your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora listens. It’s not her strong suit—never has been—but she tries, gold-ringed fingers stilled on the rim of her glass, and something in her expression quiets. If there’s a sting—if there’s a part of her that curls inwards at the quiet tucked around Liam's words at the mention of Maea—she doesn’t let it bloom into anything visible. Doesn’t let it colour the air between them with anything heavier than what’s already been laid down.
When he mentions drinking, though—trying to feel nothing—she barks out a laugh. Bright and surprised. "Gods," she grins, tipping her head back before looking at him again. "I used to own a bar and I’ve never tried that. What a waste of an opportunity. Maybe I’ll start." She says it lightly, but her tone is easy, not mocking. If anything, it’s the kind of gentle irreverence that makes pain less jagged.
Then she sits up a little straighter, shrugging as she exhales through her nose. "But really, it's all whatever," she says, a little breezy again. "You definitely didn’t owe me an apology. Or even an explanation, honestly." Her mouth quirks, amused, tired, still warm. "You could’ve just ghosted me like a normal person."
When he mentions drinking, though—trying to feel nothing—she barks out a laugh. Bright and surprised. "Gods," she grins, tipping her head back before looking at him again. "I used to own a bar and I’ve never tried that. What a waste of an opportunity. Maybe I’ll start." She says it lightly, but her tone is easy, not mocking. If anything, it’s the kind of gentle irreverence that makes pain less jagged.
Then she sits up a little straighter, shrugging as she exhales through her nose. "But really, it's all whatever," she says, a little breezy again. "You definitely didn’t owe me an apology. Or even an explanation, honestly." Her mouth quirks, amused, tired, still warm. "You could’ve just ghosted me like a normal person."
