place of vanity. No, it's more tangled than that, the quiet damage of having been discarded and unwanted, too many times.

She sighs quietly, gaze dropping to the glass in her hand, tracing absent circles through the condensation. She’s gotten far too used to Jack, to the silent, invisible hand of telepathy slipping effortlessly into her mind to decode things she doesn’t have to say aloud. It’s made her careless, reckless in expecting understanding from someone without access to her thoughts. And Kaisel—open, honest Kaisel, whose biggest crime so far has been being kind—deserves more clarity than she’s given.

"I—" She begins softly, words catching in a hesitation that's almost foreign to her. Her gaze stays fixed stubbornly on her water glass as she tries to find her footing. "You’re not exactly wrong," she admits slowly, lashes lifting just enough to steal a glance up at him through their golden fringe. "I probably was fishing a little, but—it’s not because I’m insecure, okay? At least, not the way you’re probably thinking." Or, who knows what he was thinking; she wasn't a telepath either.

Her lips press together briefly, frustrated with how inelegantly this is coming out. Flora huffs a quiet, resigned laugh, finally looking fully up at him, vulnerability raw in her aqua eyes. "Look, Kai, I know how I can be." Her free hand waves vaguely between them, illustrating the obvious: the easy flirtation, the shameless sexuality she wears like armour or invitation depending on the day. "And right now, I'm emotionally fucked up enough that all it takes is a few sweet words from you—especially after you literally swept me off my feet when all I wanted was a hug—and suddenly all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom." Or her kitchen floor. Or right out on her upper deck.

A sly, knowing glance cuts across the table at him, heat sliding easily beneath the vulnerable honesty. Kaisel might be Koa’s cousin, but he’s also a nineteen-year-old boy, and she's pretty sure she knows which head he’d be thinking with if she outright asked him to fuck her. If she whispered his name and said she needed him.

But Flora’s gaze softens almost immediately, shifting into something gentler as she stretches out her hand toward his across the table, her palm open in silent request. "But I don't want to be something you regret," she says quietly, her voice firm but edged with a tremor of genuine concern. Her fingers curl slightly, waiting for his hand to meet hers. "Because looking back… everyone who’s been with me, Koa, Asta, Jack, they’ve all regretted it in the end." Her throat tightens painfully, a flicker of hurt surfacing despite her best efforts to smother it.

"I don’t think I can handle you looking at me the way they do. So—" her voice strengthens again, stubborn and determined, gaze meeting his directly, openly. "Whatever happens, or whatever it feels like, can we just promise it's harmless? 'cause in all honesty, I don't think I'm strong enough right now to be able to guess."

I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave

Something in Flora shifts—a mirror angling the light of the sun to a different path. Still bright, still glowing, but a bit easier to look at directly, like the glare has been dulled. The change seems to be something she has to wade through, one careful step at a time, fighting the resistance that threatens to topple her with each stride. Kaisel's smile slips into a crease of concentration, attempting to follow along with each of her started thoughts, only for her to discard them with a sigh and a twist of idle energy.

What's happening? he's tempted to ask her, like maybe the sure-footed Flora inside might press pause to respond and tell him to stop trying to guess the plot of the show and just watch.

Instead he waits, confused, but patient as she fidgets and struggles. She's trying. He doesn't understand at what, or why, but he recognizes that whatever it is, it's hard, so he holds her seafoam stare with as much attentive affection as he can offer her. A quiet acknowledgement that it's okay.

Then she says the quiet part out loud.
...suddenly all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom.

Oh.

Then she looks at him like that, and the idea that she can't be serious desiccates beneath the heat of potential.

She reaches for him, softer again, but he's hesitant. Touching her now, he's afraid of the jolt he might feel when her fingertips brush his, afraid that all these words have pushed away the silence of the breath he's been holding since the night he stayed over. All the missteps the morning light had gilded over then are starkly visible now in the dark of her ship's kitchenette. He glances at her hand like it might end the world if he takes it.

She's telling him she would, but asking him not to. Knowing about the would makes the not to much harder to comply with. It had been easier to pretend that's just Flora and anything there had been his imagination, his own desire marring the truth of the moment like someone desperate.

She's so much more than that though, to him.

He glances up, clarity settling in his gaze finally as he reaches out to take her hand firmly in his, like the force of his hold could push back whatever spark would dare to hum there.

"Flora, that's not regret. That's just people trying to find each other." He squeezes her fingers, willing some strength into them. "I don't know about you, but I don't believe in soulmates. You can get close maybe, but even then it's not simple or clean or easy." She's acting like she's about to become Torchline's boat spinster. "Love is—messy, and really fucking hard, and it hurts. Sometimes it's timing, and luck. What it's not, is out of reach." His smile is fragile as he glances from her face to their hands, and the table.

"Look, no one regrets the time they spent with you Flora. I'm sorry it hasn't been the right time yet, but don't act like you're a curse I might catch." He glances back up at her, sighing softly. "I'm sorry, that I picked you up. You just seemed so damn sad, I didn't know what to do, I wanted to make it better and I guess I just made it more fucked, huh? But—yea... I promise, it's all harmless." His other hand, still on her foot, has one finger crossed over another. He's not certain he can give her that promise, but he's certain she needs to hear it.

It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor