flora
Flora lets herself lean sideways into Asta the moment the blanket settles, her shoulder finding the solid warmth of his chest with the easy thoughtlessness of someone used to seeking comfort where she can find it. She curls up under the shared blanket, letting the familiar scent of copper and spice settle her frayed edges, her fingers plucking absently at the fabric pooled in her lap.
"Fun to read, terrible to live through," she echoes with a rough laugh, nose wrinkling as she tilts her head back against him. "Yeah, well. Teenage me would have killed to star in a love story with this much drama. Now? I'd rather just have a nap." Her lips twitch in a smile, but it’s tired around the edges, worn thin by the things she isn't saying.
When Asta brings up their own past, Flora huffs a small, knowing sound, nudging his thigh lightly with her knee beneath the blanket. "That," she murmurs, "was just... poor communication wrapped in you being too charming and handsome for your own good." Her voice is teasing but low, edged with a deeper truth. "You didn’t mean to mislead me. You were just—" she taps her chin lightly, "too polite. Too sweet to say 'hey Flora, we're just friends' while I was busy spinning wedding fantasies in my head." She smiles again—smaller, realer—before tipping her head against his shoulder.
For a moment, they simply float there in the moonlight, cradled by the tide and the heavy scent of rain on the horizon. Then Flora, never able to leave silence alone for long, lets out a long breath and shifts just enough to glance up at him.
"Speaking of terrible romantic decisions," she mutters, half-laughing, half-gutting herself anew, "I took the Sugar Tide out for a spin the other day. Guess who nearly ran me over with his flying galleon the size of a small island?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "He actually boarded my ship without asking. Handed me back all my stuff in a bag her voice thickens slightly, but she plows on, "—and when I asked why he hadn’t answered my letters, he said..."
Flora bites the inside of her cheek, the words harder to say than she wants to admit. "He said he didn’t answer because I hurt him, and he wanted to hurt me back." The words leave her like something poisonous, thin and shaking and mean all over again. She shakes her head, looking out across the dark water. "I knew he could be cruel. I'd seen it a hundred times. Just... never to me." Her voice dips to a whisper, barely audible under the flap of the sails. "Not like that."
"Fun to read, terrible to live through," she echoes with a rough laugh, nose wrinkling as she tilts her head back against him. "Yeah, well. Teenage me would have killed to star in a love story with this much drama. Now? I'd rather just have a nap." Her lips twitch in a smile, but it’s tired around the edges, worn thin by the things she isn't saying.
When Asta brings up their own past, Flora huffs a small, knowing sound, nudging his thigh lightly with her knee beneath the blanket. "That," she murmurs, "was just... poor communication wrapped in you being too charming and handsome for your own good." Her voice is teasing but low, edged with a deeper truth. "You didn’t mean to mislead me. You were just—" she taps her chin lightly, "too polite. Too sweet to say 'hey Flora, we're just friends' while I was busy spinning wedding fantasies in my head." She smiles again—smaller, realer—before tipping her head against his shoulder.
For a moment, they simply float there in the moonlight, cradled by the tide and the heavy scent of rain on the horizon. Then Flora, never able to leave silence alone for long, lets out a long breath and shifts just enough to glance up at him.
"Speaking of terrible romantic decisions," she mutters, half-laughing, half-gutting herself anew, "I took the Sugar Tide out for a spin the other day. Guess who nearly ran me over with his flying galleon the size of a small island?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "He actually boarded my ship without asking. Handed me back all my stuff in a bag her voice thickens slightly, but she plows on, "—and when I asked why he hadn’t answered my letters, he said..."
Flora bites the inside of her cheek, the words harder to say than she wants to admit. "He said he didn’t answer because I hurt him, and he wanted to hurt me back." The words leave her like something poisonous, thin and shaking and mean all over again. She shakes her head, looking out across the dark water. "I knew he could be cruel. I'd seen it a hundred times. Just... never to me." Her voice dips to a whisper, barely audible under the flap of the sails. "Not like that."
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
