you can call me honey if you want
Flora’s lips curl sly and slow, a drowsy kind of seduction blooming at the corners like a secret garden about to open its gate. Shoulders lifting in a shrug, she lets her gaze widen, lashes fluttering just enough to play innocent without committing to it. "Maybe I just want to give you a reason to stay alive," she whispers, bouncing her eyebrows once, suggestive and sweetly wicked all at once.
But then he says little Kai and she blinks at him, aqua eyes stretching wide in slow disbelief. Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something, only for it to twist at the corners as she bites the inside of her lip, trying—and failing—to keep the smirk from tipping fully crooked. "Little?" she echoes, head tilting with mock confusion that’s all curves and challenge. She lets the question hang while her expression stays guileless as seafoam.
By the time he settles her hand into the soaking bowl, Flora exhales a breathy laugh, shoulders jostling with the motion. "I’m almost always nearly nude," she points out, unrepentant before her tone softens into something fonder. "And I didn’t know you were coming over that day. If I had, I might’ve worn something less scandalous." Her glance says the opposite, and they both know it. Then, quieter, more coloured, she murmurs, "When you picked me up and carried me downstairs..." Her cheeks bloom rose-pink, the memory pulling warmth to the surface like a tide rising against a sunlit dock.
But then he says crossed fingers and she pulls her hand from the water with a sharp little gasp of faux outrage, flicking droplets directly at his face. "What?!" she cries, scandalised in the most theatrical of ways. "You LIED to me?" Her voice is bright with glee, but beneath the sparkle is something softer. She lets her shoulders dip in a subtler shrug, voice dropping just slightly. "That was the day where I think I kind of knew I had feelings for you." It’s offered offhand, as if she doesn’t quite trust it to carry too much weight, but her gaze doesn’t waver from his face.
As the topic pivots back to wardrobe choices, Flora snorts under her breath and leans back a touch. "There’s dressing like me, and then there’s wearing my outfits," she corrects with a pointed look. "Just tugging on a pair of jorts doesn’t mean you’ve captured the whole aesthetic. There’s an art to it." Her gold rings glitter as she gestures vaguely, and then she squints playfully at him.
"And if you’re saying socializing with my people counts as work, then technically all the time you spend with me is work." She shakes her head decisively, curls bouncing. "And I hate the sound of that."
But then he says little Kai and she blinks at him, aqua eyes stretching wide in slow disbelief. Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something, only for it to twist at the corners as she bites the inside of her lip, trying—and failing—to keep the smirk from tipping fully crooked. "Little?" she echoes, head tilting with mock confusion that’s all curves and challenge. She lets the question hang while her expression stays guileless as seafoam.
By the time he settles her hand into the soaking bowl, Flora exhales a breathy laugh, shoulders jostling with the motion. "I’m almost always nearly nude," she points out, unrepentant before her tone softens into something fonder. "And I didn’t know you were coming over that day. If I had, I might’ve worn something less scandalous." Her glance says the opposite, and they both know it. Then, quieter, more coloured, she murmurs, "When you picked me up and carried me downstairs..." Her cheeks bloom rose-pink, the memory pulling warmth to the surface like a tide rising against a sunlit dock.
But then he says crossed fingers and she pulls her hand from the water with a sharp little gasp of faux outrage, flicking droplets directly at his face. "What?!" she cries, scandalised in the most theatrical of ways. "You LIED to me?" Her voice is bright with glee, but beneath the sparkle is something softer. She lets her shoulders dip in a subtler shrug, voice dropping just slightly. "That was the day where I think I kind of knew I had feelings for you." It’s offered offhand, as if she doesn’t quite trust it to carry too much weight, but her gaze doesn’t waver from his face.
As the topic pivots back to wardrobe choices, Flora snorts under her breath and leans back a touch. "There’s dressing like me, and then there’s wearing my outfits," she corrects with a pointed look. "Just tugging on a pair of jorts doesn’t mean you’ve captured the whole aesthetic. There’s an art to it." Her gold rings glitter as she gestures vaguely, and then she squints playfully at him.
"And if you’re saying socializing with my people counts as work, then technically all the time you spend with me is work." She shakes her head decisively, curls bouncing. "And I hate the sound of that."
