flora
Flora blinks at Mateo, thrown just enough by his reaction that she doesn’t immediately have a quip ready. Her fingers tighten slightly around her drink as she listens to him talk, the heat behind her frustration begins to dim as she begins to curl in on herself, like a wave pulling back from the shore. "I never said it was something we couldn’t work out. It's obviously not that big of a deal," she says, voice quieter than before. "I just—" She exhales, shaking her head as she pushes her glass away slightly. Maybe it was the drinks catching up with her, or maybe she was just tired, but suddenly the energy to argue her point feels like too much effort.
Mateo means well, she knows that. But every time he tries to explain it away, tries to offer her some reasonable, logical excuse for why Jack had acted the way he had (especially when she'd just asked for him to be on her side about it), makes her feel smaller, like she's foolish for being upset about something with such a clear solution. Like she isn’t even allowed to just sit here in her own house and cry about her boyfriend if she wants to.
Flora's gaze flickers to the tea Mateo has placed in front of her, fingers ghosting over the warm ceramic. "I think I just want to go to bed," she murmurs, her voice steady but distant, withdrawing in a way that isn’t dramatic, isn’t pointed—just quiet. Just tired. Of all of it. "Thanks for the tea, though."
She offers a small, half-hearted smile before pushing away from the table, cradling the mug in her hands as she heads toward her bedroom, pausing only at the sound of knocking on the door. It wouldn't be Jack (he didn't knock), and given that there was no one she really wanted to see, she glances over her shoulder at her brother and shrugs. He could answer it if he wanted, or ignore it as she had.
Mateo means well, she knows that. But every time he tries to explain it away, tries to offer her some reasonable, logical excuse for why Jack had acted the way he had (especially when she'd just asked for him to be on her side about it), makes her feel smaller, like she's foolish for being upset about something with such a clear solution. Like she isn’t even allowed to just sit here in her own house and cry about her boyfriend if she wants to.
Flora's gaze flickers to the tea Mateo has placed in front of her, fingers ghosting over the warm ceramic. "I think I just want to go to bed," she murmurs, her voice steady but distant, withdrawing in a way that isn’t dramatic, isn’t pointed—just quiet. Just tired. Of all of it. "Thanks for the tea, though."
She offers a small, half-hearted smile before pushing away from the table, cradling the mug in her hands as she heads toward her bedroom, pausing only at the sound of knocking on the door. It wouldn't be Jack (he didn't knock), and given that there was no one she really wanted to see, she glances over her shoulder at her brother and shrugs. He could answer it if he wanted, or ignore it as she had.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
