I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
For each of Flora's uncertainties, Kaisel has only an unwavering focus, honed entirely on her. It has nothing to do with the slide of fabric over her skin, or the laughter bubbling up from her like comfort. It's an intent to see her whole, as she should be. Having her means so much less to him than being with her, than the assuredness of her well being. He can always have her when he sinks into bed, even if it's just a midnight idea, but he can only be with her in moments like these.
He would choose to be with her time and time again, by whatever means.
The explanation she provides, like something she's reliving, or maybe just something to fill the caution, causes him to wince. "I had wondered..." he admits, because while he's all for cool scars, she had mentioned wanting to get rid of some of her others, ones that put on a much smaller display than these. "Sounds like hell," he breathes, because there's no sprinkles he can offer to properly sugarcoat this. "Has it been helping?" he asks of the creams, the question a bit timid, afraid the answer might be no.
He watches the careful shedding of the gown, extending a hand to help a bit too late, as she's slipped out of it fully now, but he'll be mindful of her methods for when she needs to put it back on. He openly traces the revealed corners of her, though it lacks any of the heat that'd been present the last time he'd seen her bare like this. In its place is the cool dread of what could have been, the reminder written with the new marks of her skin. Gods though, she is still a sight to behold, beautiful even with these brands of regret she carries.
When she finally commits herself to the water, he fishes out a washcloth from the basket, nearly sending a bandage unspooling across the floor. He folds the cloth over his knuckles, dropping to his knees as he hugs the side of the tub, hands drifting over the surface of the water. "If you could change one thing in your past, would you?" he asks carefully as he dunks the cloth until it's warm and soaked. Expectantly he glances up at her, hand stretching out in silent offer.
He would choose to be with her time and time again, by whatever means.
The explanation she provides, like something she's reliving, or maybe just something to fill the caution, causes him to wince. "I had wondered..." he admits, because while he's all for cool scars, she had mentioned wanting to get rid of some of her others, ones that put on a much smaller display than these. "Sounds like hell," he breathes, because there's no sprinkles he can offer to properly sugarcoat this. "Has it been helping?" he asks of the creams, the question a bit timid, afraid the answer might be no.
He watches the careful shedding of the gown, extending a hand to help a bit too late, as she's slipped out of it fully now, but he'll be mindful of her methods for when she needs to put it back on. He openly traces the revealed corners of her, though it lacks any of the heat that'd been present the last time he'd seen her bare like this. In its place is the cool dread of what could have been, the reminder written with the new marks of her skin. Gods though, she is still a sight to behold, beautiful even with these brands of regret she carries.
When she finally commits herself to the water, he fishes out a washcloth from the basket, nearly sending a bandage unspooling across the floor. He folds the cloth over his knuckles, dropping to his knees as he hugs the side of the tub, hands drifting over the surface of the water. "If you could change one thing in your past, would you?" he asks carefully as he dunks the cloth until it's warm and soaked. Expectantly he glances up at her, hand stretching out in silent offer.
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
