lay your soul onto mine
Flora’s arms are tightening, her breath already halfway to indignation, lips parting to snap—you better hug me back or I swear—when she feels his arms slide around her. Immediately, she melts. Well, not entirely. It’s a dramatic melt, the kind designed to be noticed, with a sigh that flutters against his collarbone and a squeeze that borders on punishing. If his white tank top ends up with a smear of her lipstick, that’s his fault for wearing such a poor choice to a guilt-fueled reunion hug.
Eventually, she tilts her head back, her sunglasses slipping slightly down her nose to reveal raised brows and a glint in her eyes sharp enough to cut through sugar and heat both. "And because I know you aren't thinking about this with the right head," she murmurs, voice soft but deadly, "if you want any chance with Caly..." If he wouldn't do it for Flora, maybe he'd do it for Flora 2.0, "Maybe don’t piss off her dad any more than you already have."
Eventually, she tilts her head back, her sunglasses slipping slightly down her nose to reveal raised brows and a glint in her eyes sharp enough to cut through sugar and heat both. "And because I know you aren't thinking about this with the right head," she murmurs, voice soft but deadly, "if you want any chance with Caly..." If he wouldn't do it for Flora, maybe he'd do it for Flora 2.0, "Maybe don’t piss off her dad any more than you already have."
