Flora
He lifts her like a secret he’s finally allowed to keep, arms wrapped like he’s stitching something whole around the ache in her. Her legs lock around his waist before she even thinks to tell them to, her fingers slipping against the straps of his stupid backpack as she fights for something—balance, breath, time, but she doesn’t have any of it.
And it should feel safe, this. Like she’s being held by something soft and warm and true. Like this is the part in the story where everything finally works out, where the boy says the words she’s always wanted to hear and means them with his whole chest, literally. But gods, it’s too much, because he says them—all of them. He breathes I won’t leave you like it’s a vow stitched between heartbeats, something steady and sure, and gods she can't help but hear the way Jack had only ever let himself come close to that sort of vow.. He whispers I’m here with the kind of presence she used to beg for in silence, used to reach for in the empty space beside her. And then he says I love you, not like a secret, not like a favour returned, but like it’s always been the most obvious thing in the world.
And then he yells, loud enough that the market stalls and fruit vendors and godsdamn fishmongers are all bearing witness, and someone shouts back good for you, and it is, isn’t it? It should be. It should be.
A helpless laugh breaks from her lips, and she moves on instinct, hands flying up to clap over his mouth as if she can press the moment back into something smaller, softer, safer. "Kai," she breathes again, a smile trembling like light off the water.
But her pulse is thundering. Her lungs feel tight. She’s trembling in his arms and not because she’s overwhelmed in the good kind of way. It’s the other kind. The kind that creeps in like a storm surge, cold and pulling and laced with rot.
Because she should have told him.
Back when they were sitting in the market. Back when she saw the way he looked at her. When they were joking and laughing and finding their footing again, like maybe the hurt hadn’t mattered. Like maybe they were still just Flora and Kaisel and everything in between had been a dream they could wake up from if they gave themselves just a bit more time.
But they hadn’t woken up. And she hadn’t told him.
And now he’s holding her like he’d die before letting go, like he’s already built a home out of her name, and she can’t—she can’t—keep this from him. Not now. Not after this. "I’ve been sleeping with Jack," she blurts, as her hands drop from his mouth to his cheeks, her fingers trembling against his skin. Her eyes are searching him already, wild and full of apology, her breath catching in her chest as if the truth has stolen the last of her air.
She’s cold, suddenly. Not because of the breeze or the shade or the bite of the sea. But because of what she’s just done—what she didn’t do—and what it all will mean.
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
