slow down, you're doing fine
Flora’s mouth drops open, not just theatrically, though she certainly leans into the drama of it, but with a genuine little spark of horror that lights up her wide aqua eyes. "Asta," she breathes, nudging his ribs with her shoulder in a scandalised half-laugh, "I’m sure Danta will be absolutely thrilled to hear that you mean to keep throwing yourself directly into danger."
Her gaze catches on the bead of water forming on his twisting horns, watching it slide down the dark curve until it drips into his damp hair. For a moment her fingers twitch with the urge to comb through those black strands, to sweep that little droplet away, to indulge the tenderness that rises so easily with him. Instead she swallows the impulse with a small, warm laugh and lets her hand drift back into the bubbles.
When he mentions that without her interference he and Danta might still be “friends,” she beams up at him, nose wrinkling in delighted disbelief. "Honestly, gods only know how long you and I would’ve kept going for if not for that night," she teases, laughter lilting through the steam. "Thank the gods for karaoke and booze, huh?"
She straightens instinctively when he shifts, and it’s a good thing she does; the gasp that bursts from her would’ve sent half the hot tub up her nose otherwise. She’d known pieces of his Whitebrim upbringing, but hearing it laid out like this—stark, brutal, absurd—makes her jaw tighten with protective outrage on his behalf. "Gods, no wonder," she exclaims softly, her expression folding into sympathy and understanding all at once. If all he'd ever seen was men being killed once they’d served their purpose, of course it shaped how he understood intimacy. She'd always wondered where that specific violent instinct came from in the butcher, and now it all made so much more sense.
Her mouth twitches, toeing the line between not wanting to pry and wanting to pry a little too much, because this is her friend and she loves knowing the pieces that made him who he is. Curiosity wins, as it always does with her. "So...now," she begins carefully, but with a bright spark of interest in her eyes, "with Danta...is it different?" She tilts her chin up, watching him with open warmth. "Can you enjoy it? Does it feel good for you emotionally too, or..." Her lips purse thoughtfully before she finishes, "is it still mostly physical?" And even then she'd seen how he was when he finished in the Hanged Man, though part of her wondered if that had more to do with her presence, and if things weren't different just between the two of them.
Her gaze catches on the bead of water forming on his twisting horns, watching it slide down the dark curve until it drips into his damp hair. For a moment her fingers twitch with the urge to comb through those black strands, to sweep that little droplet away, to indulge the tenderness that rises so easily with him. Instead she swallows the impulse with a small, warm laugh and lets her hand drift back into the bubbles.
When he mentions that without her interference he and Danta might still be “friends,” she beams up at him, nose wrinkling in delighted disbelief. "Honestly, gods only know how long you and I would’ve kept going for if not for that night," she teases, laughter lilting through the steam. "Thank the gods for karaoke and booze, huh?"
She straightens instinctively when he shifts, and it’s a good thing she does; the gasp that bursts from her would’ve sent half the hot tub up her nose otherwise. She’d known pieces of his Whitebrim upbringing, but hearing it laid out like this—stark, brutal, absurd—makes her jaw tighten with protective outrage on his behalf. "Gods, no wonder," she exclaims softly, her expression folding into sympathy and understanding all at once. If all he'd ever seen was men being killed once they’d served their purpose, of course it shaped how he understood intimacy. She'd always wondered where that specific violent instinct came from in the butcher, and now it all made so much more sense.
Her mouth twitches, toeing the line between not wanting to pry and wanting to pry a little too much, because this is her friend and she loves knowing the pieces that made him who he is. Curiosity wins, as it always does with her. "So...now," she begins carefully, but with a bright spark of interest in her eyes, "with Danta...is it different?" She tilts her chin up, watching him with open warmth. "Can you enjoy it? Does it feel good for you emotionally too, or..." Her lips purse thoughtfully before she finishes, "is it still mostly physical?" And even then she'd seen how he was when he finished in the Hanged Man, though part of her wondered if that had more to do with her presence, and if things weren't different just between the two of them.
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
