i can't help it if i want to kiss you in the rain, so
Flora’s grin warms into something softer at his easy pride, the way he accepts her surprise without flinching into defensiveness or embarrassment. He just shines with it, like someone whose edges haven’t yet been sanded down by the world. When he mentions growing up at a shrine, she lets out a low hum of recognition, tilting her head. "Me too," she says, crooked smile lifting. "My twin and I grew up at one in the Greatwood." Her nose wrinkles lightly, playful and conspiratorial."Kinda weird, huh?"
His commentary about Halo’s cocoa pulls a laugh from her, bright and musical in the small shop. "I believe you," she says as she shifts her basket, the cocoa bombs settling with a soft clatter. "Torchline didn’t really do hot cocoa. Lots of cold drinks, though, slushies, fruit crushes, cocktails by the beach." Her voice softens around the memory, warm sunlight threaded into the words before she pulls herself back into the winter-bright present.
She watches Erebos tuck the mysterious egg into his basket with the air of a seasoned treasure hunter, her laugh blooming again. "Exactly," she echoes, delighted by the youthful certainty of losers weepers.
When he asks if she’s hunting anything else, Flora turns in a slow semi-circle, scanning shelves full of caramels, mints, brittles, fudges, oddly shaped gummies, and cellophane bags sparkling like captured snowflakes. Then she looks back down at him, curls bouncing around her cheeks, playful curiosity sparking in her aqua eyes. "I dunno," she says, leaning a little closer as though seeking expert consultation. "Do you think I missed anything good?"
His commentary about Halo’s cocoa pulls a laugh from her, bright and musical in the small shop. "I believe you," she says as she shifts her basket, the cocoa bombs settling with a soft clatter. "Torchline didn’t really do hot cocoa. Lots of cold drinks, though, slushies, fruit crushes, cocktails by the beach." Her voice softens around the memory, warm sunlight threaded into the words before she pulls herself back into the winter-bright present.
She watches Erebos tuck the mysterious egg into his basket with the air of a seasoned treasure hunter, her laugh blooming again. "Exactly," she echoes, delighted by the youthful certainty of losers weepers.
When he asks if she’s hunting anything else, Flora turns in a slow semi-circle, scanning shelves full of caramels, mints, brittles, fudges, oddly shaped gummies, and cellophane bags sparkling like captured snowflakes. Then she looks back down at him, curls bouncing around her cheeks, playful curiosity sparking in her aqua eyes. "I dunno," she says, leaning a little closer as though seeking expert consultation. "Do you think I missed anything good?"
