you can call me honey if you want
Her breath slows as she takes in his answer, and for a long moment Flora just lies there, her skin drying into pale earth tones, her thoughts moving more slowly than they usually dare. There are a dozen things she could say, confessions that almost come spilling out: the way she’s considered asking him to rule with her, the way she’s already halfway to making him an advisor anyway, given how often she folds his voice into her decisions. But they all feel too fragile, too weighty for this sun-drenched space where laughter still lingers in the air like sea salt and they're supposed to be relaxing. So instead, she hums quietly, a thoughtful sound that floats between them without trying to press too hard against the moment.
Then, as if shaking off the heaviness like droplets from a swim, she grins. Not because she doesn’t take his words seriously, but because this is supposed to be a day of peace. A little indulgent, a little ridiculous, maybe, but safe. Soft. "Maybe I’ll make it like a pageant," she muses aloud, her voice lighter now, teasing at the edges. "All the candidates will have to show off a special talent, walk a runway, and answer impossible questions about world peace while wearing swimwear." Her tone is dry but playful, and she lets the image bloom like a flower just to hear the sound of Kaisel’s laughter again.
It’s quickly becoming her favourite thing. The kind of sound that fills her chest in a way nothing else does, like sunlight warming the inside of her ribs. Her own smile grows in response, spreading across her lips until her cheeks go round and full. "Who doesn’t like making out in the rain?" she asks, feigning scandal at the idea that anyone could find it anything but swoon-worthy. "Though yeah," she concedes with a slow exhale, “"you’re right. It’s absolutely about choosing to keep kissing someone even when you could run for cover." Her voice drops a little, softening into the kind of intimacy that stretches between words like lace. She shifts just enough to glance at him over one shoulder, her lashes casting shadows on her cheek. "But I bet a rainroom could still be unexpected," she insists, the smile tugging at her mouth now full of something else.
Her tone turns more vivid, her grin stretching wider as she begins to paint the image with her words. "Like, we’re supposed to be at some fancy dinner. You’re upstairs, putting the finishing touches on your hair and trying to tame that one curl in the front that likes to rebel." She winks without looking, her grin turning just a little wicked. "And I call you to see if my makeup’s okay, and you’re just standing in the doorway, stunned, because the room I’m in? Suddenly raining."
Her smile makes her cheeks balloon so much she can hardly see him properly anymore as he draws closer, her gaze going blurry with joy until his mouth finds hers and the whole world quiets to the press of it. A soft, happy moan leaves her lips as she stretches up from the makeshift bed, her clay-coated arms unable to rise but her mouth doing all the work, her kiss warm and grateful and full of wonder. She grins into it, breathless and giddy, and when they part she lets out a laugh that tumbles from her like seafoam against his skin.
"Weather rooms, then," she declares, still laughing, her words made breathless with love. "One for every body part."
She sighs as she melts back into the chair, her whole body loose now, contentment radiating from her in waves. A pause stretches quiet between them again, full of everything and nothing, and then she hums it low and sweet like a song only meant for him. "I like you." It slips from her like truth does when you’re too happy to hold anything back. Because it’s not just love—though she’s bursting with that, too—it’s like. She likes him. And that’s rarer, in some ways. That’s what makes everything feel so safe and wild and weightless all at once. She closes her eyes again, smile still curled on her lips. "So much."
Then, as if shaking off the heaviness like droplets from a swim, she grins. Not because she doesn’t take his words seriously, but because this is supposed to be a day of peace. A little indulgent, a little ridiculous, maybe, but safe. Soft. "Maybe I’ll make it like a pageant," she muses aloud, her voice lighter now, teasing at the edges. "All the candidates will have to show off a special talent, walk a runway, and answer impossible questions about world peace while wearing swimwear." Her tone is dry but playful, and she lets the image bloom like a flower just to hear the sound of Kaisel’s laughter again.
It’s quickly becoming her favourite thing. The kind of sound that fills her chest in a way nothing else does, like sunlight warming the inside of her ribs. Her own smile grows in response, spreading across her lips until her cheeks go round and full. "Who doesn’t like making out in the rain?" she asks, feigning scandal at the idea that anyone could find it anything but swoon-worthy. "Though yeah," she concedes with a slow exhale, “"you’re right. It’s absolutely about choosing to keep kissing someone even when you could run for cover." Her voice drops a little, softening into the kind of intimacy that stretches between words like lace. She shifts just enough to glance at him over one shoulder, her lashes casting shadows on her cheek. "But I bet a rainroom could still be unexpected," she insists, the smile tugging at her mouth now full of something else.
Her tone turns more vivid, her grin stretching wider as she begins to paint the image with her words. "Like, we’re supposed to be at some fancy dinner. You’re upstairs, putting the finishing touches on your hair and trying to tame that one curl in the front that likes to rebel." She winks without looking, her grin turning just a little wicked. "And I call you to see if my makeup’s okay, and you’re just standing in the doorway, stunned, because the room I’m in? Suddenly raining."
Her smile makes her cheeks balloon so much she can hardly see him properly anymore as he draws closer, her gaze going blurry with joy until his mouth finds hers and the whole world quiets to the press of it. A soft, happy moan leaves her lips as she stretches up from the makeshift bed, her clay-coated arms unable to rise but her mouth doing all the work, her kiss warm and grateful and full of wonder. She grins into it, breathless and giddy, and when they part she lets out a laugh that tumbles from her like seafoam against his skin.
"Weather rooms, then," she declares, still laughing, her words made breathless with love. "One for every body part."
She sighs as she melts back into the chair, her whole body loose now, contentment radiating from her in waves. A pause stretches quiet between them again, full of everything and nothing, and then she hums it low and sweet like a song only meant for him. "I like you." It slips from her like truth does when you’re too happy to hold anything back. Because it’s not just love—though she’s bursting with that, too—it’s like. She likes him. And that’s rarer, in some ways. That’s what makes everything feel so safe and wild and weightless all at once. She closes her eyes again, smile still curled on her lips. "So much."
