Kaisel
He nods, already expecting as much—she's too smart, too public of a role, and unfortunately too practiced to be so openly vulnerable. Unfair as it is, she's accepted it, and that only benefits her ultimately. "Good, good," he murmurs, figuring they could always play off whatever twinges people did see as the brief regret of letting go of what has been wonderful. The same sort of look a hairdresser sees right before someone with long hair nods and says cut it all off.
The rest is just a rush, and as though the receding force of it all has swept her along too, she tumbles closer. The smile that blossoms steadily, built out of splinters and promise, might be the prettiest one he's seen on her yet. It's not that it's lovely, it's that it dares to break through all the gloom and the grief, violent in the way it surges into existence despite the odds. It catches him in that waiting moment, the one where breath comes quick after so much use, where skin feels a little raw beneath the tug of emotion, and where the mind wonders of the idea that sounded whole inside made it out in the same shape.
A tentative smile answers back on his face. There's uncertainty in the familiar shape of its happiness when the thunder of anything but still rattles through him. He more mirrors it because it exists on her, and he'd do anything to keep that there.
She laps against him like bathwater, completely comforting in her embrace. The press of her answers more for him than anything else could, and the weight of it tempers the storm of all this into a dull fog. His hands wreathe her torso in response, holding her like nothing else could possibly matter, especially not when she's kissing him like this. He chases the contact a touch longer when she starts to withdraw, always reluctant to relinquish her back to the world, but especially now. He does eventually relent, gaze flicking back to life when her nose bumps his. It's softened back into something more familiar, shadows dispersing beneath the bright glint that's reflecting from her.
He laughs low and surprised at her words, the sound coming more from his nose than anything. "And here I thought I was at my best just the other night," when he'd needed to thank her properly for her gift. He knows what she means though, and his smile settles in more firmly with the awareness of it.
"Mm, that actually sounds like it could be a unique grand opening drink," he grins, "salt rims are so overdone, time for cursed ash season." He's positive she could sell anything with the right swing. A hand lifts, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray eyelash carefully before he answers. When he does, it's with the slow depth of something they've already been building, the weight of it taking time to haul up from his chest where it gathers in greater magnitude each and every time he's with her. "I'll build the world with you Flora, you never have to ask."
The rest is just a rush, and as though the receding force of it all has swept her along too, she tumbles closer. The smile that blossoms steadily, built out of splinters and promise, might be the prettiest one he's seen on her yet. It's not that it's lovely, it's that it dares to break through all the gloom and the grief, violent in the way it surges into existence despite the odds. It catches him in that waiting moment, the one where breath comes quick after so much use, where skin feels a little raw beneath the tug of emotion, and where the mind wonders of the idea that sounded whole inside made it out in the same shape.
A tentative smile answers back on his face. There's uncertainty in the familiar shape of its happiness when the thunder of anything but still rattles through him. He more mirrors it because it exists on her, and he'd do anything to keep that there.
She laps against him like bathwater, completely comforting in her embrace. The press of her answers more for him than anything else could, and the weight of it tempers the storm of all this into a dull fog. His hands wreathe her torso in response, holding her like nothing else could possibly matter, especially not when she's kissing him like this. He chases the contact a touch longer when she starts to withdraw, always reluctant to relinquish her back to the world, but especially now. He does eventually relent, gaze flicking back to life when her nose bumps his. It's softened back into something more familiar, shadows dispersing beneath the bright glint that's reflecting from her.
He laughs low and surprised at her words, the sound coming more from his nose than anything. "And here I thought I was at my best just the other night," when he'd needed to thank her properly for her gift. He knows what she means though, and his smile settles in more firmly with the awareness of it.
"Mm, that actually sounds like it could be a unique grand opening drink," he grins, "salt rims are so overdone, time for cursed ash season." He's positive she could sell anything with the right swing. A hand lifts, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray eyelash carefully before he answers. When he does, it's with the slow depth of something they've already been building, the weight of it taking time to haul up from his chest where it gathers in greater magnitude each and every time he's with her. "I'll build the world with you Flora, you never have to ask."
Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
