I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
He's never fully recognized the weight she always carries. She always shrugs everything off, like it isn't heavy, like a smile and some gold-laced fingers are all you need to solve the problems of the world. He believes she could, armed with just that, because who would be willing to let that slip away. Not the world.
He hasn't really thought this through. He hasn’t exactly rushed into it. It’s more like he’s eased back into a space he knows, one that feels familiar now. That's the thing with stepping over something, it teaches you that you can. All those years abiding the keep off the grass signs, like there's lawn police about to haul you away. You finally break once, and suddenly you realize you could've been making your own path all this time.
It's not just that, though. Maybe that's why he doesn't hesitate for longer than he did, but he's trying to give her the same comfort she gave him when he'd been drifting down into the bullshit. That night on the Sugar Tide, she'd made every monumental issue feel like something small enough to pick up again. Not because she solved all his problems, or because she fought them in his stead, but because she'd been there. Because she'd crawled onto a bench with him and entertained dreams until some small part of them became real enough to grab onto, just for a little while. He can't untangle Jack from her heart, he can't pull Enzo from the ground, he can't repair everything that she's broken, even the things she's just scared of crashing apart. He can sit next to her while it all happens though, and he can love her, like he always has, like he's still learning how.
He's not sure his kiss even came close to saying all of that, but she doesn't withdraw, and that's something he'll seize. At least, until...
"Hi!" he greets the stranger, one hand lifted up in a small wave as the woman delivers the assorted dressings. Kaisel glances at it, the meaning behind all of it twisting in his chest even as the door seals the woods and the sea shut again. His other leg pulls out of the water, wet toes leaving stains that fade into the seascape before he quietly stands and grabs for the basket. He rounds on her, basket balanced in his hand. He's here. He will be here. No amount of hurt, no amount of bandages or scars or storms will push him away.
"Alright, walk me through it," he says, voice pitched steady, shoulders set with a quiet determination, his gaze as sure as a sunrise on her. "Where to start. Where to stop. Whatever you need, Flora."
He hasn't really thought this through. He hasn’t exactly rushed into it. It’s more like he’s eased back into a space he knows, one that feels familiar now. That's the thing with stepping over something, it teaches you that you can. All those years abiding the keep off the grass signs, like there's lawn police about to haul you away. You finally break once, and suddenly you realize you could've been making your own path all this time.
It's not just that, though. Maybe that's why he doesn't hesitate for longer than he did, but he's trying to give her the same comfort she gave him when he'd been drifting down into the bullshit. That night on the Sugar Tide, she'd made every monumental issue feel like something small enough to pick up again. Not because she solved all his problems, or because she fought them in his stead, but because she'd been there. Because she'd crawled onto a bench with him and entertained dreams until some small part of them became real enough to grab onto, just for a little while. He can't untangle Jack from her heart, he can't pull Enzo from the ground, he can't repair everything that she's broken, even the things she's just scared of crashing apart. He can sit next to her while it all happens though, and he can love her, like he always has, like he's still learning how.
He's not sure his kiss even came close to saying all of that, but she doesn't withdraw, and that's something he'll seize. At least, until...
"Hi!" he greets the stranger, one hand lifted up in a small wave as the woman delivers the assorted dressings. Kaisel glances at it, the meaning behind all of it twisting in his chest even as the door seals the woods and the sea shut again. His other leg pulls out of the water, wet toes leaving stains that fade into the seascape before he quietly stands and grabs for the basket. He rounds on her, basket balanced in his hand. He's here. He will be here. No amount of hurt, no amount of bandages or scars or storms will push him away.
"Alright, walk me through it," he says, voice pitched steady, shoulders set with a quiet determination, his gaze as sure as a sunrise on her. "Where to start. Where to stop. Whatever you need, Flora."
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
