Flora
The popsicle stall shimmered in the heat haze ahead, the most inviting mirage she’d seen all morning. She had half a mind to dive off the dock again once she’d gotten her treat, already fantasizing about the chill of saltwater biting at overheated skin, how it’d swallowed her up whole after her run earlier. Shirt and all. She’d laughed then, barefoot and dripping in the Arclight shallows with Spice wheeling overhead like a snowflake against the sky.
That was the thought she focused on as she spotted the familiar shape beneath the stall’s little awning.
Jack. Of course it was Jack. The universe apparently had jokes now, and Flora felt like the punchline of every fuckin' one of them. She caught the line of his shirt hanging open, the glint of damp hair tied back like it was nothing, and the popsicle in his hand. He looked like the aftermath of something, like heatwave and hangover, but after seasons at his side she could guess what it actually was.
Only now she was too close to turn around given the range of his telepathy, so Flora did what she so often did: rerouted. She steered her thoughts firmly toward the sparkle of sunlight on the water, letting her gaze linger on the dock edge like it might offer an escape. The clarity of the sea. The way it had felt when she'd jumped in. Cold and clean and bracing, like it could rinse everything away. Like she'd felt her pulse slow for the first time in days.
She didn’t think about the ache in her chest or the way the sun painted the captain's skin bronze or how he was still the most irritatingly handsome wreck of a man Torchline had ever seen. Just...the water. She stepped up beside him and ordered a popsicle and even as she waited for the vendor to pass it over, her sunglasses shifted just enough for her to risk a sidelong glance.
That was the thought she focused on as she spotted the familiar shape beneath the stall’s little awning.
Jack. Of course it was Jack. The universe apparently had jokes now, and Flora felt like the punchline of every fuckin' one of them. She caught the line of his shirt hanging open, the glint of damp hair tied back like it was nothing, and the popsicle in his hand. He looked like the aftermath of something, like heatwave and hangover, but after seasons at his side she could guess what it actually was.
Only now she was too close to turn around given the range of his telepathy, so Flora did what she so often did: rerouted. She steered her thoughts firmly toward the sparkle of sunlight on the water, letting her gaze linger on the dock edge like it might offer an escape. The clarity of the sea. The way it had felt when she'd jumped in. Cold and clean and bracing, like it could rinse everything away. Like she'd felt her pulse slow for the first time in days.
She didn’t think about the ache in her chest or the way the sun painted the captain's skin bronze or how he was still the most irritatingly handsome wreck of a man Torchline had ever seen. Just...the water. She stepped up beside him and ordered a popsicle and even as she waited for the vendor to pass it over, her sunglasses shifted just enough for her to risk a sidelong glance.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
