such stuff as dreams are made on

flora

Something in her untangles the moment Niki steps back over the threshold. The storm is still howling, still furious, but with him out of that room, the pressure inside her ribs eases just enough to breathe again. Flora turns to quietly pull the door shut behind them, clicking the lock into place like closing the lid on a box that never should have been opened in the first place.

And then—crash.

The sharp clatter of metal against hardwood rings out like a gunshot, loud enough to make her flinch just as lightning turns the whole corridor white. Niki gasps, staggers, tries to recoil from the sound, and crumples. The moment he hits the floor, Flora is moving, the long hem of her sleep shirt fluttering around her thighs as she drops to her knees beside him. "Shit—Niki—" she breathes, her voice barely audible over the peal of thunder that follows like a war drum. One hand reaches for his shoulder, the other bracing against the floor to steady them both. Her curls fall around her face, shadowing her worry.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, eyes scanning his expression, trying to gauge how badly he’s hurt; if he’s awake now, if he knows where he is, or if the storm in her hallway has just become more than metaphor.

you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!