flora
Flora grins, teeth and trouble, like a cat who’s absolutely knocked a full glass of wine off the edge of the table just to watch it fall. "Well, duh, I would win," she says sweetly, resting her chin in her hand as she flashes him a look that lands somewhere between flirtation and smug delight. "You go pink just thinking about the word boobies, Kai. I’d know exactly which cards you were holding based on what shade your ears turned." She smirks and then, with exaggerated innocence, adds, "But if you played, you’d know what a sky-anchor swivel kiss is."
Her brows bounce. "Spoiler: doesn’t use the mouth at all."
She lets that land with a salacious little hum, plucking another worm from the pile and making it do a wiggly dance across the table.
At the shift in his tone, Flora leans back slightly, her body language going looser but not entirely casual. "No, you should send her a letter," she corrects with a shrug, nudging him gently with her foot. "Just don’t freak out about the wording. Caly doesn’t seem like the type to analyze every sentence and keep it in a box under her bed for twenty years. You don’t need to be poetic. Just say you’ve been thinking about her and wanna see her again. That’s it. That’s the whole letter."
Then he says ASSumed, and her eyebrows lift. "What was it you assumed, exactly?" she wonders, her voice quieter now as eyes the faces staring up at her. Her expression sharpens a touch as she watches him fumble the rest, and though she doesn’t press, there’s a flicker of something bruised around the edges. "Jack knew about my plan," she says flatly, reaching for a gummy worm for something to do. "And anyway, he was the only person who said hello to me at that party." She looks up then, something sulky tugging at her mouth. "Sooo, forgive a girl for not wanting to stand around alone."
But then she flicks her hair off her shoulder and inhales through her nose, letting it roll off like she’s too full of gummy worms and late-night tension to hold onto it. Returning to the game, she narrows her eyes at her board and flips a few more tiles down with exaggerated suspicion. "Your person gives off basement vibes," she mutters, then smirks. "Mine looks like they might have led a cult once. Had a whole thing going—candles, matching robes, probably kissed everyone in sight. So yeah, probably been kissed."
Her eyes flick to him again, brighter now, playful and sharp. "Alright. Does your person look like they talk about themselves in the third person when they’re mad?"
Her brows bounce. "Spoiler: doesn’t use the mouth at all."
She lets that land with a salacious little hum, plucking another worm from the pile and making it do a wiggly dance across the table.
At the shift in his tone, Flora leans back slightly, her body language going looser but not entirely casual. "No, you should send her a letter," she corrects with a shrug, nudging him gently with her foot. "Just don’t freak out about the wording. Caly doesn’t seem like the type to analyze every sentence and keep it in a box under her bed for twenty years. You don’t need to be poetic. Just say you’ve been thinking about her and wanna see her again. That’s it. That’s the whole letter."
Then he says ASSumed, and her eyebrows lift. "What was it you assumed, exactly?" she wonders, her voice quieter now as eyes the faces staring up at her. Her expression sharpens a touch as she watches him fumble the rest, and though she doesn’t press, there’s a flicker of something bruised around the edges. "Jack knew about my plan," she says flatly, reaching for a gummy worm for something to do. "And anyway, he was the only person who said hello to me at that party." She looks up then, something sulky tugging at her mouth. "Sooo, forgive a girl for not wanting to stand around alone."
But then she flicks her hair off her shoulder and inhales through her nose, letting it roll off like she’s too full of gummy worms and late-night tension to hold onto it. Returning to the game, she narrows her eyes at her board and flips a few more tiles down with exaggerated suspicion. "Your person gives off basement vibes," she mutters, then smirks. "Mine looks like they might have led a cult once. Had a whole thing going—candles, matching robes, probably kissed everyone in sight. So yeah, probably been kissed."
Her eyes flick to him again, brighter now, playful and sharp. "Alright. Does your person look like they talk about themselves in the third person when they’re mad?"
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
