yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
As the last of the lanternlight fades behind her and the hush of the trees swells around them, Flora wonders—just for a flicker of a moment—if she’s misjudged the distance this time. If perhaps she and Jack have drifted too far, and that whatever unspoken thread used to tug him toward her when she pushed just hard enough has finally snapped. The air is heavy with damp leaves and the memory of something more, and for a heartbeat, the only person who seems to want her is the boy at her side, panting need into her hair like it means something.
But then the woods shift, and he’s there.
Stepping out of the dark like the storm she built her spine around, all sharp edges and furious blue eyes, copper glinting like fire in the belly of a wave. The adrenaline hits before she even sees the blow—before the stranger’s body crumples into the underbrush like a dropped coat and Jack’s mouth finds hers without warning. There had been a protest forming, but it evaporates on contact. Because the last time he kissed her it had tasted like goodbye—like sea-salt and grief and a door closing slowly between them. And this time?
This time, it burns.
Flora coils her fingers into his hair, sharp nails threading through salt-touched strands, dragging him closer as her body presses flush to his. The kiss deepens with a desperation born not of doubt but of recognition, like finding her own reflection after seasons spent trying to rewrite her shape. He tastes like brandy and electricity, and she swallows it like something sacred. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t want to, despite what a bad idea this surely is. Breathless against his mouth, she exhales something more like a moan than a sentence, the words barely spoken at all.
"Touch me, Jack." Because he hadn't been able to when last they'd seen each other. And her thoughts, already flickering at the edges, spiral into wildfire—gold gone auburn gone burning red, until there’s nothing left but heat and want and the man who’s always known exactly how to ruin her so exquisitely.
But then the woods shift, and he’s there.
Stepping out of the dark like the storm she built her spine around, all sharp edges and furious blue eyes, copper glinting like fire in the belly of a wave. The adrenaline hits before she even sees the blow—before the stranger’s body crumples into the underbrush like a dropped coat and Jack’s mouth finds hers without warning. There had been a protest forming, but it evaporates on contact. Because the last time he kissed her it had tasted like goodbye—like sea-salt and grief and a door closing slowly between them. And this time?
This time, it burns.
Flora coils her fingers into his hair, sharp nails threading through salt-touched strands, dragging him closer as her body presses flush to his. The kiss deepens with a desperation born not of doubt but of recognition, like finding her own reflection after seasons spent trying to rewrite her shape. He tastes like brandy and electricity, and she swallows it like something sacred. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t want to, despite what a bad idea this surely is. Breathless against his mouth, she exhales something more like a moan than a sentence, the words barely spoken at all.
"Touch me, Jack." Because he hadn't been able to when last they'd seen each other. And her thoughts, already flickering at the edges, spiral into wildfire—gold gone auburn gone burning red, until there’s nothing left but heat and want and the man who’s always known exactly how to ruin her so exquisitely.
some real big things I still gotta figure out
