flora
Flora frowns, concern pulling her features tight as she watches Niki come back to himself. The flush rising to his cheeks tells her more than anything else could: that he’s fully awake now, truly present. Ghosts don’t blush, not the real ones, anyway.
Her hand lingers a moment longer on his shoulder before she exhales, the tension slipping from her frame as she shifts, sinking down onto one hip beside him. The floor is cool beneath her bare legs, but she settles like this is where they were always meant to pause, like they’d simply chosen the middle of the hall for a midnight chat while the world raged outside.
From further down the corridor, a blanket slides silently toward them across the floor, tugged by unseen hands. It worms its way closer, then drops at Niki’s side with something almost like pride. Flora doesn’t look for the spirit, just offers a small smile of thanks to the air. "Wasn’t any trouble at all," she says breezily, fingers brushing lightly over the blanket as she nudges it toward him. "I was up anyway." The ring on her hand heats against her skin—liar—but she doesn’t so much as flinch. Her smile is warm, gentle, full of quiet reassurance.
Then, as if she were the one who should be sheepish about it, she shrugs. "I have a hard time sleeping during storms."
Her hand lingers a moment longer on his shoulder before she exhales, the tension slipping from her frame as she shifts, sinking down onto one hip beside him. The floor is cool beneath her bare legs, but she settles like this is where they were always meant to pause, like they’d simply chosen the middle of the hall for a midnight chat while the world raged outside.
From further down the corridor, a blanket slides silently toward them across the floor, tugged by unseen hands. It worms its way closer, then drops at Niki’s side with something almost like pride. Flora doesn’t look for the spirit, just offers a small smile of thanks to the air. "Wasn’t any trouble at all," she says breezily, fingers brushing lightly over the blanket as she nudges it toward him. "I was up anyway." The ring on her hand heats against her skin—liar—but she doesn’t so much as flinch. Her smile is warm, gentle, full of quiet reassurance.
Then, as if she were the one who should be sheepish about it, she shrugs. "I have a hard time sleeping during storms."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
