it's just a bloodstain

JACK

Almost deserted is not the same as deserted, as Flora - and Jack, to his chagrin - are about to find out. At this hour he's able to slink through the streets of Torchline unseen and unhindered, which is perfect for the sort of business he's been conducting and the consequences he now has to wash from his hands. He doesn't notice the pile of clothing beside the fountain as he strolls through the square towards it, and he gives no thought to the person who has just filled a flask with healing water and slips away into a sidestreet.

It's impossible not to recognise the pattern of Flora's thoughts, though.

Jack has just reached the side of the fountain and dipped his torn and bloodied knuckles beneath the cool surface of the water when her pain and rejection and upset rake across him as if she's scratching them physically against his skin. Flinching back and glancing around for the spoiled, entitled thorn in his side Queen of Torchline, when he doesn't immediately spot her, he realises she must be keeping herself purposely from view, and lets his telepathy try to pinpoint her location beneath the surface of the water.

It would be easy to walk away were it not for the uncharacteristically jagged edges to her thoughts. And so, with a groan, he perches at the edge of the fountain, lest she call down a god to smite him for ignoring her. "Whenever you're ready," he drawls.

romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic
and recommended