Flora
The second Kaisel starts to shift, she’s right there with him, twisting in the sheets to chase his warmth, her skin tacky with sweat and slick and none of it mattering in the slightest. She wriggles herself into the dip of his body like she’s always belonged there. "Mmhmm," is all she says at first, her voice low and melted with satisfaction, sleep tugging at her even as something in her refuses to let go of the moment just yet.
She means to stay still, to fall asleep just like that, but there’s something sharp and bright fluttering inside her chest. Not anxiety. Not fear. Not even arousal, though her body still feels like it’s humming from the way he touched her. It’s something more delicate, more dangerous—lovestruck adrenaline, dizzy and uncontainable—a kind of joy that won’t let her settle without looking at him properly.
So she shifts, twisting halfway onto her belly again, ignoring the stickiness and the protests of her thighs. She props herself up just enough to spy the flop of his hair, all chaos and copper and boyish charm, and groans a little to herself, not because it’s inconvenient, but because gods, even like this—especially like this—he’s perfect.
She rolls over fully, one hand moving to his cheek. Her smile starts slow, the kind that blooms rather than forms, curling at the corners like it’s being coaxed from somewhere deep. Her fingers sweep through his hair, brushing the dark strands back with a touch so light it’s almost reverent. "I’m in love with you," she whispers, barely more than a breath, but confident and sure. Not flung like confetti in a marketplace, not tossed with a wink or a tease or the roll of her eyes like so many other I love you's that had passed between them. This is quiet and certain and full of everything she feels when he touches her like that, when he looks at her like she matters, when he pulls her close and makes her believe there might be something here worth keeping.
It’s not just a declaration, but a line in the sand that marks where and what they were before, and what they are now. And she wants him to know it: clearly, unshakably, undeniably. Wants him to know the difference between the love she’s given him before in friendship—and even in the lifeline she'd tossed him earlier that day—and the in love she’s giving now.
She means to stay still, to fall asleep just like that, but there’s something sharp and bright fluttering inside her chest. Not anxiety. Not fear. Not even arousal, though her body still feels like it’s humming from the way he touched her. It’s something more delicate, more dangerous—lovestruck adrenaline, dizzy and uncontainable—a kind of joy that won’t let her settle without looking at him properly.
So she shifts, twisting halfway onto her belly again, ignoring the stickiness and the protests of her thighs. She props herself up just enough to spy the flop of his hair, all chaos and copper and boyish charm, and groans a little to herself, not because it’s inconvenient, but because gods, even like this—especially like this—he’s perfect.
She rolls over fully, one hand moving to his cheek. Her smile starts slow, the kind that blooms rather than forms, curling at the corners like it’s being coaxed from somewhere deep. Her fingers sweep through his hair, brushing the dark strands back with a touch so light it’s almost reverent. "I’m in love with you," she whispers, barely more than a breath, but confident and sure. Not flung like confetti in a marketplace, not tossed with a wink or a tease or the roll of her eyes like so many other I love you's that had passed between them. This is quiet and certain and full of everything she feels when he touches her like that, when he looks at her like she matters, when he pulls her close and makes her believe there might be something here worth keeping.
It’s not just a declaration, but a line in the sand that marks where and what they were before, and what they are now. And she wants him to know it: clearly, unshakably, undeniably. Wants him to know the difference between the love she’s given him before in friendship—and even in the lifeline she'd tossed him earlier that day—and the in love she’s giving now.
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
