flora
Flora huffs at his concern, arching a brow as if his suggestion were the most offensive thing she’d heard all day. "Of course I know how to protect myself from the sun," she says, voice laced with exaggerated patience. "Hence the complete and total lack of red." She lifts a shoulder pointedly, flashing a glistening line of sun-kissed skin. If there's any lesson at all to hear how easily copper could slip into a shade far more painful, Flora isn't willing to hear it.
She watches Kaisel practically maul the rest of the sorbet, and a wicked little grin tugs at her lips. It was only fair, honestly—payback for the way he’d hauled her clean off her countertop like she weighed nothing and pinned her against her own kitchen floor, all solid warmth and sharp breath and command. That moment had haunted her. She could still remember the cool tile against her spine, the press of his chest over hers, the stupid sound she’d made when his grip shifted and how easily she'd have let the moment become more. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done to her, or how often she thought of precisely that moment.
But then the mood shifts like a rug pulled from beneath her, and suddenly she’s the one spiralling.
The question slams into her like a wave, and the effect is immediate. The playfulness drains from her limbs, replaced by something far more vulnerable. Her face flushes, not with heat this time, but shame and guilt, the colour creeping up her cheeks and settling like a bruise across her collarbones. She sits up sharply, arms wrapping around her legs as she tucks them in, crossing her ankles and pressing her knees to her chest—not out of modesty—but to protect herself against the sudden turn of the tide.
"What the hell do I have to do with any of that?" she snaps—not loud, but wounded, the words clipped at the edges. "I made a point of telling both of them that I was happy for them. That I wanted them to be happy together." And, if Flora was one thing, she was sure she was a convincing liar when she had to be. The pain she'd felt in the aftermath of both of those conversations surely was evidence of it.
But then Kaisel laughs, and the sound doesn’t bounce—it cuts. Flora stiffens, chin dropping to rest on the tops of her knees, arms tightening until her knuckles pale against her shins. She chews the inside of her cheek so hard it tastes like copper. There’s a million things she could say to brush it off, to throw the question back at him, to turn it all into another joke—but this time, she doesn’t
.
Because lying to Kaisel doesn't feel like it would make sense. Not when he was asking like that and looking at her the way he was. "Of course I do," she whispers, not looking at him. "You don’t just stop feeling something like that about someone." Her voice catches, raw at the edges. "But it doesn’t matter. With how everything has shaken out...it's either Koa and Sohalia or it's no one, and honestly, it's..." Tilting her head, now it's Flora's turn to watch the migration of an imaginary pod of dolphins. "..for the best, you know? Sohalia is the best. She's good and kind, and," wasn't and would never be all the things Jack had so recently accused Flora of being. "-that's the kind of person he deserves to be with."
Her shoulders curl inward, and the queen of Torchline—the girl who moments ago had commanded the deck with nothing but sun and skin and flirtation—now looks like she’s folding in on herself, quiet and small and grieving something she’d never been allowed to hold.
She watches Kaisel practically maul the rest of the sorbet, and a wicked little grin tugs at her lips. It was only fair, honestly—payback for the way he’d hauled her clean off her countertop like she weighed nothing and pinned her against her own kitchen floor, all solid warmth and sharp breath and command. That moment had haunted her. She could still remember the cool tile against her spine, the press of his chest over hers, the stupid sound she’d made when his grip shifted and how easily she'd have let the moment become more. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done to her, or how often she thought of precisely that moment.
But then the mood shifts like a rug pulled from beneath her, and suddenly she’s the one spiralling.
The question slams into her like a wave, and the effect is immediate. The playfulness drains from her limbs, replaced by something far more vulnerable. Her face flushes, not with heat this time, but shame and guilt, the colour creeping up her cheeks and settling like a bruise across her collarbones. She sits up sharply, arms wrapping around her legs as she tucks them in, crossing her ankles and pressing her knees to her chest—not out of modesty—but to protect herself against the sudden turn of the tide.
"What the hell do I have to do with any of that?" she snaps—not loud, but wounded, the words clipped at the edges. "I made a point of telling both of them that I was happy for them. That I wanted them to be happy together." And, if Flora was one thing, she was sure she was a convincing liar when she had to be. The pain she'd felt in the aftermath of both of those conversations surely was evidence of it.
But then Kaisel laughs, and the sound doesn’t bounce—it cuts. Flora stiffens, chin dropping to rest on the tops of her knees, arms tightening until her knuckles pale against her shins. She chews the inside of her cheek so hard it tastes like copper. There’s a million things she could say to brush it off, to throw the question back at him, to turn it all into another joke—but this time, she doesn’t
.
Because lying to Kaisel doesn't feel like it would make sense. Not when he was asking like that and looking at her the way he was. "Of course I do," she whispers, not looking at him. "You don’t just stop feeling something like that about someone." Her voice catches, raw at the edges. "But it doesn’t matter. With how everything has shaken out...it's either Koa and Sohalia or it's no one, and honestly, it's..." Tilting her head, now it's Flora's turn to watch the migration of an imaginary pod of dolphins. "..for the best, you know? Sohalia is the best. She's good and kind, and," wasn't and would never be all the things Jack had so recently accused Flora of being. "-that's the kind of person he deserves to be with."
Her shoulders curl inward, and the queen of Torchline—the girl who moments ago had commanded the deck with nothing but sun and skin and flirtation—now looks like she’s folding in on herself, quiet and small and grieving something she’d never been allowed to hold.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
