flora
Flora’s fist stilled mid-swing, her arm trembling faintly from the force she’d been putting behind it. Her mouth twisted, and for half a second it looked like she might spit out something brash and reckless—maybe I want to get hit—except it was too raw to say out loud, even for her. Too close to being true. Too close to something she couldn’t explain without crying.
But then Liam grinned at her, and gods damn it, she looked at him. Really looked. It wasn’t the usual spark in her eyes that rose to meet him, but something softer—fragile around the edges, a little scraped up. Still, she smirked, the curve of her lips twitching upward even through the sweat and sting of unshed tears. "Ask you how you know, huh?" she murmured, half a breath away from being charmed despite herself.
When he motioned for her to pause, she straightened slowly, panting and flushed and windblown. Her braid stuck damply to the side of her neck and her tanktop clung to her ribs, tied in a knot just above her navel. Normally, she might’ve teased him about whether or not he was sure, if he knew just how strong she actually was, but today? Fuck it.
So she nodded, brushing her arm across her forehead to push her hair back and blinking the burn from her eyes. With a flex of her fingers inside the gloves, Flora took a breath, shifted her stance again—feet grounded, weight poised—and when he lifted his hands, she threw herself into it.
Each punch snapped out fast and hard, more instinct than technique, driven by a need to do something, to chase the hurt out of her lungs and into motion. She adjusted where he moved—up high, then down low, then middle again—her teeth gritted, eyes sharp, following his cues like her life depended on it.
But then Liam grinned at her, and gods damn it, she looked at him. Really looked. It wasn’t the usual spark in her eyes that rose to meet him, but something softer—fragile around the edges, a little scraped up. Still, she smirked, the curve of her lips twitching upward even through the sweat and sting of unshed tears. "Ask you how you know, huh?" she murmured, half a breath away from being charmed despite herself.
When he motioned for her to pause, she straightened slowly, panting and flushed and windblown. Her braid stuck damply to the side of her neck and her tanktop clung to her ribs, tied in a knot just above her navel. Normally, she might’ve teased him about whether or not he was sure, if he knew just how strong she actually was, but today? Fuck it.
So she nodded, brushing her arm across her forehead to push her hair back and blinking the burn from her eyes. With a flex of her fingers inside the gloves, Flora took a breath, shifted her stance again—feet grounded, weight poised—and when he lifted his hands, she threw herself into it.
Each punch snapped out fast and hard, more instinct than technique, driven by a need to do something, to chase the hurt out of her lungs and into motion. She adjusted where he moved—up high, then down low, then middle again—her teeth gritted, eyes sharp, following his cues like her life depended on it.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
