flora
She sinks into him like a tide finding the shore, warm limbs threading around his frame and tugging him closer still. When his kiss lands at the crown of her curls, something untwists in her chest—just a little—and she breathes it out slow, like steam curling off sun-warmed stone.
"Duh," Flora murmurs, the word barely skimming the air between them. Of course she would. For him, without hesitation. But as his arms tighten around her, so easy and natural, a bitter thought creeps in: how often she’s done just that lately. Given too much; burned herself bright to light the path for someone else. She doesn’t voice it, but later maybe, when the night isn't quite so tender, she'll turn it over again in her mind.
Instead, she tilts her head back, eyes catching his with a grin that’s all teeth and sunshine. "Obviously I’ve got good games," she says, like it’s a personal insult to suggest otherwise. Her fingers trail along his forearm as she peels away just far enough to lead him toward the little galley, every inch of the Sugar Tide crammed with soft lighting and maximalist chaos—plants curling down from mismatched sconces, glittery trinkets jostling for shelf space, a feather boa thrown over a wall hook for no reason at all.
She plucks a faded box from a cubby, blowing dust off with dramatic flair. "Snakes and Ladders is the usual go-to with Bassian," Flora explains, casting him a sideways look. "He hates snakes. And heights. It's kind of a perfect storm." Her smile sharpens like a hook dipped in honey. "Strip poker’s a classic, too. He’s got the worst tell—I so much as shrug out of a shirt and he folds like bad origami and ends up sitting in his boxers in no time."
A low laugh slips from her as she rummages deeper, producing a luridly illustrated Go Fish deck with a flourish. "Also have this gem from Haulani," she says, fanning the cards. "Super educational." She lifts her brows, lashes fluttering over eyes that catch the warm light. "I also have an old game of Guess Who, but house rules are that you can't actually ask about what they look like."
Then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—she reaches for a woven basket tucked beneath the table, fingers closing around a familiar crinkle. With a lazy flick of her wrist, she tosses a fresh bag of gummy worms at his chest. "Stocked up," she says, grinning like a pirate who’s planned the ambush all along.
"Duh," Flora murmurs, the word barely skimming the air between them. Of course she would. For him, without hesitation. But as his arms tighten around her, so easy and natural, a bitter thought creeps in: how often she’s done just that lately. Given too much; burned herself bright to light the path for someone else. She doesn’t voice it, but later maybe, when the night isn't quite so tender, she'll turn it over again in her mind.
Instead, she tilts her head back, eyes catching his with a grin that’s all teeth and sunshine. "Obviously I’ve got good games," she says, like it’s a personal insult to suggest otherwise. Her fingers trail along his forearm as she peels away just far enough to lead him toward the little galley, every inch of the Sugar Tide crammed with soft lighting and maximalist chaos—plants curling down from mismatched sconces, glittery trinkets jostling for shelf space, a feather boa thrown over a wall hook for no reason at all.
She plucks a faded box from a cubby, blowing dust off with dramatic flair. "Snakes and Ladders is the usual go-to with Bassian," Flora explains, casting him a sideways look. "He hates snakes. And heights. It's kind of a perfect storm." Her smile sharpens like a hook dipped in honey. "Strip poker’s a classic, too. He’s got the worst tell—I so much as shrug out of a shirt and he folds like bad origami and ends up sitting in his boxers in no time."
A low laugh slips from her as she rummages deeper, producing a luridly illustrated Go Fish deck with a flourish. "Also have this gem from Haulani," she says, fanning the cards. "Super educational." She lifts her brows, lashes fluttering over eyes that catch the warm light. "I also have an old game of Guess Who, but house rules are that you can't actually ask about what they look like."
Then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—she reaches for a woven basket tucked beneath the table, fingers closing around a familiar crinkle. With a lazy flick of her wrist, she tosses a fresh bag of gummy worms at his chest. "Stocked up," she says, grinning like a pirate who’s planned the ambush all along.
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
