marked me like a bloodstain
The brush of his lips against her thumb is featherlight—so soft it almost startles her. Flora draws in a sharp breath through her nose, quiet but undeniable, like the first inhale after holding too long underwater. It’s not the kiss itself that unravels her. Not really. It’s the way it lands, so gentle and delicate, as if her skin is something fragile. There’s no grand seduction, no flourish of drama, and that’s exactly the problem. His touch has never meant more to her than it does now, and it’s never felt so dangerous. Not because it threatens her body, but because it threatens to breach the fragile scaffolding she’s barely managed to rebuild inside her chest.
Once she might have cracked a joke, might’ve wiggled her thumb up his nose or teased him until they were both laughing in the bath like nothing mattered. But she doesn’t, can't. Her hand stays where it is, helpless in his, pinned beneath the warmth of his palm like something caught and held—not unwillingly, not cruelly, just...fully. She’s never been this still with him. Never so painfully aware of each heartbeat, each breath. Of how utterly naked she is, in every sense, beneath his hands, and yet..
Her pulse stutters beneath her skin as she swallows thickly, a blush rising hot and visible across her cheeks, her shoulders, the delicate curve of her neck. There’s nothing to hide behind here—no hair to tuck behind her ear, no rings to fiddle with, no witty comment ready to soften the moment, but still she tries. Lightly, and not nearly as smoothly as she wants, she says, "Yeah, on second thought, maybe you’re not worth saving after all. Especially if it means I’d have to, like, break a sweat or something." It should be funny. It is funny, but even as the smile starts to curl her lips, it dies before it gets the chance to bloom.
Because suddenly, as if summoned by some cruel chorus, she hears them: Koa’s voice, low and certain in the shade of the Greatwood: Even if things were different—even if you still felt the same—I know we can’t. Jack’s voice, rough and final, only a few feet from where she currently was: If love was all it took, we’d have been unstoppable. Then again, quieter, but final: I think I’d better go. And then Kaisel’s own voice: Even if we can’t have this.
How many times had she been told no, lately? How could she boast to be fluent in the languages of love and hate, but still somehow misunderstand rejection so badly?
The echo of them crashes into her like a wave she didn’t see coming. For a moment, she’s breathless, stunned by the sheer weight of it, as if the air itself has gone too thick to breathe. What was she doing, letting someone who already told her this isn't going to happen, kiss her like it still might? With a shaky inhale, Flora twists away—not abruptly, not violently, but with the precise, practiced motion of someone slipping on a very particular sort of mask. Her hand pulls back, aqua eyes flicking over Kai's shoulder as she straightens just enough that she can't feel his breath against her skin.
"Can you pass me a towel? Wrinkles aren't great for healing."
Once she might have cracked a joke, might’ve wiggled her thumb up his nose or teased him until they were both laughing in the bath like nothing mattered. But she doesn’t, can't. Her hand stays where it is, helpless in his, pinned beneath the warmth of his palm like something caught and held—not unwillingly, not cruelly, just...fully. She’s never been this still with him. Never so painfully aware of each heartbeat, each breath. Of how utterly naked she is, in every sense, beneath his hands, and yet..
Her pulse stutters beneath her skin as she swallows thickly, a blush rising hot and visible across her cheeks, her shoulders, the delicate curve of her neck. There’s nothing to hide behind here—no hair to tuck behind her ear, no rings to fiddle with, no witty comment ready to soften the moment, but still she tries. Lightly, and not nearly as smoothly as she wants, she says, "Yeah, on second thought, maybe you’re not worth saving after all. Especially if it means I’d have to, like, break a sweat or something." It should be funny. It is funny, but even as the smile starts to curl her lips, it dies before it gets the chance to bloom.
Because suddenly, as if summoned by some cruel chorus, she hears them: Koa’s voice, low and certain in the shade of the Greatwood: Even if things were different—even if you still felt the same—I know we can’t. Jack’s voice, rough and final, only a few feet from where she currently was: If love was all it took, we’d have been unstoppable. Then again, quieter, but final: I think I’d better go. And then Kaisel’s own voice: Even if we can’t have this.
How many times had she been told no, lately? How could she boast to be fluent in the languages of love and hate, but still somehow misunderstand rejection so badly?
The echo of them crashes into her like a wave she didn’t see coming. For a moment, she’s breathless, stunned by the sheer weight of it, as if the air itself has gone too thick to breathe. What was she doing, letting someone who already told her this isn't going to happen, kiss her like it still might? With a shaky inhale, Flora twists away—not abruptly, not violently, but with the precise, practiced motion of someone slipping on a very particular sort of mask. Her hand pulls back, aqua eyes flicking over Kai's shoulder as she straightens just enough that she can't feel his breath against her skin.
"Can you pass me a towel? Wrinkles aren't great for healing."
