your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora laughs, but it’s quieter this time—wry and tilted, not quite bitter but edged with something harder to define. "You know, I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever had a male friend I haven't made out with," she says, tapping a nail against the side of her glass like she’s trying to measure the shape of that thought aloud. "Not sure what that says about me. Probably nothing great."
Her smile comes crooked as she lifts her eyes back to him, expression somewhere between sheepish and defiant, like she’s bracing for judgement and refusing to care about it in the same breath.
But when he says he’d still try to help her—when he says it like that, like he means it—her gaze softens, shoulders relaxing a touch into the back of her chair. She studies him for a second longer than she probably should, before letting her lips curl into something warm and surprised.
"Doesn’t sound very ex-soldier of you," she murmurs, chin tipping to the side. It sounded to her absolutely like someone who still carried the weight of it. The duty. "Why aren't you a dragoon anymore? If you don't mind me asking."
Her smile comes crooked as she lifts her eyes back to him, expression somewhere between sheepish and defiant, like she’s bracing for judgement and refusing to care about it in the same breath.
But when he says he’d still try to help her—when he says it like that, like he means it—her gaze softens, shoulders relaxing a touch into the back of her chair. She studies him for a second longer than she probably should, before letting her lips curl into something warm and surprised.
"Doesn’t sound very ex-soldier of you," she murmurs, chin tipping to the side. It sounded to her absolutely like someone who still carried the weight of it. The duty. "Why aren't you a dragoon anymore? If you don't mind me asking."
