slow down, you're doing fine
Flora is already halfway down the staircase when Asta's voice rolls through the front hall, the spirits having rustled eagerly around her a few minutes earlier in that way they always do when someone they like is approaching. She’d taken it as the warning it was meant to be, smoothing her curls into something vaguely presentable and wandering toward the landing in her favourite pair of high-waisted cropped trousers and a pale little top knotted just beneath her ribs, comfortable and sun-kissed enough for a day spent at home.
She’s smiling before she even sees him—Asta always draws that out of her, effortlessly—but the moment her eyes catch the colour blooming across his face her steps slow, her breath catching in that soft, startled ache that rises whenever someone she loves is hurting. The urge to bound the rest of the stairs and throw her arms around him sings through her like a chord plucked too hard, but she reins it in, moving instead with a gentler drift until she reaches the same floor, curls bouncing as she crosses the last bit of space.
Her expression melts into an adoring frown, warm and worried in equal measure, her aqua gaze tracing every bruise with the tenderness of fingertips she doesn’t dare lift yet. "Babe..." Her voice flows out of her in a hush, affection settling around the syllable like sunlight through gauze. "You look like someone who could use a very long, very indulgent soak in the healing waters of my hot tub."
She doesn’t touch him, but her whole posture leans toward him anyway, a quiet gravity, an invitation he can take or refuse depending on what his ribs or shoulders might say about sudden affection.
She’s smiling before she even sees him—Asta always draws that out of her, effortlessly—but the moment her eyes catch the colour blooming across his face her steps slow, her breath catching in that soft, startled ache that rises whenever someone she loves is hurting. The urge to bound the rest of the stairs and throw her arms around him sings through her like a chord plucked too hard, but she reins it in, moving instead with a gentler drift until she reaches the same floor, curls bouncing as she crosses the last bit of space.
Her expression melts into an adoring frown, warm and worried in equal measure, her aqua gaze tracing every bruise with the tenderness of fingertips she doesn’t dare lift yet. "Babe..." Her voice flows out of her in a hush, affection settling around the syllable like sunlight through gauze. "You look like someone who could use a very long, very indulgent soak in the healing waters of my hot tub."
She doesn’t touch him, but her whole posture leans toward him anyway, a quiet gravity, an invitation he can take or refuse depending on what his ribs or shoulders might say about sudden affection.
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
