you can call me honey if you want
Flora grins, the warmth of Kaisel's words pressed into her temple, lingering like a kiss that trails long after it's gone, her fingers curling briefly against his ribs as if she can trap the sound of his voice beneath her skin. "Fireworks, huh?" she murmurs, arching a brow at him with the kind of teasing amusement that tastes like sunshine and sugar. "I’ll start drafting a noise ordinance that says they can only go off when I’m happy. Which—sorry in advance to basically everyone—is going to be all the time."
When he draws her back, her smile slips crooked with reluctant affection, the part of her that wants to stay melted into him forever pouting in soft protest. Still, she lets him lift her without resistance, letting her arms hang loose around his neck until she’s set down again, her legs sliding slowly back into position with a groan that’s half sigh and half something far more dramatic.
Once she’s alone beneath the rain, she tilts her face into the water with a grin so wide it threatens to split her in two. She still feels him, everywhere; on her skin, in her heartbeat, in the breath she draws in like the steam is part of him too. Every laugh they’ve shared today loops in her memory like a favourite song, and even as she rinses the last of the mud from her body, she feels incandescent with the kind of joy that fizzes up behind her ribs and spills out between her teeth. This is what it means to be loved—fully, completely, without condition—and gods, she wants it forever. Wants him forever.
By the time she returns to the orangery, her skin is flushed with heat, wrapped in one of the softest housecoats in existence, the pink one with embroidered lemons on the pocket. Her hair has been brushed and tied neatly atop her head, though a few stubborn curls have already sprung loose in cheerful rebellion. She leans against the doorframe, eyes scanning the space until they find him, and when they do, her smile blooms anew, soft and helpless. "Okay," she announces with an air of solemnity that’s ruined entirely by the glint in her eyes, "important question. If we were at a fancy restaurant and I turned into a fork, what food would you want to use me for first?"
When he draws her back, her smile slips crooked with reluctant affection, the part of her that wants to stay melted into him forever pouting in soft protest. Still, she lets him lift her without resistance, letting her arms hang loose around his neck until she’s set down again, her legs sliding slowly back into position with a groan that’s half sigh and half something far more dramatic.
Once she’s alone beneath the rain, she tilts her face into the water with a grin so wide it threatens to split her in two. She still feels him, everywhere; on her skin, in her heartbeat, in the breath she draws in like the steam is part of him too. Every laugh they’ve shared today loops in her memory like a favourite song, and even as she rinses the last of the mud from her body, she feels incandescent with the kind of joy that fizzes up behind her ribs and spills out between her teeth. This is what it means to be loved—fully, completely, without condition—and gods, she wants it forever. Wants him forever.
By the time she returns to the orangery, her skin is flushed with heat, wrapped in one of the softest housecoats in existence, the pink one with embroidered lemons on the pocket. Her hair has been brushed and tied neatly atop her head, though a few stubborn curls have already sprung loose in cheerful rebellion. She leans against the doorframe, eyes scanning the space until they find him, and when they do, her smile blooms anew, soft and helpless. "Okay," she announces with an air of solemnity that’s ruined entirely by the glint in her eyes, "important question. If we were at a fancy restaurant and I turned into a fork, what food would you want to use me for first?"
