Koa
Koa doesn't notice Flora, though the rest of the bar certainly does. Even dressed down and wan from trauma, the Doubletake lives up to her name. Eyes follow her wherever she goes, some of them glancing, some of them subtle, some of them staring with open admiration, or envy, or lust, or awe. She's the kind of woman who commands attention no matter where she goes.
She's certainly always commanded his, from the moment they first met.
Maybe it's not that he doesn't see her, so much as he doesn't want to. Does Koa really not catch the shifting glances, or is the soldier trained in situational awareness truly that focused on the empty page of his book, on the words that refuse to form in his mind as he ignores a whiff of sweet-and-spice perfume that honestly anyone could be wearing, even if he's never smelled anything like it on anyone but her? Even when Flora's stopped beside him, all golden sunlight in the periphery of his vision, Koa doesn't immediately look up. Maybe if he ignores it, it'll go away? It's been his usual go-to, and it works quite well - or had, before his problems all became beautiful and blonde.
He can't ignore the brittle voice, or the first word it says. Koa's head swivels so quickly his eyes have to catch up; he blinks at Flora, mouth half-open, utterly at a loss for what to do with this. "Uh," he says first, dumb and baffled, his voice fraying as it catches on gravel. He clears his throat, half-shakes his head, and then tries again. "Thank.... you?" The pencil's anxious tapping has stilled, but his grip upon it has become a stranglehold; it's a toss-up if it or his hand will break first.
Having bestowed her blessing like the most mystifyingly obsequious of fairy godmothers, it seems that Flora is ready to move onto the next page of her evening and leave Koa to his. And Koa ought to allow it, to take the approval at face value and not temptFlora fate any further, especially when he's quite literally in the middle of planning a romantic tryst with her best friend.
But Koa has never exerted especially good judgment where women are concerned, and so he finds himself blurting out that "Kai told me about what happened," before he has a chance to stop it, to clamp his jaw and still is tongue and remind himself that it's not his problem, that he needs to move right the fuck on. Flora'd made her choices, and he has (will have?) Soh, and even if he wants to be there for the Doubletake, he doesn't know how, or if he even should.
But he cannot hide the concern he feels. It's evident in his expression, in the way his hands flex and close, in the openness of his body language that despite his better judgment is inviting her to stay. "Are you... okay?" Koa asks of Flora, because that's the kind of idiot he is. The kind who asks his ex if she's okay and really wants an answer. The kind who doesn't know how to quit, even when he's so far behind that the other racers have already lapped him, leaving footprints on his battered body as he crawls through the dirt.
She's certainly always commanded his, from the moment they first met.
Maybe it's not that he doesn't see her, so much as he doesn't want to. Does Koa really not catch the shifting glances, or is the soldier trained in situational awareness truly that focused on the empty page of his book, on the words that refuse to form in his mind as he ignores a whiff of sweet-and-spice perfume that honestly anyone could be wearing, even if he's never smelled anything like it on anyone but her? Even when Flora's stopped beside him, all golden sunlight in the periphery of his vision, Koa doesn't immediately look up. Maybe if he ignores it, it'll go away? It's been his usual go-to, and it works quite well - or had, before his problems all became beautiful and blonde.
He can't ignore the brittle voice, or the first word it says. Koa's head swivels so quickly his eyes have to catch up; he blinks at Flora, mouth half-open, utterly at a loss for what to do with this. "Uh," he says first, dumb and baffled, his voice fraying as it catches on gravel. He clears his throat, half-shakes his head, and then tries again. "Thank.... you?" The pencil's anxious tapping has stilled, but his grip upon it has become a stranglehold; it's a toss-up if it or his hand will break first.
Having bestowed her blessing like the most mystifyingly obsequious of fairy godmothers, it seems that Flora is ready to move onto the next page of her evening and leave Koa to his. And Koa ought to allow it, to take the approval at face value and not tempt
But Koa has never exerted especially good judgment where women are concerned, and so he finds himself blurting out that "Kai told me about what happened," before he has a chance to stop it, to clamp his jaw and still is tongue and remind himself that it's not his problem, that he needs to move right the fuck on. Flora'd made her choices, and he has (will have?) Soh, and even if he wants to be there for the Doubletake, he doesn't know how, or if he even should.
But he cannot hide the concern he feels. It's evident in his expression, in the way his hands flex and close, in the openness of his body language that despite his better judgment is inviting her to stay. "Are you... okay?" Koa asks of Flora, because that's the kind of idiot he is. The kind who asks his ex if she's okay and really wants an answer. The kind who doesn't know how to quit, even when he's so far behind that the other racers have already lapped him, leaving footprints on his battered body as he crawls through the dirt.
the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway
is that it's you, and that you're standing in the doorway
