am I stitching up seams, or pulling on triggers?

flora

She knows every thought is a live wire between them—that he’ll catch the shape of her hesitation same as the pull beneath it—such that her chin dips a fraction. The gesture isn't quite an apology, but close enough that it feels like one, the sharpness of truth beginning to harden the soft edges that Flora had been so keen to cling to.

Instead, she lets his answers linger in the air—each one a door she could walk through or close again with equal ease—and almost prefers the fact that it isn’t him outright asking her to stay, much as it would make her stomach somersault to hear it. Her hand drifts back to rest against his shoulder amidst the scatter of inked blooms across his skin, as a smile begins to unfold across her lips, sly and warming.

"Well," she murmurs, voice curling with mischief, "I can hardly turn down the chance to properly raid your closet." She rolls her hips up against his with deliberate ease, burying what she doesn’t want to name beneath the motion, as if the sway of her body could blot out the truth that words can’t. "So if you think you’re getting any work done on the flight up, you'll either have to tire me out or think again."

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!