am I stitching up seams, or pulling on triggers?

flora

There’s nothing flashy in the way Flora's thoughts respond to his words—no sparkle, no teasing grin behind the words—just the steady warmth of a pulse that feels deep and quiet, like the tide rolling back against the sand. Her hand, still curled around his back, drifts slowly, palm tracing a soft line over skin in a touch that’s less deliberate than instinctive, as if her body’s forgotten that moments like this are meant to have a countdown, that tenderness is supposed to be outside the bounds of what they are to each other now.

The breath she lets out is a little uneven, turning into a snort as she tilts her head enough to catch that dark blue sliver of his gaze. Something twists sharp and tender in her chest when his fingers slip through her curls, and the want that rises isn’t for another breathless, urgent kiss—gods, they’ve had plenty of those now—but for something quieter and less hurried. The thought startles her with its clarity, so much that she clears her throat softly, as though the sound might break it apart before it settles too deeply inside her.

"At least when you leave your cabin alone, it might give Bassian some pause," she murmurs instead, trying for lightness as she brushes her thumb idly along his spine. She'd brought her compass so that she could slip back to Torchline and still be able to beat the Ark to Stormbreak. "Assuming you're still going," she adds, clarifying that this hadn't been enough to satisfy the reason the literal banner of flowers had been hoisted in the first place.

you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!