and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
Spice moves the instant Kaisel appears, unfolding herself from the threshold with a soft, crooning trill that vibrates straight through Flora’s chest via the bond they share. The sound hits her before the knock does, a bright, unmistakable him that sends her heart lurching painfully upward and Flora is off her feet before she’s consciously decided to move, the red lace of her dress catching briefly against her thighs as she stumbles forward. Her fingers fumble for the latch, breath already breaking, and the moment the door swings open she sees him—flushed, unsteady, worry written all over his face—and something inside her simply gives way. "Kai," she cries, the word small and wrecked and helpless.
She throws herself into him without hesitation, arms tangling tight around his neck as she presses herself against him as hard as she possibly can, like proximity alone might keep her from coming apart. The lace snags faintly against his suit, delicate threads pulling in places she would normally care about, but she doesn’t even register it. All she knows is the solid heat of him, the familiar weight, the way her breath stutters fast and uneven against his chest as she clings. Her hands fist into the fabric at his shoulders as she tries to drag him toward her, nudging him into the bathroom with desperate urgency, not wanting anyone to see her like this and have it ruin the party. The door swings shut behind them, muffling the party to a distant thrum as her forehead drops into the crook of his neck.
"Sunjata said—" she starts, the words tripping over themselves, dissolving before they can take shape. "He said—" Her head shakes helplessly, curls brushing his collar as she gasps in a breath that turns into something dangerously close to a sob. "Please,' she whispers, voice breaking entirely now, fingers tightening as though she’s afraid he might disappear if she loosens them even a fraction. "Please just hold me." She presses closer, if that’s even possible, trembling in his arms. "As tight as you can."
She throws herself into him without hesitation, arms tangling tight around his neck as she presses herself against him as hard as she possibly can, like proximity alone might keep her from coming apart. The lace snags faintly against his suit, delicate threads pulling in places she would normally care about, but she doesn’t even register it. All she knows is the solid heat of him, the familiar weight, the way her breath stutters fast and uneven against his chest as she clings. Her hands fist into the fabric at his shoulders as she tries to drag him toward her, nudging him into the bathroom with desperate urgency, not wanting anyone to see her like this and have it ruin the party. The door swings shut behind them, muffling the party to a distant thrum as her forehead drops into the crook of his neck.
"Sunjata said—" she starts, the words tripping over themselves, dissolving before they can take shape. "He said—" Her head shakes helplessly, curls brushing his collar as she gasps in a breath that turns into something dangerously close to a sob. "Please,' she whispers, voice breaking entirely now, fingers tightening as though she’s afraid he might disappear if she loosens them even a fraction. "Please just hold me." She presses closer, if that’s even possible, trembling in his arms. "As tight as you can."
