// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
He wishes he could be strong enough to hold this for her too, but Jack's name is a heavy thing for him to bear, and though he can only imagine is gravity for her, he's buckling under the weight of it more and more. He's ashamed to admit it. He doesn't want the fucker to have so much power over either of them. He'd like to imagine they're so stable, so in love, so invincible that they could toss the knife of the captain back and forth without risk of getting cut or care if they did. Maybe he could ask the next star about it, but for now he's just trying to keep all the parts of him that are glued back together from cracking apart again.
As her forehead dips to his hands, looking very much like a woman in extreme prayer—to regret and misery as much as sequins—his attention lifts slowly back up. What she says should be exactly what he wants to hear, but instead it draws his breath out thin and quick. He's let her down. She's the one who came home with a shit day, and now she's folding herself over him to stitch him closed, and all the while she's still leaking. "No—" His voice comes out clumsy and low, as if he's just woken and is still groggy with the grief of sleep's paradise dispersing. He's certainly been grieving something, and so has she.
His hands uncurl around his knees, and they flop a bit to the side like a butterfly as his palms rise up to her cheeks, wet and tired. "No," he says again, a bit clearer as he lifts her face up and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. He does not want to fail her. He can do this. "I don't want you to not say things just because they're hard." She already has a track record for telling him what she thinks he'd like to hear, he would not want her to begin to bend honesty by omitting it now for his sake.
His thumbs brush away some of her tears, but it's about as fruitful as trying to sweep the beach with a broom, so instead his grip lowers. He tugs her closer into him and turns her, so that her back is against his chest and she rests against the hammock of the gown in his lap. His legs stretch out on either side of her, arms hugging from behind around her chest, holding her to him as he leans in over her shoulder. The coast of Torchline shimmers beyond through the window, drenched in twilight. "I want to hear all the things, and sometimes I'll laugh, and others I'll cry. Sometimes I'll melt onto the floor, but that's alright, as long as you floor with me, we can make it through anything." He says it softly against the cradle of her neck, because he can't stop this from hurting either of them, and he can't keep the tears from darkening their eyes, but they can hold each other through it until it passes, and he believes that is enough. "Promise me?" he asks, but the sound is so hushed he almost doesn't. "Promise me you'll tell me?"
He sighs heavily, releasing some of the ire and the fear, inhaling her into the space where they lived. They're not gone completely, but everything Jack removes from him, Flora can fill. "I'm sorry...that does sound shitty, feeling like that." The only way to get stronger, is to keep pushing through something, tearing yourself a little bit and letting it heal, so that you can go that much further next time.
As her forehead dips to his hands, looking very much like a woman in extreme prayer—to regret and misery as much as sequins—his attention lifts slowly back up. What she says should be exactly what he wants to hear, but instead it draws his breath out thin and quick. He's let her down. She's the one who came home with a shit day, and now she's folding herself over him to stitch him closed, and all the while she's still leaking. "No—" His voice comes out clumsy and low, as if he's just woken and is still groggy with the grief of sleep's paradise dispersing. He's certainly been grieving something, and so has she.
His hands uncurl around his knees, and they flop a bit to the side like a butterfly as his palms rise up to her cheeks, wet and tired. "No," he says again, a bit clearer as he lifts her face up and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. He does not want to fail her. He can do this. "I don't want you to not say things just because they're hard." She already has a track record for telling him what she thinks he'd like to hear, he would not want her to begin to bend honesty by omitting it now for his sake.
His thumbs brush away some of her tears, but it's about as fruitful as trying to sweep the beach with a broom, so instead his grip lowers. He tugs her closer into him and turns her, so that her back is against his chest and she rests against the hammock of the gown in his lap. His legs stretch out on either side of her, arms hugging from behind around her chest, holding her to him as he leans in over her shoulder. The coast of Torchline shimmers beyond through the window, drenched in twilight. "I want to hear all the things, and sometimes I'll laugh, and others I'll cry. Sometimes I'll melt onto the floor, but that's alright, as long as you floor with me, we can make it through anything." He says it softly against the cradle of her neck, because he can't stop this from hurting either of them, and he can't keep the tears from darkening their eyes, but they can hold each other through it until it passes, and he believes that is enough. "Promise me?" he asks, but the sound is so hushed he almost doesn't. "Promise me you'll tell me?"
He sighs heavily, releasing some of the ire and the fear, inhaling her into the space where they lived. They're not gone completely, but everything Jack removes from him, Flora can fill. "I'm sorry...that does sound shitty, feeling like that." The only way to get stronger, is to keep pushing through something, tearing yourself a little bit and letting it heal, so that you can go that much further next time.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
