Flora
The sky shifts dizzyingly above her as sand replaces sea behind her eyes and Kaisel becomes the only thing in focus, all sun-drenched and surf-softened, kissing away what salt remains as though he could undo the ache of everything she’d carried here. Her breath catches at the first brush of his lips, not because it hurts—though gods, it still does—but because somehow it still manages to feel like healing.
There’s something so achingly new in the way his weight presses her into the beach, all warmth and certainty and unflinching closeness, no hesitation or apology in his touch. And yet it fits like something that’s always been hers. One of her legs curls around his hips in instinctive answer, anchoring him there, a tether made of memory and hope. Her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, sand clinging to her skin as she splays her hand across the small of his back, just to feel the undeniable, bright realness of him.
"I love you," she breathes, quiet but clear, as if the words have been waiting for this silence, this sunlight, this breath between kisses. A quiver of a grin curves through it all, wry and familiar even as her eyes shine, and her voice lifts again with the softest teasing lilt: "Assborn."
The word hangs like seafoam between them, absurd and sweet, a talisman against the heaviness that still waits just outside the frame of this moment. She leans up to meet his mouth again, lips parting beneath his with easy urgency, her fingers sliding into his hair as though she could climb him like a rope and pull herself into something brighter. Making out in the sand might not be Kaisel’s favourite pastime, but it’s been one of Flora’s for as long as she’s lived by the beach, and gods, it's easier than anything else she’s tried to say. Softer than the storm of feelings she hasn’t yet found names for.
When she finally pulls back, curls sandy and heavy against the beach, her lashes flutter as if it takes effort to let even that small space open between them. Her hand still moves idly across his back, fingers tracing nonsense and everything all at once, before her voice lowers again. "I know there’s a lot we still need to talk about," she murmurs, gaze drifting from his eyes to the slope of his cheek to the blue sky above them. Her thumb brushes over the warmth of his skin like punctuation. "But...can we talk about it all later?" There’s no avoidance in the question, no retreat, just a girl who couldn't have predicted this when she woke up that morning, and was finding herself suddenly exhausted by the sound of her own voice.
There’s something so achingly new in the way his weight presses her into the beach, all warmth and certainty and unflinching closeness, no hesitation or apology in his touch. And yet it fits like something that’s always been hers. One of her legs curls around his hips in instinctive answer, anchoring him there, a tether made of memory and hope. Her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, sand clinging to her skin as she splays her hand across the small of his back, just to feel the undeniable, bright realness of him.
"I love you," she breathes, quiet but clear, as if the words have been waiting for this silence, this sunlight, this breath between kisses. A quiver of a grin curves through it all, wry and familiar even as her eyes shine, and her voice lifts again with the softest teasing lilt: "Assborn."
The word hangs like seafoam between them, absurd and sweet, a talisman against the heaviness that still waits just outside the frame of this moment. She leans up to meet his mouth again, lips parting beneath his with easy urgency, her fingers sliding into his hair as though she could climb him like a rope and pull herself into something brighter. Making out in the sand might not be Kaisel’s favourite pastime, but it’s been one of Flora’s for as long as she’s lived by the beach, and gods, it's easier than anything else she’s tried to say. Softer than the storm of feelings she hasn’t yet found names for.
When she finally pulls back, curls sandy and heavy against the beach, her lashes flutter as if it takes effort to let even that small space open between them. Her hand still moves idly across his back, fingers tracing nonsense and everything all at once, before her voice lowers again. "I know there’s a lot we still need to talk about," she murmurs, gaze drifting from his eyes to the slope of his cheek to the blue sky above them. Her thumb brushes over the warmth of his skin like punctuation. "But...can we talk about it all later?" There’s no avoidance in the question, no retreat, just a girl who couldn't have predicted this when she woke up that morning, and was finding herself suddenly exhausted by the sound of her own voice.
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
