Honey wherever you go, I know
Maybe breaking into a run right after complaining about how awful running is doesn't make much sense, but the difference is this one won't be a long slog specifically designed to extract as much agony as possible under the guise of 'healthy' and 'good work out'. This is just a faster way up the road, a tug to pull Flora along before her blush has time to fade. That she follows—chooses to follow—lightens every step.
Food is still on his mind, and he does mean to make good on buying them something to take back to the house, to enjoy it in someplace that might give them the best chance to start again. First, he has a very intentional detour in mind. She might be queen here, but the people shape the place in their own ways, small street performances and pop-up moments blooming like wildflowers that refuse to be landscaped. He’d caught a trace of it on their way past—music.
Just a small band playing at the corner of one of the bends in the market, hats on the ground open for donation, the bystanders around them admiring and swaying to the tune they put out. The umbrellas and awnings overhead are a riot of colors, leaning down like flower petals. Bubbles drift on the breeze from children playing down the way, each iridescent globe catching the bold hues of the stalls. The whole street hums with life and song.
"Here," he announces, more breathless than he'd like, because fuck if she isn't right about his endurance. He turns to her with a brightness to his copper eyes that is usually reserved for mischief, but this one is lit from the rush of the run and the infectious energy of the area. It also sparks off her, a shine that she always puts in him. He doesn't relinquish her hand, pocketing the key in his other to free it to collect the rest of her. "A long overdue dance," he explains with a tilted smile.
Food is still on his mind, and he does mean to make good on buying them something to take back to the house, to enjoy it in someplace that might give them the best chance to start again. First, he has a very intentional detour in mind. She might be queen here, but the people shape the place in their own ways, small street performances and pop-up moments blooming like wildflowers that refuse to be landscaped. He’d caught a trace of it on their way past—music.
Just a small band playing at the corner of one of the bends in the market, hats on the ground open for donation, the bystanders around them admiring and swaying to the tune they put out. The umbrellas and awnings overhead are a riot of colors, leaning down like flower petals. Bubbles drift on the breeze from children playing down the way, each iridescent globe catching the bold hues of the stalls. The whole street hums with life and song.
"Here," he announces, more breathless than he'd like, because fuck if she isn't right about his endurance. He turns to her with a brightness to his copper eyes that is usually reserved for mischief, but this one is lit from the rush of the run and the infectious energy of the area. It also sparks off her, a shine that she always puts in him. He doesn't relinquish her hand, pocketing the key in his other to free it to collect the rest of her. "A long overdue dance," he explains with a tilted smile.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
