you can call me honey if you want
If Flora knew that Kaisel still thought it was his wish upon a star that made her this happy, and not him, she might have throttled him. With love, obviously. Tender, furious, unhinged love. She’d have tackled him right into the seaweed, tickled him until he was crying and breathless and begging for mercy, then straddled his chest like it was a throne and made him listen. Listen as she listed, in agonizing, drawn-out detail, every single way he made her heart flutter. Every accidental tilt of his smile, every stupid poetic thing he said without meaning to, every time he tucked himself into her space like he belonged there. Every reason why the moment she curled into his arms on that beach—chose him, chose them—she hadn’t looked back. And gods, she never would.
So instead of tackling him now (because her front is currently basted like a fish about to be grilled), she flashes him a grin. "I’d wallpaper this whole place with our painterly exploits if I could," she says, light but sincere as her gaze skims across the Wildering House again. "Every wall, every floorboard. Even the ceilings. It’d make it easier when you’re off in Stormbreak. Or just...away." The last part is softer, the words folding inward a little as her fingers curl gently against the cushion. Not needy, and certainly Flora would never ask him to do less with his life, but it would make it easier.
His question about her nails cuts through the quiet like a sunbeam, and she exhales a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, we should have gone to the Gilded Market. I bet they'd have glowing nail polish," she groans, imagining rows of tiny bottles glowing like fairy lanterns. "Next time."
Then her grin sharpens again, blooming bright beneath the seaweed and salt. "But for now..." She hums, wriggling her painted toes with great fanfare. "Classic red."
So instead of tackling him now (because her front is currently basted like a fish about to be grilled), she flashes him a grin. "I’d wallpaper this whole place with our painterly exploits if I could," she says, light but sincere as her gaze skims across the Wildering House again. "Every wall, every floorboard. Even the ceilings. It’d make it easier when you’re off in Stormbreak. Or just...away." The last part is softer, the words folding inward a little as her fingers curl gently against the cushion. Not needy, and certainly Flora would never ask him to do less with his life, but it would make it easier.
His question about her nails cuts through the quiet like a sunbeam, and she exhales a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, we should have gone to the Gilded Market. I bet they'd have glowing nail polish," she groans, imagining rows of tiny bottles glowing like fairy lanterns. "Next time."
Then her grin sharpens again, blooming bright beneath the seaweed and salt. "But for now..." She hums, wriggling her painted toes with great fanfare. "Classic red."
