Flora
"I distinctly remember you saying you were gonna hit up the markets," Flora grumbles as he tugs her through the crowd, her hand still tangled in his and her boots dodging uneven cobbles and fruit vendors like it’s some kind of obstacle course he designed just to prove a point. "And yet here I am, being drag-raced past all the good food, Kaisel."
But there’s no real bite to it, not when the sun’s peeking through bright awnings overhead and bubbles are catching the light like tiny chandeliers. Still, she can’t help the flicker of suspicion in her narrowed eyes as he pulls them to a stop nowhere near anything remotely edible. Her brain’s already preparing for some frog-related prank, or gods forbid, an actual dragon waiting to pounce and prove him right.
Instead, his grip shifts—firmer, more intentional—and her confusion blooms in the subtle arch of her brow just before he speaks. The words reach her just ahead of the full blush that threatens to betray her, and her lips part in a small O of surprise, wonder dawning like sunrise. His smile is tilted and sun-warmed, the music around them catching in her chest like a held breath.
A dance. Because he'd remembered. Because, like so many other things, he refused to let it go, even when she’d tucked it away like a forgotten seashell in a drawer she hadn’t dared to open.
Her smile curves slowly, gently, as though it’s being drawn out by something inside her she didn’t know was still tender enough to respond. And gods, there’s no armour for this. No clever quip for the way her stomach swoops or her pulse skips or her hands feel too warm for her own skin. There’s just the softness of his eyes, the tilt of his grin, the echo of the music that’s already starting to thread through her bones.
Sliding her free hand up to his shoulder, she frowns when her fingers land against the strap of his backpack instead of the line of him she wanted to feel. It’s dumb—stupid and meaningless—but it snags in her chest like a burr. She presses her hand there anyway, swallowing hard as she steps in close, her breath catching as the memory of what could have been wraps around her like a second skin. What might have happened if she'd danced with him then, instead of pushing him back to Caly?
"That night," she says, her voice softer than she means it to be, "feels like it was a hundred years ago." The ache seeps into the corners of her smile, too heavy to hide and too old to smooth away completely. But she clears her throat and meets his eyes, steady despite everything tangled beneath the surface. "I think...part of me thought I might go home with you that night."
But there’s no real bite to it, not when the sun’s peeking through bright awnings overhead and bubbles are catching the light like tiny chandeliers. Still, she can’t help the flicker of suspicion in her narrowed eyes as he pulls them to a stop nowhere near anything remotely edible. Her brain’s already preparing for some frog-related prank, or gods forbid, an actual dragon waiting to pounce and prove him right.
Instead, his grip shifts—firmer, more intentional—and her confusion blooms in the subtle arch of her brow just before he speaks. The words reach her just ahead of the full blush that threatens to betray her, and her lips part in a small O of surprise, wonder dawning like sunrise. His smile is tilted and sun-warmed, the music around them catching in her chest like a held breath.
A dance. Because he'd remembered. Because, like so many other things, he refused to let it go, even when she’d tucked it away like a forgotten seashell in a drawer she hadn’t dared to open.
Her smile curves slowly, gently, as though it’s being drawn out by something inside her she didn’t know was still tender enough to respond. And gods, there’s no armour for this. No clever quip for the way her stomach swoops or her pulse skips or her hands feel too warm for her own skin. There’s just the softness of his eyes, the tilt of his grin, the echo of the music that’s already starting to thread through her bones.
Sliding her free hand up to his shoulder, she frowns when her fingers land against the strap of his backpack instead of the line of him she wanted to feel. It’s dumb—stupid and meaningless—but it snags in her chest like a burr. She presses her hand there anyway, swallowing hard as she steps in close, her breath catching as the memory of what could have been wraps around her like a second skin. What might have happened if she'd danced with him then, instead of pushing him back to Caly?
"That night," she says, her voice softer than she means it to be, "feels like it was a hundred years ago." The ache seeps into the corners of her smile, too heavy to hide and too old to smooth away completely. But she clears her throat and meets his eyes, steady despite everything tangled beneath the surface. "I think...part of me thought I might go home with you that night."
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
