slow down, you're doing fine
Flora lifts one brow with the kind of slow, syrupy confidence that makes it abundantly clear that his threat isn't one she's taking seriously. If anything, it only fans the flame of her mischief brighter. "Gee," she says lightly, her voice floating on a feigned airiness that does nothing to hide the spark in her eyes, "I sure hope no one else proposes to me in the meantime, then."
She flares her eyes dramatically at him, as if she is absolutely the sort of girl who might say yes to the first stranger offering her a ring. The look lasts all of a breath, enough to land the joke and nothing more, because she can barely hold the façade when he can undo her so effortlessly.
When Asta’s supposed entrance begins and Kai appears around the corner, Flora fixes him with her most unimpressed scowl, spine straight as an arrow, lips pressed thin in the way only an Ancient with perpetual grievances against the world could manage. She watches the napkin dispenser tumble from his hands with a clatter, unblinking and wholly in character.
But then he kneels, and when he lifts the flimsy paper circlet like it’s the crown jewel of an ancient dynasty, when he peers up with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes and asks if she’ll be his breakfast wife, she has to bite down hard—so hard—on the inside of her cheek to stop the tidal wave of sheer joy from breaking over her face. Even so, the delight that surges through her is nearly impossible to contain, rising warm and bright enough to lift her right out of her seat.
She manages to school her features only by a miracle, though her aqua eyes glitter with traitorous playful light. Tilting her head, studying him as if weighing something terribly serious, she lets her brows lift as though reaching a grave conclusion.
"I’m pretty sure asking Asta to be your breakfast wife is not going to work as an apology," she says at last, her tone steeped in dry, Asta-coded severity even as her lips start to twitch with the threat of a smile she can’t quite swallow down.
She flares her eyes dramatically at him, as if she is absolutely the sort of girl who might say yes to the first stranger offering her a ring. The look lasts all of a breath, enough to land the joke and nothing more, because she can barely hold the façade when he can undo her so effortlessly.
When Asta’s supposed entrance begins and Kai appears around the corner, Flora fixes him with her most unimpressed scowl, spine straight as an arrow, lips pressed thin in the way only an Ancient with perpetual grievances against the world could manage. She watches the napkin dispenser tumble from his hands with a clatter, unblinking and wholly in character.
But then he kneels, and when he lifts the flimsy paper circlet like it’s the crown jewel of an ancient dynasty, when he peers up with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes and asks if she’ll be his breakfast wife, she has to bite down hard—so hard—on the inside of her cheek to stop the tidal wave of sheer joy from breaking over her face. Even so, the delight that surges through her is nearly impossible to contain, rising warm and bright enough to lift her right out of her seat.
She manages to school her features only by a miracle, though her aqua eyes glitter with traitorous playful light. Tilting her head, studying him as if weighing something terribly serious, she lets her brows lift as though reaching a grave conclusion.
"I’m pretty sure asking Asta to be your breakfast wife is not going to work as an apology," she says at last, her tone steeped in dry, Asta-coded severity even as her lips start to twitch with the threat of a smile she can’t quite swallow down.
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
