you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Jack’s dry acceptance of the next hit earns a faint breath of laughter from her throat, but the sound curls in on itself, as though even joy has grown too fragile to hold. It isn’t him, not really, and it isn’t her either—not the her who once would’ve quipped back without hesitation, not the girl who would’ve thrown herself headlong into the heat of his smirk without flinching.
When he says he never wanted to see her hurt, there’s no flicker of suspicion in her gaze, no wall that rises between them, only a quiet understanding that sits between his words and the way her fingers shift just slightly deeper into his grasp. She doesn’t know what holding hands means for them anymore, whether it’s a beginning, an end, or some kind of temporary ceasefire carved from exhaustion and unspoken care. But whatever it is, it feels good. Not in the heart-racing, lightning-bolt way that she used to feel with him, but in the simpler way that touch can still mean comfort. Can still mean here. And more than anything, Flora is just tired of being alone in her own skin.
She draws a breath, her shoulders shifting with it, careful of the ache in her back and the memories stitched into her spine. “If I wasn’t a target before…” she murmurs ruefully, her voice quiet and full of salt and ash, “I am now.” Her thumb smooths a mindless arc across the back of his hand as she looks toward the illusory sky. “I couldn’t do that to the Ark.” She glances at him again, hesitant but not uncertain, her expression almost shy. “I think I’ll go back to Haulani for a bit,” she says, and her voice falters not because she doubts it’s the right call, but because of how utterly stupid she feels for only just now coming to that realization. “I can compass in.” Surely with Dahlia in chains the Reaper’s threat against her friends and family was now void, such that there was hardly any other option for her than to run back home to hide from the likes of Dorian or Pierce.
The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but it is weighty, the way dusk feels just before night unfurls. Flora’s eyes find Jack’s, pale and sea-blue and still too easy to get lost in, and after a moment, her fingers give his a gentle squeeze.”You could stay,” she offers, softer than before, the invitation delicate and vulnerable in the hush that follows. “Just for a while. The room’s comfortable, and fully stocked, if nothing else.” A smile tugs faintly at one corner of her mouth, half real and half worn at the edges.
When he says he never wanted to see her hurt, there’s no flicker of suspicion in her gaze, no wall that rises between them, only a quiet understanding that sits between his words and the way her fingers shift just slightly deeper into his grasp. She doesn’t know what holding hands means for them anymore, whether it’s a beginning, an end, or some kind of temporary ceasefire carved from exhaustion and unspoken care. But whatever it is, it feels good. Not in the heart-racing, lightning-bolt way that she used to feel with him, but in the simpler way that touch can still mean comfort. Can still mean here. And more than anything, Flora is just tired of being alone in her own skin.
She draws a breath, her shoulders shifting with it, careful of the ache in her back and the memories stitched into her spine. “If I wasn’t a target before…” she murmurs ruefully, her voice quiet and full of salt and ash, “I am now.” Her thumb smooths a mindless arc across the back of his hand as she looks toward the illusory sky. “I couldn’t do that to the Ark.” She glances at him again, hesitant but not uncertain, her expression almost shy. “I think I’ll go back to Haulani for a bit,” she says, and her voice falters not because she doubts it’s the right call, but because of how utterly stupid she feels for only just now coming to that realization. “I can compass in.” Surely with Dahlia in chains the Reaper’s threat against her friends and family was now void, such that there was hardly any other option for her than to run back home to hide from the likes of Dorian or Pierce.
The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but it is weighty, the way dusk feels just before night unfurls. Flora’s eyes find Jack’s, pale and sea-blue and still too easy to get lost in, and after a moment, her fingers give his a gentle squeeze.”You could stay,” she offers, softer than before, the invitation delicate and vulnerable in the hush that follows. “Just for a while. The room’s comfortable, and fully stocked, if nothing else.” A smile tugs faintly at one corner of her mouth, half real and half worn at the edges.
