i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
"You're too long, " Flora sasses playfully at Kaisel under her breath before gratitude blooms on her face when he gathers Jack’s things without comment; the silent favour feels heavier—and safer—than any commiserating hug.
Sohalia’s promise draws Flora’s gaze across the sea of boxes. "Thanks babe. If the mailbox sprouts ferns you have my permission to prune with extreme prejudice, no matter what Mateo might say."
They settle into a rhythm: Kaisel prowling the upstairs rooms, windows clicking shut behind him while plants drink deep; Sohalia ferrying boat-bound crates downstairs, the scent of sunscreen and vanilla ice cream trailing in her wake; Flora flitting between them, tying neat twine bows, scrawling labels—BOAT KITCHEN, DECK PARTY, ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY SHOES—and occasionally flinging another hat on the ‘take’ heap despite Kaisel’s exasperated sighs.
At last the wardrobe door swings closed on a smaller, tidier rainbow. Flora presses her palm to the knob in a quiet farewell, then turns, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from her brow. "All right, mission accomplished." She lifts the final box—DRAGON MISC—and marches it downstairs where Spice and Tarak circle like eager inspectors.
In the kitchen she scoops three generous bowls of half-melted ice cream, crowns each with a tiny umbrella, and passes them out. "A toast," she declares, raising her spoon, "to the best friends who lift more than boxes, and to houses that stay standing till we’re ready to come home. Endless cocktails, blanket-fort caftans, and weekly wellness checks—I owe you both." Glancing between them, her smile softens considerably. " I don’t know what I’d do without you."
She clinks spoon-tips with Sohalia and Kaisel, then digs in—letting the first sweet, cold mouthful melt away the bitterness of good-byes left unsaid.
~FIN
Sohalia’s promise draws Flora’s gaze across the sea of boxes. "Thanks babe. If the mailbox sprouts ferns you have my permission to prune with extreme prejudice, no matter what Mateo might say."
They settle into a rhythm: Kaisel prowling the upstairs rooms, windows clicking shut behind him while plants drink deep; Sohalia ferrying boat-bound crates downstairs, the scent of sunscreen and vanilla ice cream trailing in her wake; Flora flitting between them, tying neat twine bows, scrawling labels—BOAT KITCHEN, DECK PARTY, ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY SHOES—and occasionally flinging another hat on the ‘take’ heap despite Kaisel’s exasperated sighs.
At last the wardrobe door swings closed on a smaller, tidier rainbow. Flora presses her palm to the knob in a quiet farewell, then turns, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from her brow. "All right, mission accomplished." She lifts the final box—DRAGON MISC—and marches it downstairs where Spice and Tarak circle like eager inspectors.
In the kitchen she scoops three generous bowls of half-melted ice cream, crowns each with a tiny umbrella, and passes them out. "A toast," she declares, raising her spoon, "to the best friends who lift more than boxes, and to houses that stay standing till we’re ready to come home. Endless cocktails, blanket-fort caftans, and weekly wellness checks—I owe you both." Glancing between them, her smile softens considerably. " I don’t know what I’d do without you."
She clinks spoon-tips with Sohalia and Kaisel, then digs in—letting the first sweet, cold mouthful melt away the bitterness of good-byes left unsaid.
~FIN
