with each love i cut loose i was never the same
Flora freezes mid-crouch, one hand hovering over a rogue star map like she’s about to gently pat it and apologize for the trauma. The silence feels...biblical. Like she’s dropped a communion tray in the middle of Mass and all the old gods are watching. A single map flutters dramatically onto her head.
She grimaces, peeking out from under it, already preparing a string of apologies when a figure rounds the corner. At first, all she sees is curls. Her brain fills in the rest on instinct—tallish, scruffy, definitely her dad—and her mouth opens automatically to say something mildly accusatory like I didn’t break anything important, but then she catches the face.
Still curled and scruffy, but there’s a softness around the eyes, and a quietness in the way he holds his book like it’s part of him. Flora straightens slightly, brushing the paper off her head with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, thought you were someone else for a sec," she murmurs, dusting herself off. "You look weirdly like my dad. Or like—if my dad had a twin who got normal amounts of sleep."
His voice is gentle, and that earns him a real smile—bright, rueful, the kind people offer when they’ve just made an enormous mess and someone still offers to help anyway. "Yeahhhhh," she sighs, pushing a curl from her face. "Yes, please. I’m trying to make a gift and the maps just...staged a rebellion."
She crouches again, already reaching for the nearest chart. "I’m Flora, by the way," she adds, glancing up. "You're Finn, right? Ever's dad?"
She grimaces, peeking out from under it, already preparing a string of apologies when a figure rounds the corner. At first, all she sees is curls. Her brain fills in the rest on instinct—tallish, scruffy, definitely her dad—and her mouth opens automatically to say something mildly accusatory like I didn’t break anything important, but then she catches the face.
Still curled and scruffy, but there’s a softness around the eyes, and a quietness in the way he holds his book like it’s part of him. Flora straightens slightly, brushing the paper off her head with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, thought you were someone else for a sec," she murmurs, dusting herself off. "You look weirdly like my dad. Or like—if my dad had a twin who got normal amounts of sleep."
His voice is gentle, and that earns him a real smile—bright, rueful, the kind people offer when they’ve just made an enormous mess and someone still offers to help anyway. "Yeahhhhh," she sighs, pushing a curl from her face. "Yes, please. I’m trying to make a gift and the maps just...staged a rebellion."
She crouches again, already reaching for the nearest chart. "I’m Flora, by the way," she adds, glancing up. "You're Finn, right? Ever's dad?"
