yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora is quiet while Sohalia speaks, and when she turns her head the smile she offers her best friend is small and shining at the edges, like glass catching too much light. It wavers but does not shatter. "I know I could have asked Kai to help, but.."
The words settle between them, and in the space that follows her gaze drifts back into the room; not toward the couch or the desk, but somewhere unfocused, as though she is looking through the air instead of at it. She could have asked him and he would have come. He would have made a joke of it, or rolled his sleeves up and been steady and warm and entirely too good. But she had not wanted him standing here with her sadness blooming like something misplaced, not wanted him mistaking the ache for longing in the wrong direction. This was not about losing Jack. It was about losing the girl who built a room like this and believed she would grow into it. It was about shedding skin she had once bled for. It was about closing the door on a version of herself that no longer fit, and not wanting anyone to think she wished it still did.
She smiles again at Soh, a little crooked, a little raw, and nods once. "It does feel a little like mourning," she admits, the word sitting carefully in her mouth, not dramatic, just true.
Her aqua eyes sweep the room in a slow arc, taking in the leather couch angled toward the windows, the unopened box stamped with promises, the antique desk with its fragile fleet frozen mid-sail. She exhales in a huff that borders on laughter, though there is nothing particularly funny about it. "I don't know if I would rather do this fast or slow," she says, hands lifting helplessly before dropping back to her sides. She gestures vaguely around them. "Everything in here is new, pretty much. That is the stupidest part." Her smile falters, just slightly. "There wasn't even time for memories."
The swing they never found time to hang. The couch bought after they'd visited Stormbreak that was never used. The desk and the bottled ships chosen so Jack would feel anchored, even here, even away from the water. All of it pristine. Untouched. Waiting for a story that never arrived.
Flora steps fully into the room at last and then, after a breath that seems to deflate something in her chest, leans sideways into Sohalia’s shoulder, just enough to borrow the contact without collapsing into it. Her curls brush warm against her friend’s arm. "Maybe," she mutters, half-exasperated, half-sincere, "I should just channel and have one of the gods take it all away." She tips her head back slightly, staring at the ceiling as though considering the logistics.
The words settle between them, and in the space that follows her gaze drifts back into the room; not toward the couch or the desk, but somewhere unfocused, as though she is looking through the air instead of at it. She could have asked him and he would have come. He would have made a joke of it, or rolled his sleeves up and been steady and warm and entirely too good. But she had not wanted him standing here with her sadness blooming like something misplaced, not wanted him mistaking the ache for longing in the wrong direction. This was not about losing Jack. It was about losing the girl who built a room like this and believed she would grow into it. It was about shedding skin she had once bled for. It was about closing the door on a version of herself that no longer fit, and not wanting anyone to think she wished it still did.
She smiles again at Soh, a little crooked, a little raw, and nods once. "It does feel a little like mourning," she admits, the word sitting carefully in her mouth, not dramatic, just true.
Her aqua eyes sweep the room in a slow arc, taking in the leather couch angled toward the windows, the unopened box stamped with promises, the antique desk with its fragile fleet frozen mid-sail. She exhales in a huff that borders on laughter, though there is nothing particularly funny about it. "I don't know if I would rather do this fast or slow," she says, hands lifting helplessly before dropping back to her sides. She gestures vaguely around them. "Everything in here is new, pretty much. That is the stupidest part." Her smile falters, just slightly. "There wasn't even time for memories."
The swing they never found time to hang. The couch bought after they'd visited Stormbreak that was never used. The desk and the bottled ships chosen so Jack would feel anchored, even here, even away from the water. All of it pristine. Untouched. Waiting for a story that never arrived.
Flora steps fully into the room at last and then, after a breath that seems to deflate something in her chest, leans sideways into Sohalia’s shoulder, just enough to borrow the contact without collapsing into it. Her curls brush warm against her friend’s arm. "Maybe," she mutters, half-exasperated, half-sincere, "I should just channel and have one of the gods take it all away." She tips her head back slightly, staring at the ceiling as though considering the logistics.
real big things I still gotta figure out
