Flora
Flora rolls her eyes at his jab, the gesture as familiar as breathing, and though her smile starts forced, it doesn’t stay that way for long. "Which is exactly why I’m going to see them," she murmurs.
As Jack’s head tilts, his shoulders drawn by resignation, her hands rise almost without thought. She places her fingers gently against his cheeks, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as she guides his gaze back to centre. The gesture is careful and unhurried, the kind of touch that holds the memory of something more—like reaching out to the ghost of a moment and finding it still warm. Her breath catches faintly, and for a suspended heartbeat she just looks at him, the rest of the world folding quietly around them like drawn curtains.
Then, with a softness that betrays everything she isn’t saying, she exhales. "Hold still," she says, not quite smiling. "Or I’m going to cut your hair crooked."
She lets her hand drop, breaking the contact, but the feeling doesn’t dissipate quite so quickly; instead still lingering like the warmth of sunlight after the cloud cover returns. "I didn't think you were planning on going to Pierce's party," she adds after a moment, trying for something lighter as her fingers slide back into his hair to finish off the final section.
As Jack’s head tilts, his shoulders drawn by resignation, her hands rise almost without thought. She places her fingers gently against his cheeks, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as she guides his gaze back to centre. The gesture is careful and unhurried, the kind of touch that holds the memory of something more—like reaching out to the ghost of a moment and finding it still warm. Her breath catches faintly, and for a suspended heartbeat she just looks at him, the rest of the world folding quietly around them like drawn curtains.
Then, with a softness that betrays everything she isn’t saying, she exhales. "Hold still," she says, not quite smiling. "Or I’m going to cut your hair crooked."
She lets her hand drop, breaking the contact, but the feeling doesn’t dissipate quite so quickly; instead still lingering like the warmth of sunlight after the cloud cover returns. "I didn't think you were planning on going to Pierce's party," she adds after a moment, trying for something lighter as her fingers slide back into his hair to finish off the final section.
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
