am I stitching up seams, or pulling on triggers?

JACK

"I hope you'll forgive me for sayin' it, but that's a first, love." Jack smirks to himself, shifting enough on the bed so he can reach down and grab his pants and tug them on. (Flora has stolen the blanket and there's something about having this conversation butt-naked that feels off). Flora whose mind jumps to proposals whenever Jack so much as kneels down; Flora who has fantasised about their future more, arguably, than she'd lived in their tumultuous present. (And yes, he knows, the lion's share of that was his fault).

As for his lack of self-control, he scoffs out an excuse for an argument, though really he's got no ammunition for it. They've both had a sharp lapse in judgement since the Greatwood, honestly, but with how things are right now, he can't seem to be able to berate himself too much for it.

Especially not as he teases her last sentence from her again, her soft breath giving life to the words, making them real and solid in the air between them. "To try to make this work," he repeats. "...I just had to hear it from you out loud. Never thought I was gonna."

Buttoning his pants, Jack rolls the liquor bottle between his hands. "I'm never gonna live in your pocket," he says. "We both knew that from the beginnin'. I need freedom to do what I do. Sometimes that means leavin' to sail somewhere for a bit. It means late nights, weird hours, space. I can do more and be better, to make up for it when I'm here. But that's important to me."

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!