flora
His mouth finds hers and the whole world rushes in behind it. The press of his lips still wild with laughter, still trembling with disbelief, still so entirely Kaisel that it sets every nerve in her skin to shiver. Flora melts into it without hesitation, surrendering to the gravity of his kiss like a wave folding into shore, her hands curling into his hair, her chest pressed tight to his like maybe they could trade hearts and no one would notice. The joy is so overwhelming, so enormous, it swallows the kiss whole, and when her lungs finally cry out for breath she breaks away on a gasp and a laugh, her forehead pressed to his temple, her mouth still open with the impossible stretch of her smile.
She tries to hold herself together when he asks, but the request alone unravels her. "Husband," she breathes, the word a song and a prayer and a spell all at once, clutched between her teeth like a secret and spoken with the kind of awe that belongs in fairytales. It tastes like magic and sounds like sunshine, and the sound of it leaving her mouth sends a giddy squeal tearing up her throat, helpless and uncontainable and absolutely perfect. Laughter bursts out of her like the spray from a shaken bottle, and she folds over him, giggling against the curve of his shoulder as her legs tighten around his waist, her curls tumbling forward as she bites her lip and tries to keep from dissolving entirely.
But when he says it back, her breath catches on the edge of it, sharp and sweet and so deep it feels like her heart might split open with the ache of it. "Yours," she agrees, voice breaking with the weight of it, and she nuzzles her nose against his like they’re the only people in the world who’ve ever loved like this, like this story is theirs alone. "For forever," she adds, her lips brushing his cheek, "and then some."
And then he’s kissing her again, slow and heady and reverent, and Flora lets herself drown in the feeling of it. Her fingers slip into his hair again, slow and affectionate, as if she can sculpt her joy into the shape of him, hold it between her palms. She grins into the kiss as he knocks against the counter, laughing softly as he steadies them, his mouth trailing lower. Her hands glide down his neck to anchor against his back, holding him like he’s become a vessel for all her joy, a place to pour the overwhelming flood of it, as if maybe that’s how she’ll keep from bursting.
And gods, while she knows it's foolish to think so, Flora believes wholeheartedly that she could never feel anything but joy ever again after this. She's never been good at caution when it comes to love, has never been careful with her heart; she’s only ever hurled it forward, tossed it out to sea, cracked it open like an oyster and hoped someone would find the pearl. And now, pressed against the man who has seen all of her and still said yes, now, held in arms that carry her like treasure and devotion and promise all tangled into one, she truly believes she will never have another bad day. How could she, when all of her days now contain him?
Her lips find his temple, her breath warm against his skin, and in a whisper so soft it trembles, she says, "Being married to you is everything I could have ever wanted." Her voice cracks on the last word, the happiness in it so enormous it staggers, but she doesn’t falter, she only holds on tighter, smiling into his skin, already planning to say it again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. And every day that would follow.
She tries to hold herself together when he asks, but the request alone unravels her. "Husband," she breathes, the word a song and a prayer and a spell all at once, clutched between her teeth like a secret and spoken with the kind of awe that belongs in fairytales. It tastes like magic and sounds like sunshine, and the sound of it leaving her mouth sends a giddy squeal tearing up her throat, helpless and uncontainable and absolutely perfect. Laughter bursts out of her like the spray from a shaken bottle, and she folds over him, giggling against the curve of his shoulder as her legs tighten around his waist, her curls tumbling forward as she bites her lip and tries to keep from dissolving entirely.
But when he says it back, her breath catches on the edge of it, sharp and sweet and so deep it feels like her heart might split open with the ache of it. "Yours," she agrees, voice breaking with the weight of it, and she nuzzles her nose against his like they’re the only people in the world who’ve ever loved like this, like this story is theirs alone. "For forever," she adds, her lips brushing his cheek, "and then some."
And then he’s kissing her again, slow and heady and reverent, and Flora lets herself drown in the feeling of it. Her fingers slip into his hair again, slow and affectionate, as if she can sculpt her joy into the shape of him, hold it between her palms. She grins into the kiss as he knocks against the counter, laughing softly as he steadies them, his mouth trailing lower. Her hands glide down his neck to anchor against his back, holding him like he’s become a vessel for all her joy, a place to pour the overwhelming flood of it, as if maybe that’s how she’ll keep from bursting.
And gods, while she knows it's foolish to think so, Flora believes wholeheartedly that she could never feel anything but joy ever again after this. She's never been good at caution when it comes to love, has never been careful with her heart; she’s only ever hurled it forward, tossed it out to sea, cracked it open like an oyster and hoped someone would find the pearl. And now, pressed against the man who has seen all of her and still said yes, now, held in arms that carry her like treasure and devotion and promise all tangled into one, she truly believes she will never have another bad day. How could she, when all of her days now contain him?
Her lips find his temple, her breath warm against his skin, and in a whisper so soft it trembles, she says, "Being married to you is everything I could have ever wanted." Her voice cracks on the last word, the happiness in it so enormous it staggers, but she doesn’t falter, she only holds on tighter, smiling into his skin, already planning to say it again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. And every day that would follow.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
