Flora
"Yes, exactly that one," Flora says, voice rich with mock exasperation as she nods emphatically at Kaisel’s pose. "Wince." She even winces for emphasis, face scrunching as if just looking at him might be detrimental to her health, though her eyes linger longer than needed and the edges of her smile betray how little she means it. It’s easier to hold his gaze when teasing, easier to pretend the tilt of his mouth doesn’t pull something loose inside her, or how boyishly handsome she finds him even when he's being ridiculous.
At the pause in his smile, at the way he looks at her through the spread of his fingers, she tries to navigate the current she created. "Running is great for the body," she offers. "Even in place. Stationary jogging, skyship skipping, whatever." Her eyes flit upward toward him again, noting the way that the sun had evenly bronzed his skin, and her tone softens on instinct. "Yeah. We would’ve been fine," she says, and it’s quieter than the rest, shaped more like a memory that never was.
When his fingers find hers, his momentum fills the pause she hadn’t meant to leave behind, and she stumbles for only a breath before her stride matches his. Of course she follows; she’d just said how good running was, after all. Her shoes catch the stone with a rhythm that’s half chase, half chase-me, and for a moment she’s swept up in it, this easy wind that always seems to gust around him when she needs it most.
In another life, maybe she’d have jumped on his back, declared herself the queen of his cardio routine. She’d have laughed louder, teased him crueler, let herself coast in the gravity of his joy. Even now, with her hand still folded into his like no time had passed at all, the thought flits through her mind like a butterfly daring her to catch it. How easy things still are between them. How dangerously easy.
But then her thoughts start twisting sideways, sliding through the cracks in her carefully stacked walls. Was this what it had been like with Caly? This exact charm, this same lightness braided through his step? Had he reached for Caly’s hand with the same ease, turned that boyish grin on her the same way? Had he made her feel special too, only to offer those same golden pieces to whoever came next?
It isn’t fair, she knows. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He should have tried to have a good time with Caly, should have turned on his warmth and his wit and made it an amazing date. But knowing that doesn’t keep her stomach from twisting like a wrung-out dishcloth, or the unspoken question from blooming thorned and jealous in her chest.
What if none of this is special at all?
At the pause in his smile, at the way he looks at her through the spread of his fingers, she tries to navigate the current she created. "Running is great for the body," she offers. "Even in place. Stationary jogging, skyship skipping, whatever." Her eyes flit upward toward him again, noting the way that the sun had evenly bronzed his skin, and her tone softens on instinct. "Yeah. We would’ve been fine," she says, and it’s quieter than the rest, shaped more like a memory that never was.
When his fingers find hers, his momentum fills the pause she hadn’t meant to leave behind, and she stumbles for only a breath before her stride matches his. Of course she follows; she’d just said how good running was, after all. Her shoes catch the stone with a rhythm that’s half chase, half chase-me, and for a moment she’s swept up in it, this easy wind that always seems to gust around him when she needs it most.
In another life, maybe she’d have jumped on his back, declared herself the queen of his cardio routine. She’d have laughed louder, teased him crueler, let herself coast in the gravity of his joy. Even now, with her hand still folded into his like no time had passed at all, the thought flits through her mind like a butterfly daring her to catch it. How easy things still are between them. How dangerously easy.
But then her thoughts start twisting sideways, sliding through the cracks in her carefully stacked walls. Was this what it had been like with Caly? This exact charm, this same lightness braided through his step? Had he reached for Caly’s hand with the same ease, turned that boyish grin on her the same way? Had he made her feel special too, only to offer those same golden pieces to whoever came next?
It isn’t fair, she knows. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He should have tried to have a good time with Caly, should have turned on his warmth and his wit and made it an amazing date. But knowing that doesn’t keep her stomach from twisting like a wrung-out dishcloth, or the unspoken question from blooming thorned and jealous in her chest.
What if none of this is special at all?
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
