Whether I'm gonna curse you out or
Take you back to my house
Take you back to my house
Flora's expression softens for half a heartbeat as she catches the wobble in Kaisel's smile—the subtle stutter in his voice, the faint hesitation in his eyes that he tries so valiantly to push away. She knows that look: the careful, cautious way people treat someone they think might shatter at the slightest touch. And gods, she doesn't want to be that person tonight—doesn't want to see that look in Kaisel's eyes, because she'd thought she finally found a sliver of freedom with him, a moment to just breathe.
But she also knows he's only trying to protect her, to keep the laughter going just a little bit longer. And for that, she's grateful. "Hey." Flora tilts her head slightly, gaze softening as she gently touches the side of his arm, offering a small, grateful squeeze. "I appreciate the solidarity and everything, but you can breathe, you know? I'm still me. We’re still here. And I really just wanna do something stupid with you right now." Her voice is teasing again, deliberately playful, brushing aside the shadows creeping in at the edges despite how the ache of everything is still making some compelling arguments about just dropping to her knees and sobbing.
"So," she declares, stepping back and clapping her hands lightly together, eyes bright and wickedly playful again, like the moon slipping back out from behind a cloud, "here's what we're gonna do. Instead of swapping out salt for sugar, we're gonna swap out the stuff behind the bar we use to line rims of the glasses, or offer up after shots, and replace it with some crushed blushberry powder." She steps closer again, close enough that she has to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact, her smile broadening into something genuinely warm and affectionate. "You go out behind the bar and say that I need all the salt and sugar containers, and I'll get the powder ready to swap. Deal?"
But she also knows he's only trying to protect her, to keep the laughter going just a little bit longer. And for that, she's grateful. "Hey." Flora tilts her head slightly, gaze softening as she gently touches the side of his arm, offering a small, grateful squeeze. "I appreciate the solidarity and everything, but you can breathe, you know? I'm still me. We’re still here. And I really just wanna do something stupid with you right now." Her voice is teasing again, deliberately playful, brushing aside the shadows creeping in at the edges despite how the ache of everything is still making some compelling arguments about just dropping to her knees and sobbing.
"So," she declares, stepping back and clapping her hands lightly together, eyes bright and wickedly playful again, like the moon slipping back out from behind a cloud, "here's what we're gonna do. Instead of swapping out salt for sugar, we're gonna swap out the stuff behind the bar we use to line rims of the glasses, or offer up after shots, and replace it with some crushed blushberry powder." She steps closer again, close enough that she has to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact, her smile broadening into something genuinely warm and affectionate. "You go out behind the bar and say that I need all the salt and sugar containers, and I'll get the powder ready to swap. Deal?"
flora
I haven't decided yet
But I'm gonna get you back
But I'm gonna get you back
