slow down, you're doing fine
Flora gives her head a mournful shake, the gesture grand enough to belong in a tragic play, as though she too feels the profound disappointment of Asta refusing to become Kai's breakfast spouse. "Truly devastating," she murmurs. But her theatrics soften as she looks down at him—still on one knee, still spinning that flimsy little paper circlet like it’s a priceless talisman—and the sight hits her with a quiet, blooming ache of affection. The rain has left his dark hair drying in uneven, soft waves that frame the strong line of his jaw, and there’s a playful shine to his copper eyes that makes the entire world tilt just slightly brighter. It’s completely absurd—the posture, the prop, the premise—and yet she feels that now-familiar rush of warmth in her chest, the one that insists he is hers in all the ways that matter.
"It took Asta months of being around Danta before he could even admit he had feelings for him," she points out with dry sympathy. "So yes, I would say your proposal might be a touch presumptuous. And far too fast."
When he pivots toward her being his breakfast wife, she lets her eyes drop meaningfully to the paper ring, the corner of her mouth lifting with slow, deliberate mischief. "Hmmmmm," she says, drawing out the sound until it curls between them. "It does kind of sound like you’re only proposing because you want some of my breakfast." Her brows lift, playful and sharp. "So what exactly is in it for me?"
His next attempt at an apology earns a snort she doesn’t bother disguising. She shakes her head, curls brushing her cheeks. "Asta is hundreds of years old, babe. If you want him to understand you, you should probably stick to something simpler." But then—when he mentions inviting them back to her house—the humour falters, replaced by something softer and deeper. Her smile fades not from reluctance, but from the swell of emotion that rises in its place, warm enough to smooth the air around them. The gratitude, the affection, the sheer awareness of what he’s trying to do, it gathers in her chest like tidewater, steady and full.
"That sounds like a really good idea," Flora says. "And it’s Danta’s birthday, so maybe we could make him something special for dinner too." Her thumb traces a small circle against Kai's elbow where he's leaning against the booth, her expression full of that soft, luminous affection she can never quite mask around him, especially when he’s kneeling in a breakfast booth like some chaotic fairytale suitor with a paper ring and the best intentions she’s ever known. Whatever else she might have said lingers warmly on her lips until the sudden shadow of their waitress falls across the table.
The woman stands there with both plates balanced expertly in her hands and not a single flicker of amusement in her expression, as though she’s walked in on this exact scenario far too many times in this establishment. Her eyes drop briefly to Kai on one knee, then to the paper circlet he’s brandishing like priceless jewellery, then back up with the flat resignation of someone who is simply trying to deliver breakfast before her shift ends.
"Am I interrupting something," she asks, tone so incredibly unimpressed it could flatten stone, "or can I put these down?"
"It took Asta months of being around Danta before he could even admit he had feelings for him," she points out with dry sympathy. "So yes, I would say your proposal might be a touch presumptuous. And far too fast."
When he pivots toward her being his breakfast wife, she lets her eyes drop meaningfully to the paper ring, the corner of her mouth lifting with slow, deliberate mischief. "Hmmmmm," she says, drawing out the sound until it curls between them. "It does kind of sound like you’re only proposing because you want some of my breakfast." Her brows lift, playful and sharp. "So what exactly is in it for me?"
His next attempt at an apology earns a snort she doesn’t bother disguising. She shakes her head, curls brushing her cheeks. "Asta is hundreds of years old, babe. If you want him to understand you, you should probably stick to something simpler." But then—when he mentions inviting them back to her house—the humour falters, replaced by something softer and deeper. Her smile fades not from reluctance, but from the swell of emotion that rises in its place, warm enough to smooth the air around them. The gratitude, the affection, the sheer awareness of what he’s trying to do, it gathers in her chest like tidewater, steady and full.
"That sounds like a really good idea," Flora says. "And it’s Danta’s birthday, so maybe we could make him something special for dinner too." Her thumb traces a small circle against Kai's elbow where he's leaning against the booth, her expression full of that soft, luminous affection she can never quite mask around him, especially when he’s kneeling in a breakfast booth like some chaotic fairytale suitor with a paper ring and the best intentions she’s ever known. Whatever else she might have said lingers warmly on her lips until the sudden shadow of their waitress falls across the table.
The woman stands there with both plates balanced expertly in her hands and not a single flicker of amusement in her expression, as though she’s walked in on this exact scenario far too many times in this establishment. Her eyes drop briefly to Kai on one knee, then to the paper circlet he’s brandishing like priceless jewellery, then back up with the flat resignation of someone who is simply trying to deliver breakfast before her shift ends.
"Am I interrupting something," she asks, tone so incredibly unimpressed it could flatten stone, "or can I put these down?"
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
