flora
Flora’s brow arches sharply at Kaisel’s playful rebuke, feigning shock as she peers up at him through thick lashes. "Wow, Kai," she says dramatically, pressing a palm to her chest. "Are you calling me fat? Because currently I'm the thing you've got on your hands." Her lips quirk upward in faint amusement, but beneath it is confusion, nagging and persistent.
He sets her down gently on the bench, and Flora is left blinking after him, thoroughly bewildered by the ease with which he moves away. The heat lingering in her belly turns cold, uncertainty replacing desire so swiftly it leaves her dizzy. Hadn't he been sending signals—every gravel-edged word, the careful tension in his jaw? She'd fully expected a decision to be forced, a line to be approached if not crossed. Yet Kaisel had stepped neatly away from that line and left her dangling, uncertain whether to feel relieved or rejected.
She watches silently as he opens every cupboard and drawer in the little kitchen, pointedly refusing to help, until her tidy kitchenette looks like a scene from the Exorcist, doors and drawers yawning open in every direction. With a quiet huff, she crosses her arms, curling one leg beneath her on the bench. "I don't want to do your weird Dragoon trauma-bonding exercise, or whatever this is," she announces with exaggerated stubbornness. "And for the record, I wouldn't be feeling like shit if it wasn't for you. I was having a perfectly nice day before you swanned aboard." She doesn't mean it cruelly—her voice is teasing despite the edge of truth beneath it—but she's definitely not about to play along with his stupid positivity training. Not today, anyway.
He sets her down gently on the bench, and Flora is left blinking after him, thoroughly bewildered by the ease with which he moves away. The heat lingering in her belly turns cold, uncertainty replacing desire so swiftly it leaves her dizzy. Hadn't he been sending signals—every gravel-edged word, the careful tension in his jaw? She'd fully expected a decision to be forced, a line to be approached if not crossed. Yet Kaisel had stepped neatly away from that line and left her dangling, uncertain whether to feel relieved or rejected.
She watches silently as he opens every cupboard and drawer in the little kitchen, pointedly refusing to help, until her tidy kitchenette looks like a scene from the Exorcist, doors and drawers yawning open in every direction. With a quiet huff, she crosses her arms, curling one leg beneath her on the bench. "I don't want to do your weird Dragoon trauma-bonding exercise, or whatever this is," she announces with exaggerated stubbornness. "And for the record, I wouldn't be feeling like shit if it wasn't for you. I was having a perfectly nice day before you swanned aboard." She doesn't mean it cruelly—her voice is teasing despite the edge of truth beneath it—but she's definitely not about to play along with his stupid positivity training. Not today, anyway.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
