I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
He's too intent on unlacing leather to catch how she turns away, but the way her words land on him have enough familiarity to them that he thinks maybe there's some hope yet. He drops the discarded footwear behind him with a thud, wet socks slapping after, and sinks his toes into the water with just some lint remnants drifting away into the current of their toes. All the while he listens as she talks, but he doesn't respond at first, just stares into the ocean she's created here as if he's suspicious it might still have some sharks in it.
Instead of a voice, he sidles even closer to her, so that their hips and shoulders touch with a constant, subtle pressure. He invades the space where her toes linger, putting his under hers and lifting them in the water a bit, like he means to buoy her in every way he can. While she's uncertain what is permitted, what she can do or accept, he's never been more assured that he belongs right here, holding every part of her he can manage. The brothel is long forgotten, this is just another space Flora has claimed, another one he'll join her in, doesn't matter what scenery she's painted. There's too much muted still for it to be anything more than comfort, but he sets his closest hand on her knee, like he means to keep her from drifting away.
It hasn't been long, he doesn't think, since she finished speaking. Long enough to let the quiet settle with a presence that he feels sag onto them, but it doesn't suffocate. He wants to be sure she's done before he puts his own words out there, because he's glad she finally admitted it, not being okay, and he doesn't want to trample that honesty with his enthusiasm for more of it. "Why do you think that?" he gentles the air with the question, his thumb brushing across the slope of her knee, as much to steady her as him. As far as he can tell, she's still got Torchline, and the Sugar Tide, and Jack's shadow, and all the other things she has always had, just now some extra markings on her skin. He doesn't know everything she lost to earn those, and is definitely sure it doesn't mean she ought to lose all of herself with it.
Instead of a voice, he sidles even closer to her, so that their hips and shoulders touch with a constant, subtle pressure. He invades the space where her toes linger, putting his under hers and lifting them in the water a bit, like he means to buoy her in every way he can. While she's uncertain what is permitted, what she can do or accept, he's never been more assured that he belongs right here, holding every part of her he can manage. The brothel is long forgotten, this is just another space Flora has claimed, another one he'll join her in, doesn't matter what scenery she's painted. There's too much muted still for it to be anything more than comfort, but he sets his closest hand on her knee, like he means to keep her from drifting away.
It hasn't been long, he doesn't think, since she finished speaking. Long enough to let the quiet settle with a presence that he feels sag onto them, but it doesn't suffocate. He wants to be sure she's done before he puts his own words out there, because he's glad she finally admitted it, not being okay, and he doesn't want to trample that honesty with his enthusiasm for more of it. "Why do you think that?" he gentles the air with the question, his thumb brushing across the slope of her knee, as much to steady her as him. As far as he can tell, she's still got Torchline, and the Sugar Tide, and Jack's shadow, and all the other things she has always had, just now some extra markings on her skin. He doesn't know everything she lost to earn those, and is definitely sure it doesn't mean she ought to lose all of herself with it.
Kaisel
I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
