i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
As soon as Flora's lips brush against Jack's for the second time, she feels him suddenly jerk back. Blinking, her heart leaping into her throat, a wave of worry sloshes through her. Had she hurt him? Glancing between them and expecting to see fresh blood blooming through his bandages, as the queen looks back up, brow furrowed, her eyes meet his and she hears him say it: I love you, too.
For a moment Flora's mind goes entirely blank, the world narrowing to just the sound of Jack's voice, the words echoing through her thoughts like a bell ringing out in the quiet expanse of her mind. And then, like the first light breaking over a dark horizon, joy floods her, spilling into every corner of her consciousness. It’s golden and bright, wings unfurling in her mind, feathers glittering in the light, petals of flowers bursting open in a rush of vibrant colour, vivid and alive. It’s every metaphor and sweet turn of phrase, every love song, every grand gesture, all distilled into a single shimmering instant; a thousand heartbeats pressed into one perfect, golden note.
Knowing that Jack will no doubt be drowned by the sudden onslaught of emotion, the queen tries to keep her physical reaction muted (and not just because even the smallest movements between them are likely to have them both wincing in pain), merely leaning in to brush her nose against his. "Is it as bad as you expected it to be?" Flora wants to know, blue-green eyes searching his even in the dark. She knows what this means for Jack, how heavy and burdensome he'd expected those words to be; how he'd once made them seem like shackles, like an Achilles Heel that brought no benefits, or a curse just waiting to be cast. The kind of love that made men foolish and left them broken, hollow, or worse, weak.
For a moment Flora's mind goes entirely blank, the world narrowing to just the sound of Jack's voice, the words echoing through her thoughts like a bell ringing out in the quiet expanse of her mind. And then, like the first light breaking over a dark horizon, joy floods her, spilling into every corner of her consciousness. It’s golden and bright, wings unfurling in her mind, feathers glittering in the light, petals of flowers bursting open in a rush of vibrant colour, vivid and alive. It’s every metaphor and sweet turn of phrase, every love song, every grand gesture, all distilled into a single shimmering instant; a thousand heartbeats pressed into one perfect, golden note.
Knowing that Jack will no doubt be drowned by the sudden onslaught of emotion, the queen tries to keep her physical reaction muted (and not just because even the smallest movements between them are likely to have them both wincing in pain), merely leaning in to brush her nose against his. "Is it as bad as you expected it to be?" Flora wants to know, blue-green eyes searching his even in the dark. She knows what this means for Jack, how heavy and burdensome he'd expected those words to be; how he'd once made them seem like shackles, like an Achilles Heel that brought no benefits, or a curse just waiting to be cast. The kind of love that made men foolish and left them broken, hollow, or worse, weak.
