your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora watches the kitchen scene unfold like it’s her own personal play, a private production starring three men and a shrimp tray. Her arms fold beneath her chest again, this time less in judgment and more in fond amusement, aqua gaze sweeping over the trio with a silent mmhmm of approval.
She catches Ronin’s wink, and rolls her eyes like a daughter born to do exactly that, though it’s all warmth beneath the exaggerated huff. The sight of them—Ronin stirring, Remi stacking plates, and Kai in the middle of it all like he’s always belonged—shouldn’t make her chest ache as tenderly as it does. But it does. Gods, it does.
She’s still gazing adoringly at Kai—flour-dusted, cardigan suffering, the kind of domestic dream she never believed she’d actually want—when Mateo slides in beside her and presses the drink into her hand. The smile that lifts her mouth is soft, touched with sisterly affection until it isn't. Her face flattens instantly, theatrically, as if someone just replaced her with a wax dummy mid-expression. She blinks slowly. Looks at Kai. Then Ronin. Then Kai again.
The resemblance is there. Too much, actually. Both tall, broad-shouldered, with dragons looped around them like feathered scarves and a baffling ease with hot oil. Ronin’s got silver in his hair, sure, but the knightly posture? The comfortable competence? Obnoxiously similar.
But Flora, naturally, says none of that.
"EW,David Mateo," she snaps, elbowing him hard in the side, her voice dripping with disgust that is entirely performative. The glare she tosses his way could curdle milk, though it’s somewhat undermined by the flush rising up her neck.
With a dramatic huff, she swans into the kitchen, the clink of her glass on the counter punctuating her exit. She beelines for Kaisel without hesitation, brushing her hands down his chest with a playful tsk at the state of him, fingers dusting flour from his front like she might actually be able to rescue the cardigan. Then, shooting one last dagger-eyed glance at her brother, she rises onto her toes, cupping Kai’s cheeks between her palms and kissing him without care for the audience. He tastes like beer and heat and something that belongs to her.
And against his lips, warm and quiet and true, she whispers, "You’re doing great."
She catches Ronin’s wink, and rolls her eyes like a daughter born to do exactly that, though it’s all warmth beneath the exaggerated huff. The sight of them—Ronin stirring, Remi stacking plates, and Kai in the middle of it all like he’s always belonged—shouldn’t make her chest ache as tenderly as it does. But it does. Gods, it does.
She’s still gazing adoringly at Kai—flour-dusted, cardigan suffering, the kind of domestic dream she never believed she’d actually want—when Mateo slides in beside her and presses the drink into her hand. The smile that lifts her mouth is soft, touched with sisterly affection until it isn't. Her face flattens instantly, theatrically, as if someone just replaced her with a wax dummy mid-expression. She blinks slowly. Looks at Kai. Then Ronin. Then Kai again.
The resemblance is there. Too much, actually. Both tall, broad-shouldered, with dragons looped around them like feathered scarves and a baffling ease with hot oil. Ronin’s got silver in his hair, sure, but the knightly posture? The comfortable competence? Obnoxiously similar.
But Flora, naturally, says none of that.
"EW,
With a dramatic huff, she swans into the kitchen, the clink of her glass on the counter punctuating her exit. She beelines for Kaisel without hesitation, brushing her hands down his chest with a playful tsk at the state of him, fingers dusting flour from his front like she might actually be able to rescue the cardigan. Then, shooting one last dagger-eyed glance at her brother, she rises onto her toes, cupping Kai’s cheeks between her palms and kissing him without care for the audience. He tastes like beer and heat and something that belongs to her.
And against his lips, warm and quiet and true, she whispers, "You’re doing great."
