I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
Flora braces her hip against the wheel, the wood humming beneath her palms as the Sugartide cuts a clean line through the last molten streaks of sunset. Halo’s horizon is all gold and glacier-blue, the sky stretched thin and luminous as if the sun is reluctantly being pulled under by invisible fingers. The air is sharp enough to kiss, cold enough to sting, and she tucks her chin deeper into the oversized collar of her ridiculous-and-perfect winter coat—pale ivory wool trimmed with fluffy faux frost fox fur—cinched at the waist with a braided gold cord that makes her look like someone preparing for a holiday romance montage rather than an arctic flight.
Her curls are bundled in a loose, messy knot beneath a soft knitted hat she impulse-bought the moment she saw it ("Kai, it has tiny pom-poms, I need it!"), and every time the ship shifts she feels the pom-poms bob like excited punctuation above her head. A matching scarf is looped twice around her neck and tucked into her coat, trapping warmth and the faint scent of the peppermint bark she may or may not have been snacking on while setting their course.
The Sugartide herself feels different tonight, heavier in the best possible way. Every storage compartment is crammed full of what she and Kai scavenged in the markets: jars of Halo marshmallows the size of fists, boxes of candied nuts rolled in cinnamon-snow, glossy chocolate sticks meant for stirring into milk, and enough pastries to theoretically feed an entire sled team. Blankets are folded in neat stacks. Candles are tucked into a basket by the mast. Someone (her) insisted on lanterns with glittering blue glass because they “felt aurora-adjacent,” and someone else (him) pretended not to smile about it.
The wind snaps at her coat as she shifts the wheel, steadying their course. Her breath steams silver into the air. Her aqua eyes catch the frost glow rising off the snowfields below. Everything feels on the brink of magic, like the world is inhaling before revealing something impossible.
She leans sideways toward the stairwell that leads below deck, raising her voice just enough to carry through the cold. "Kaiiiiii? Do you need any help with the hot chocolate?" The question curls into the gathering twilight, warm and teasing and threaded with the kind of domestic affection that still hits her right in the ribs every time. She cups a hand around her mouth, grinning into the wind. "Because if you’re drowning in marshmallows again, I’m legally obligated to give you mouth-to-mouth. We agreed on that in Haulani."
The sun sinks lower, a thin spill of gold across the ice. Flora breathes it in, feeling the warmth of the ship under her feet, the cold of the wind on her cheeks, and the bright, fizzy ache of anticipation blooming behind her ribs.
Tonight is theirs, and it's a long time coming.
Her curls are bundled in a loose, messy knot beneath a soft knitted hat she impulse-bought the moment she saw it ("Kai, it has tiny pom-poms, I need it!"), and every time the ship shifts she feels the pom-poms bob like excited punctuation above her head. A matching scarf is looped twice around her neck and tucked into her coat, trapping warmth and the faint scent of the peppermint bark she may or may not have been snacking on while setting their course.
The Sugartide herself feels different tonight, heavier in the best possible way. Every storage compartment is crammed full of what she and Kai scavenged in the markets: jars of Halo marshmallows the size of fists, boxes of candied nuts rolled in cinnamon-snow, glossy chocolate sticks meant for stirring into milk, and enough pastries to theoretically feed an entire sled team. Blankets are folded in neat stacks. Candles are tucked into a basket by the mast. Someone (her) insisted on lanterns with glittering blue glass because they “felt aurora-adjacent,” and someone else (him) pretended not to smile about it.
The wind snaps at her coat as she shifts the wheel, steadying their course. Her breath steams silver into the air. Her aqua eyes catch the frost glow rising off the snowfields below. Everything feels on the brink of magic, like the world is inhaling before revealing something impossible.
She leans sideways toward the stairwell that leads below deck, raising her voice just enough to carry through the cold. "Kaiiiiii? Do you need any help with the hot chocolate?" The question curls into the gathering twilight, warm and teasing and threaded with the kind of domestic affection that still hits her right in the ribs every time. She cups a hand around her mouth, grinning into the wind. "Because if you’re drowning in marshmallows again, I’m legally obligated to give you mouth-to-mouth. We agreed on that in Haulani."
The sun sinks lower, a thin spill of gold across the ice. Flora breathes it in, feeling the warmth of the ship under her feet, the cold of the wind on her cheeks, and the bright, fizzy ache of anticipation blooming behind her ribs.
Tonight is theirs, and it's a long time coming.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
