is this the end of all the endings?
Flora chuckles, chin dipping toward her shoulder as she shoots him a glance that’s entirely too pleased with herself. "Well, I'm not doctor but I'm pretty sure the only way to contract toowellfuckedtoeverwalkagainitis is through coming into contact with someone already infected," she drawls, her grin spreading with wicked innocence.
Laughing again as she tucks her head against his chest, she adds, "Okay, fine. But wouldn’t you rather eat mud to get strong if it meant not having to run with me?" And it’s not even hypothetical; Kai’s gotten into really good shape thanks to those hellish early morning cardio sessions, even if he wheezed less and whined exactly the same. It’s one of her favourite things about him: that he’ll do the work, but he’ll complain dramatically the whole way through like it's a performance art piece.
When she’s flopped onto the bed with all the grace of a starfish tossed ashore, Flora lets out a muffled oof against the mattress and then wriggles to sit upright without undoing the towel burrito he’s wrapped her in, beaming as her eyes follow him to the bag. She perks up more when he pulls out a spirit whistle and raises her eyebrows in impressed approval, her head tilting to catch the faint rustling on the upper deck; spiritual rustling, not the mundane kind. "Okay that’s the best present ever," she starts to say, assuming skipping chores was the surprise. But then he’s still moving, still reaching, and she blinks, caught off guard. "Wait—what?" But he’s already instructing her, and her heart’s already trying to skip out of her chest. Eyes squeezed shut, hands held out, she feels the soft weight placed into them, something familiar in shape, but unexpected.
When she cracks her eyes open and sees the purse—seashell hues, ocean blue and sandy coral, a little flower charm clinking softly on the handle—she gasps, the sound gentle but filled to the brim with delight. Her fingers flutter to the charm like it’s sacred. "These are my favourite," she whispers, voice gone all soft and reverent and full as she looks up at him with an expression so loving it could power lighthouses.
The confusion comes in gently, like a tide. Her brow furrows slightly. "Wait...how does a purse help with—" She opens it, and immediately yelps as a gust of wind bursts up to her face, lifting curls, flaring towel, and startling her so badly she drops the purse onto the floor with a startled squeak. Wide-eyed and blinking at the thing like it might take off on its own, she bursts into laughter, delighted and a little breathless. "Kaisel," she accuses, stunned and giddy and more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer Kai-ness of it all.
Laughing again as she tucks her head against his chest, she adds, "Okay, fine. But wouldn’t you rather eat mud to get strong if it meant not having to run with me?" And it’s not even hypothetical; Kai’s gotten into really good shape thanks to those hellish early morning cardio sessions, even if he wheezed less and whined exactly the same. It’s one of her favourite things about him: that he’ll do the work, but he’ll complain dramatically the whole way through like it's a performance art piece.
When she’s flopped onto the bed with all the grace of a starfish tossed ashore, Flora lets out a muffled oof against the mattress and then wriggles to sit upright without undoing the towel burrito he’s wrapped her in, beaming as her eyes follow him to the bag. She perks up more when he pulls out a spirit whistle and raises her eyebrows in impressed approval, her head tilting to catch the faint rustling on the upper deck; spiritual rustling, not the mundane kind. "Okay that’s the best present ever," she starts to say, assuming skipping chores was the surprise. But then he’s still moving, still reaching, and she blinks, caught off guard. "Wait—what?" But he’s already instructing her, and her heart’s already trying to skip out of her chest. Eyes squeezed shut, hands held out, she feels the soft weight placed into them, something familiar in shape, but unexpected.
When she cracks her eyes open and sees the purse—seashell hues, ocean blue and sandy coral, a little flower charm clinking softly on the handle—she gasps, the sound gentle but filled to the brim with delight. Her fingers flutter to the charm like it’s sacred. "These are my favourite," she whispers, voice gone all soft and reverent and full as she looks up at him with an expression so loving it could power lighthouses.
The confusion comes in gently, like a tide. Her brow furrows slightly. "Wait...how does a purse help with—" She opens it, and immediately yelps as a gust of wind bursts up to her face, lifting curls, flaring towel, and startling her so badly she drops the purse onto the floor with a startled squeak. Wide-eyed and blinking at the thing like it might take off on its own, she bursts into laughter, delighted and a little breathless. "Kaisel," she accuses, stunned and giddy and more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer Kai-ness of it all.
my broken bones are mending
