flora
As his arms wrap around her, Flora closes her eyes and exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours. She melts into him, her arms slipping around his middle as if she can anchor herself there and pretend none of the space between them had ever existed. Her bare feet shift slightly in the sand, scootching forward, inch by inch, like she's trying not to just stand with him, but in him, trying to fold herself into the shape of where they used to belong.
His heartbeat thuds beneath her cheek, strong and familiar, and it seems to set everything back to a cadence that feels whole again. Nodding softly against his chest, she whispers, "That sounds like a good idea." Her voice is hushed, threaded with the last tangle of tears. "Maybe something like...I dunno, something about Rupert."
As he starts to speak again, she arches back just enough to see him, just to catch the shape of his mouth as he tries to explain, the slant of his brows as he fumbles through the why of all this. Her hands press lightly against him as her gaze searches his face, and when he tells her how it felt—brushed off, alone—her lips tremble into a sorrowful frown. Not because she’s bracing to argue, but because she finally hears it.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, clinging. "I’m so sorry," she breathes, pulling back just far enough to place her palm against his cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw like she might be able to soothe the sting of it all. Her eyes—wet, wild, unwavering—search his copper gaze with aching clarity. "I never, ever want you to feel that way."
Then, the line about floating with hundreds of dicks escapes, and Flora lets out a surprised little laugh, quiet and sweet and laced with all the relief of something breaking loose. Her smile blooms slow and radiant as she leans in, not for his lips this time, but to press the tip of her nose gently against his. Her voice is still soft, but this time it shines with a relieved bloom of affection. "I guess we need to have a talk about boundaries at some point, huh?" she murmurs, her smile growing a touch wider. "Maybe not tonight, but before the next accidental dick festival."
His heartbeat thuds beneath her cheek, strong and familiar, and it seems to set everything back to a cadence that feels whole again. Nodding softly against his chest, she whispers, "That sounds like a good idea." Her voice is hushed, threaded with the last tangle of tears. "Maybe something like...I dunno, something about Rupert."
As he starts to speak again, she arches back just enough to see him, just to catch the shape of his mouth as he tries to explain, the slant of his brows as he fumbles through the why of all this. Her hands press lightly against him as her gaze searches his face, and when he tells her how it felt—brushed off, alone—her lips tremble into a sorrowful frown. Not because she’s bracing to argue, but because she finally hears it.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, clinging. "I’m so sorry," she breathes, pulling back just far enough to place her palm against his cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw like she might be able to soothe the sting of it all. Her eyes—wet, wild, unwavering—search his copper gaze with aching clarity. "I never, ever want you to feel that way."
Then, the line about floating with hundreds of dicks escapes, and Flora lets out a surprised little laugh, quiet and sweet and laced with all the relief of something breaking loose. Her smile blooms slow and radiant as she leans in, not for his lips this time, but to press the tip of her nose gently against his. Her voice is still soft, but this time it shines with a relieved bloom of affection. "I guess we need to have a talk about boundaries at some point, huh?" she murmurs, her smile growing a touch wider. "Maybe not tonight, but before the next accidental dick festival."
I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
