Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
Something in Flora shifts—a mirror angling the light of the sun to a different path. Still bright, still glowing, but a bit easier to look at directly, like the glare has been dulled. The change seems to be something she has to wade through, one careful step at a time, fighting the resistance that threatens to topple her with each stride. Kaisel's smile slips into a crease of concentration, attempting to follow along with each of her started thoughts, only for her to discard them with a sigh and a twist of idle energy.
What's happening? he's tempted to ask her, like maybe the sure-footed Flora inside might press pause to respond and tell him to stop trying to guess the plot of the show and just watch.
Instead he waits, confused, but patient as she fidgets and struggles. She's trying. He doesn't understand at what, or why, but he recognizes that whatever it is, it's hard, so he holds her seafoam stare with as much attentive affection as he can offer her. A quiet acknowledgement that it's okay.
Then she says the quiet part out loud.
...suddenly all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom.
Oh.
Then she looks at him like that, and the idea that she can't be serious desiccates beneath the heat of potential.
She reaches for him, softer again, but he's hesitant. Touching her now, he's afraid of the jolt he might feel when her fingertips brush his, afraid that all these words have pushed away the silence of the breath he's been holding since the night he stayed over. All the missteps the morning light had gilded over then are starkly visible now in the dark of her ship's kitchenette. He glances at her hand like it might end the world if he takes it.
She's telling him she would, but asking him not to. Knowing about the would makes the not to much harder to comply with. It had been easier to pretend that's just Flora and anything there had been his imagination, his own desire marring the truth of the moment like someone desperate.
She's so much more than that though, to him.
He glances up, clarity settling in his gaze finally as he reaches out to take her hand firmly in his, like the force of his hold could push back whatever spark would dare to hum there.
"Flora, that's not regret. That's just people trying to find each other." He squeezes her fingers, willing some strength into them. "I don't know about you, but I don't believe in soulmates. You can get close maybe, but even then it's not simple or clean or easy." She's acting like she's about to become Torchline's boat spinster. "Love is—messy, and really fucking hard, and it hurts. Sometimes it's timing, and luck. What it's not, is out of reach." His smile is fragile as he glances from her face to their hands, and the table.
"Look, no one regrets the time they spent with you Flora. I'm sorry it hasn't been the right time yet, but don't act like you're a curse I might catch." He glances back up at her, sighing softly. "I'm sorry, that I picked you up. You just seemed so damn sad, I didn't know what to do, I wanted to make it better and I guess I just made it more fucked, huh? But—yea... I promise, it's all harmless." His other hand, still on her foot, has one finger crossed over another. He's not certain he can give her that promise, but he's certain she needs to hear it.
What's happening? he's tempted to ask her, like maybe the sure-footed Flora inside might press pause to respond and tell him to stop trying to guess the plot of the show and just watch.
Instead he waits, confused, but patient as she fidgets and struggles. She's trying. He doesn't understand at what, or why, but he recognizes that whatever it is, it's hard, so he holds her seafoam stare with as much attentive affection as he can offer her. A quiet acknowledgement that it's okay.
Then she says the quiet part out loud.
...suddenly all I can think about is dragging you into my bedroom.
Oh.
Then she looks at him like that, and the idea that she can't be serious desiccates beneath the heat of potential.
She reaches for him, softer again, but he's hesitant. Touching her now, he's afraid of the jolt he might feel when her fingertips brush his, afraid that all these words have pushed away the silence of the breath he's been holding since the night he stayed over. All the missteps the morning light had gilded over then are starkly visible now in the dark of her ship's kitchenette. He glances at her hand like it might end the world if he takes it.
She's telling him she would, but asking him not to. Knowing about the would makes the not to much harder to comply with. It had been easier to pretend that's just Flora and anything there had been his imagination, his own desire marring the truth of the moment like someone desperate.
She's so much more than that though, to him.
He glances up, clarity settling in his gaze finally as he reaches out to take her hand firmly in his, like the force of his hold could push back whatever spark would dare to hum there.
"Flora, that's not regret. That's just people trying to find each other." He squeezes her fingers, willing some strength into them. "I don't know about you, but I don't believe in soulmates. You can get close maybe, but even then it's not simple or clean or easy." She's acting like she's about to become Torchline's boat spinster. "Love is—messy, and really fucking hard, and it hurts. Sometimes it's timing, and luck. What it's not, is out of reach." His smile is fragile as he glances from her face to their hands, and the table.
"Look, no one regrets the time they spent with you Flora. I'm sorry it hasn't been the right time yet, but don't act like you're a curse I might catch." He glances back up at her, sighing softly. "I'm sorry, that I picked you up. You just seemed so damn sad, I didn't know what to do, I wanted to make it better and I guess I just made it more fucked, huh? But—yea... I promise, it's all harmless." His other hand, still on her foot, has one finger crossed over another. He's not certain he can give her that promise, but he's certain she needs to hear it.
It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor
It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
