Flora
Flora feels something loosen and soften inside her at Jack's quiet words—not exactly relief, but a warmth that blooms slowly beneath her skin, chasing away some of the shadows she'd wrapped herself in so tightly. Even if she'd meant it mostly as a joke, even if it was melodramatic and probably unfair, it still mattered that he hadn't let it go—that he hadn't simply shrugged off her imaginary death as something unremarkable. Outwardly she just nods, quiet and noncommittal, but inside there's a tiny flicker of something brighter, a brief sparkle that betrays her more than she’d ever willingly admit.
When he quips about her popsicle, Flora snickers despite herself, rolling her eyes dramatically behind her sunglasses. "Maybe that's my whole problem lately," she quips back, though a sharp little sting of embarrassment flickers through her thoughts—memories of leaning into Liam and how quickly he'd pulled back, as if she'd been radioactive, linger at the edges of her mind like a bruised ego. Maybe she should trying wining and dining, but gods that felt like a lot of fucking work just for someone to make her feel not so alone for all of five minutes between the sheets.
She watches Jack finish his popsicle, absently licking the last drops of lemon from her fingertips as she does. But as their shared moment slips steadily away, the fragile peace stretching thin between them threatens to snap entirely. Flora feels a sudden, uncomfortable cold tugging at her feet, the quiet, creeping certainty that this—their brief, accidental civility—is about to dissolve now that their shared snack is over.
When he quips about her popsicle, Flora snickers despite herself, rolling her eyes dramatically behind her sunglasses. "Maybe that's my whole problem lately," she quips back, though a sharp little sting of embarrassment flickers through her thoughts—memories of leaning into Liam and how quickly he'd pulled back, as if she'd been radioactive, linger at the edges of her mind like a bruised ego. Maybe she should trying wining and dining, but gods that felt like a lot of fucking work just for someone to make her feel not so alone for all of five minutes between the sheets.
She watches Jack finish his popsicle, absently licking the last drops of lemon from her fingertips as she does. But as their shared moment slips steadily away, the fragile peace stretching thin between them threatens to snap entirely. Flora feels a sudden, uncomfortable cold tugging at her feet, the quiet, creeping certainty that this—their brief, accidental civility—is about to dissolve now that their shared snack is over.
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
