Flora
It hits her like surf striking reef, all at once and too hard to brace against—her breath seizing, her ribs aching with it, emotions shivering up from somewhere deep inside her like a current pulling her under. Not the sea this time. Not the horizon, not even herself. Just him. Kaisel. His voice, the crack of it. His arm around her, steadfast even through the breaking. Kaisel, who stayed. Who never needed to be begged or convinced or coaxed. Kaisel, whose affection had always come freely. Kaisel, who loved openly even when it hurt like hell.
And suddenly it’s all so clear—achingly clear—not just the differences between him and Jack, but the weight of them. All the moments she’d spent holding her breath beside the captain, loving him in secret, tucking her tenderness between the cracks of his silence and hoping he might one day find it. Her first I love yous had been swallowed back for seasons, trapped in the garden of her mind where she prayed he wouldn’t notice, because if he did, the words would be treated like a curse. The way it had taken death to shake those words loose from him, and even then they’d never been spoken sweetly, never softened into anything warm or daily or alive. They'd been shackled. Not devotion.
Why had it taken her leaving to matter? Why had it taken her brightening, her mind mended, her laughter easy again, for him to remember he wanted her? She’d been the one to reach out every time: at the masquerade, aboard the Sugartide, on the Ark. Always her. Always begging. He'd known what she needed and wanted from him for years, and only now was he willing to offer it? She'd given everything—her joy, her pain, her presence—and he'd never met her halfway until now, when she was already worn so thin she didn’t know if she had anything left to offer.
And gods, when she asked him if he could make her happy, he hadn’t even said yes. Hadn’t promised to do everything he could. Hadn’t even said he wanted to. Just a deflection, something raw and honest and entirely not enough, but entirely Jack. That’s not for me to decide. But it was. It had always been. Not to guarantee her happiness—no one could—but to try like hell to build it with her. To want it for her as badly as he wanted her. He could have said he’d give her everything he had, every last scrap of himself to try. Instead, all he'd said was that he’d try harder than before.
And gods, that difference mattered now. That difference was everything, because Kaisel had never tried with half of himself. He didn’t ration it. He gave all of it—his hands, his heart, his honesty—even when it carved him raw. He didn’t guard his love like it might bankrupt him. He spent it. On her. Always.
A breath shudders free from Flora, ragged and sudden, her vision blurring not from the tears but from the clarity—finally, finally—burning through the fog she’d been walking in for too long. Her grip on Kaisel’s arm has gone too tight and she releases it with a shake of her head, blinking herself back into the moment, into the feel of him beside her and the sound of his breath and the ache in both their chests.
"Kai…" she whispers, and his name on her lips feels like something sweet. Like something that had been waiting for a home. Her gaze flickers up to his, and without thinking—without needing to think—her body moves. One leg slides across his lap as she twists, settling her astride him in the sand, as natural as breathing. Her hands rise to his face, palms warm against his cheeks, cupping him like she could hold him in place and not let him fall apart. She tilts his head toward hers, her thumbs trembling where they rest just below his eyes. Her heart stammers in her chest, lips parted to taste the air between them. Then she kisses him.
It isn’t graceful. It isn’t soft. It’s a little too hard, a little too fierce, made frantic by grief and regret and everything she still can’t say. "No," she breathes against his mouth, shaking her head with a desperation that trembles through every inch of her. Her hands aren’t gentle—they cling—because this isn’t something she’s willing to lose without fighting for it. "No, you're not going anywhere." She breaks off again, but her lips find his once more, and this time the kiss is slow and certain and real.
She'd said she couldn't lead another war, but with Kaisel, she thinks maybe she won't ever have to, but gods even if she did, she'd never be fighting alone.
And suddenly it’s all so clear—achingly clear—not just the differences between him and Jack, but the weight of them. All the moments she’d spent holding her breath beside the captain, loving him in secret, tucking her tenderness between the cracks of his silence and hoping he might one day find it. Her first I love yous had been swallowed back for seasons, trapped in the garden of her mind where she prayed he wouldn’t notice, because if he did, the words would be treated like a curse. The way it had taken death to shake those words loose from him, and even then they’d never been spoken sweetly, never softened into anything warm or daily or alive. They'd been shackled. Not devotion.
Why had it taken her leaving to matter? Why had it taken her brightening, her mind mended, her laughter easy again, for him to remember he wanted her? She’d been the one to reach out every time: at the masquerade, aboard the Sugartide, on the Ark. Always her. Always begging. He'd known what she needed and wanted from him for years, and only now was he willing to offer it? She'd given everything—her joy, her pain, her presence—and he'd never met her halfway until now, when she was already worn so thin she didn’t know if she had anything left to offer.
And gods, when she asked him if he could make her happy, he hadn’t even said yes. Hadn’t promised to do everything he could. Hadn’t even said he wanted to. Just a deflection, something raw and honest and entirely not enough, but entirely Jack. That’s not for me to decide. But it was. It had always been. Not to guarantee her happiness—no one could—but to try like hell to build it with her. To want it for her as badly as he wanted her. He could have said he’d give her everything he had, every last scrap of himself to try. Instead, all he'd said was that he’d try harder than before.
And gods, that difference mattered now. That difference was everything, because Kaisel had never tried with half of himself. He didn’t ration it. He gave all of it—his hands, his heart, his honesty—even when it carved him raw. He didn’t guard his love like it might bankrupt him. He spent it. On her. Always.
A breath shudders free from Flora, ragged and sudden, her vision blurring not from the tears but from the clarity—finally, finally—burning through the fog she’d been walking in for too long. Her grip on Kaisel’s arm has gone too tight and she releases it with a shake of her head, blinking herself back into the moment, into the feel of him beside her and the sound of his breath and the ache in both their chests.
"Kai…" she whispers, and his name on her lips feels like something sweet. Like something that had been waiting for a home. Her gaze flickers up to his, and without thinking—without needing to think—her body moves. One leg slides across his lap as she twists, settling her astride him in the sand, as natural as breathing. Her hands rise to his face, palms warm against his cheeks, cupping him like she could hold him in place and not let him fall apart. She tilts his head toward hers, her thumbs trembling where they rest just below his eyes. Her heart stammers in her chest, lips parted to taste the air between them. Then she kisses him.
It isn’t graceful. It isn’t soft. It’s a little too hard, a little too fierce, made frantic by grief and regret and everything she still can’t say. "No," she breathes against his mouth, shaking her head with a desperation that trembles through every inch of her. Her hands aren’t gentle—they cling—because this isn’t something she’s willing to lose without fighting for it. "No, you're not going anywhere." She breaks off again, but her lips find his once more, and this time the kiss is slow and certain and real.
She'd said she couldn't lead another war, but with Kaisel, she thinks maybe she won't ever have to, but gods even if she did, she'd never be fighting alone.
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
