slow down, you're doing fine
Flora’s brows lift high, surprise flickering across her features before gathering into a sharper frown. "Void-infected?" she echoes, fingertips pausing mid-spiral in the bubbles. Her gaze lifts fully to his, concern softening every line of her face. "Will Dygra be able to...undo that when the armour’s finished? Make it safe for you to wear without risking the corruption spreading?" There’s no judgment, only worry, the kind she doesn’t bother to hide from him.
As he explains the difference between trust and confidence—how his certainty is something rooted in history, in scars, in the kind of devotion built through surviving the worst parts of themselves—Flora hums softly. She understands the logic, but not the feeling, not in her bones, having never experienced that sort of thing. Or rather, having tried to weather those waters and finding herself alone at the end of it. "Whatever it is," she murmurs, curls brushing lightly against his chest as she shifts her cheek against him, "I wish I had it."
She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug, eyes drifting down to the play of light in the water. "Kai has never given me any reason to think he wants anyone but me," she admits, voice soft but candid. "But we slipped from friends into...this...so quickly. It just makes me wonder why it couldn’t happen again with someone else, if the circumstances were right." Her nose wrinkles faintly. "Especially if sex was involved."
She nudges him gently at the mention of his and Danta’s long, tangled history, one woven through hardship and resurrection and old pain that only the two of them will ever fully understand. "Which," she adds, tipping her head to look up at him, "is exactly why it was so silly of you to think he'd leave you." Her smile for him is warm, teasing, fond, an affectionate scold softened by steam and closeness.
Then he smiles—warm, inviting, quietly offering her a doorway into something deeper—and she feels her own expression brighten in response. Her lashes flutter up, curiosity lighting her aqua eyes as she traces the curve of his lips. "Oh?" she "What's it like for you?"
As he explains the difference between trust and confidence—how his certainty is something rooted in history, in scars, in the kind of devotion built through surviving the worst parts of themselves—Flora hums softly. She understands the logic, but not the feeling, not in her bones, having never experienced that sort of thing. Or rather, having tried to weather those waters and finding herself alone at the end of it. "Whatever it is," she murmurs, curls brushing lightly against his chest as she shifts her cheek against him, "I wish I had it."
She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug, eyes drifting down to the play of light in the water. "Kai has never given me any reason to think he wants anyone but me," she admits, voice soft but candid. "But we slipped from friends into...this...so quickly. It just makes me wonder why it couldn’t happen again with someone else, if the circumstances were right." Her nose wrinkles faintly. "Especially if sex was involved."
She nudges him gently at the mention of his and Danta’s long, tangled history, one woven through hardship and resurrection and old pain that only the two of them will ever fully understand. "Which," she adds, tipping her head to look up at him, "is exactly why it was so silly of you to think he'd leave you." Her smile for him is warm, teasing, fond, an affectionate scold softened by steam and closeness.
Then he smiles—warm, inviting, quietly offering her a doorway into something deeper—and she feels her own expression brighten in response. Her lashes flutter up, curiosity lighting her aqua eyes as she traces the curve of his lips. "Oh?" she "What's it like for you?"
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
