Koa
I don't want to wonder if this is a blunder
"Next time I will," he promises, never mind that the end of this visit might spell a permanent hold on next times. He's steady and methodical as he dresses the ankle, his training a bulwark against intrusive thoughts.
And he does not look at her slender fingers clenched against the plush edge of the couch; does not imagine them instead on his bicep, on his shoulder, below his belt. That would be wholly unprofessional.
It's a good thing she can't read his mind.
He doesn't answer the question immediately, letting the weight of it sink into his skin, percolate like morning coffee through the coarse grounds of his mind. It mixes in with Ronin's warning, the promise of death if he hurts her again. A promise he hopes has some flexibility, because don't hurt her and talk to her seem like irreconcilable ideas; Koa can only hope the path he's chosen will lead to the lesser ill.
Flora's ankle secured in cooling towels, Koa at last lets her go, sinking to sit on the floor beside her, his back propped up by the coffee table. He doesn't look up at her, instead staring at the edge of the sofa beneath her shoulder, tracking a run where the fabric has frayed. "Here in Torchline, or here here?" he asks, a crooked smile not enough to dispel the nerves that cloud his face. "I guess they have the same answer. I wanted to see you, Flora. I... I think we need to talk."
And he does not look at her slender fingers clenched against the plush edge of the couch; does not imagine them instead on his bicep, on his shoulder, below his belt. That would be wholly unprofessional.
It's a good thing she can't read his mind.
He doesn't answer the question immediately, letting the weight of it sink into his skin, percolate like morning coffee through the coarse grounds of his mind. It mixes in with Ronin's warning, the promise of death if he hurts her again. A promise he hopes has some flexibility, because don't hurt her and talk to her seem like irreconcilable ideas; Koa can only hope the path he's chosen will lead to the lesser ill.
Flora's ankle secured in cooling towels, Koa at last lets her go, sinking to sit on the floor beside her, his back propped up by the coffee table. He doesn't look up at her, instead staring at the edge of the sofa beneath her shoulder, tracking a run where the fabric has frayed. "Here in Torchline, or here here?" he asks, a crooked smile not enough to dispel the nerves that cloud his face. "I guess they have the same answer. I wanted to see you, Flora. I... I think we need to talk."
When I kiss your lips I want to sink down to the bottom of the sea
