its in the way you leave

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

Somewhere near Koa's knees, a blur of motion catches his eye. He follows it down to a tangle of gold, the curve of a cheek, a flashing blue eye. It's scarcely the sliver of a face, and Koa knows it at once. His stomach lurches; his diaphragm constricts. Of all the trees in this damned forest, he managed to find hers.

Flora.

His first instinct is to run; he doesn't do that. His second is to drop down to his knees beside her; he doesn't that, either. Frozen by surprise and a flood of emotions, Koa stands there, still and rooted as the bloody tree. He's dimly aware of the tears on her cheeks, the crack in her voice when she answers a question he feels like he asked another world ago. His tongue is leaden in his mouth; his throat is tight, his saliva cloying. It takes him a second to remember how to form words again, and when he does the thing he manages is a rather hoarse:

"Oh."

And then because that feels wholly inadequate, he tacks on a halting: "Is there anything I can... do?"

Which is arguably not the right thing to offer, but like, what is he meant to do? Hug her? Laugh? Say Oof or That's rough buddy or Is it because of the whole dying thing? or Maybe you deserve whatever fucked you up after tearing out my heart and stomping it into the ground? Because those are the alternatives that pop into his head, and none of them seem great.

Well, those and the instinct to drop down beside her and wrap her in his arms and offer to beat up whoever made her cry. But he doesn't have the right to protect her, now. And maybe he never did.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose