candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
Flora snorts the moment he groans brainfreeze, her spoon clinking gently into the now-suffering strawberry as she turns toward him. "What brain?" she quips, eyes sparkling as he tries to rub the ache away like it’s her fault he tried to inhale victory in frozen form. "Serves you right for stealing my bite. That was karma, delivered straight to your prefrontal cortex."
When his skepticism returns—this time aimed squarely at her closet—she only lifts her chin in proud defiance. "Excuse you," she says, voice rich with theatrical offence, "some of my outfits are sheer without sequins. And some are just lace. Or mesh. Or those pants made entirely of tassels. Or..well, those are Mateo's, but they look better on me." Her brows arch, daring him to challenge the utility of that particular garment. "The point is, lounging-with-delusions-of-grandeur is a lifestyle, Kaisel. One must always be prepared to entertain, seduce, or deliver a stirring monologue."
Only then does her expression soften, does she catch that flicker in him—the momentary quiet that follows the laughter. Her spoon lingers halfway to her mouth, then lowers. There’s something unspoken in the pause, something that makes her heart ache a little with the sudden awareness of how close they’ve drifted again. "You know," she hums, leaning her elbows on the counter, "if I’m a goddess and you’re a god, technically this is some kind of divine slumber party. Maybe we should be granting wishes or quests when we're done with our ice cream."
When his skepticism returns—this time aimed squarely at her closet—she only lifts her chin in proud defiance. "Excuse you," she says, voice rich with theatrical offence, "some of my outfits are sheer without sequins. And some are just lace. Or mesh. Or those pants made entirely of tassels. Or..well, those are Mateo's, but they look better on me." Her brows arch, daring him to challenge the utility of that particular garment. "The point is, lounging-with-delusions-of-grandeur is a lifestyle, Kaisel. One must always be prepared to entertain, seduce, or deliver a stirring monologue."
Only then does her expression soften, does she catch that flicker in him—the momentary quiet that follows the laughter. Her spoon lingers halfway to her mouth, then lowers. There’s something unspoken in the pause, something that makes her heart ache a little with the sudden awareness of how close they’ve drifted again. "You know," she hums, leaning her elbows on the counter, "if I’m a goddess and you’re a god, technically this is some kind of divine slumber party. Maybe we should be granting wishes or quests when we're done with our ice cream."
