flora
A little huff escapes her, breaking somewhere between a laugh and a sob, the sound frayed at the edges just like the sheet over Jack's lap. "Easier said than done when you’re dealing with Jack I Don’t Take Good or Bad Advice Barclay," she says, voice trying for lightness even as it buckles under the weight of it.
And gods, she does understand—because hadn’t she felt the same? She’d never been inclined to linger in the woods with him, not really, but when she’d had him in her bed she’d wanted him to stay. Just as now, with her curled in his sheets, he’d been the one to ask her not to leave. No surprise, really, that they kept circling in familiar patterns, caught by the same gravity. They were too alike in the ways that mattered, sparking off each other until the air burned thin.
Even so, Jack's question cracks something inside her all the same. Another laugh slips free, hurting her throat and tugging fresh tears into her eyes. She shakes her head, soft curls catching at damp cheeks, her words threading that familiar line between jest and confession. "What I need is a way to turn back time. Or maybe just a magic wand." The humour is fragile, gone as quick as it comes. Her gaze finds his with the kind of love that feels like it’s splitting her chest open, bright enough to hurt, but radiant still. "But really? What I need is not to decide right now. I love you too much to get it wrong by rushing it. We both need to think about what we need from each other before either of us can answer that."
For Flora, she already has an idea of what it means: Dates where she doesn’t have to beg for his time. Not fucking Safrin. For him to find a way to anchor her in his web so that she's a fixture in it rather than just a distraction. Something he wants to come back to rather than something he's forced to work around.
And gods, she does understand—because hadn’t she felt the same? She’d never been inclined to linger in the woods with him, not really, but when she’d had him in her bed she’d wanted him to stay. Just as now, with her curled in his sheets, he’d been the one to ask her not to leave. No surprise, really, that they kept circling in familiar patterns, caught by the same gravity. They were too alike in the ways that mattered, sparking off each other until the air burned thin.
Even so, Jack's question cracks something inside her all the same. Another laugh slips free, hurting her throat and tugging fresh tears into her eyes. She shakes her head, soft curls catching at damp cheeks, her words threading that familiar line between jest and confession. "What I need is a way to turn back time. Or maybe just a magic wand." The humour is fragile, gone as quick as it comes. Her gaze finds his with the kind of love that feels like it’s splitting her chest open, bright enough to hurt, but radiant still. "But really? What I need is not to decide right now. I love you too much to get it wrong by rushing it. We both need to think about what we need from each other before either of us can answer that."
For Flora, she already has an idea of what it means: Dates where she doesn’t have to beg for his time. Not fucking Safrin. For him to find a way to anchor her in his web so that she's a fixture in it rather than just a distraction. Something he wants to come back to rather than something he's forced to work around.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
