// Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars //
She has always known how to find him when he starts to slip. Whether it’s her familiarity with that ledge or the tether between them snapping taut like a ripcord, pulling her to him, it’s hard to say. All he knows is that when he blinks, she is there, reaching not to stop the drop, but to make it something they can survive together. His hands slide up from the wheel to her waist, holding her like she’s the only anchor worth having.
His mouth seals into the shape of fear, that cold fighting the warmth of her hands. He quiets because he wants so badly to hear what she says, wants it to be exactly what he needs, coaxing certainty out of hiding like a spooked animal. Except she doesn’t tell him he heard her wrong, and gods, he knows that even before she speaks. Why else would she be holding him like the world is ending, if not for the world ending?
His eyes pinch shut when she says that’s never gonna happen. So certain. Always so certain that she can escape death. He shakes his head, the motion small between the cradle of her hands. ”You don’t know,” he insists, voice thin against everything it’s pushing back against. His eyes open and find hers instantly—vibrant as surf in sunlight, brighter than the band on his wrist, sparkling more intently than stardust laid by a god. It arrests him for a breath, because in them is everything he has the potential to lose.
”You think you know, Flora, but you don’t. No one does, not for sure.” It’s the surrender to the volatile nature of the world, to the variables of the future and the people and the pathways in it. How many things has she once known, only to be wrong now? She had once known love with Jack, and yet. His grip tightens upon her. ”You knew Jack,” he corrects, and there is no attempt at unkindness there. It's the reality that the longer the bridge between them burns, the less familiar the shape on the other side becomes. ”People change, especially when they’re hurt.” Maybe she’d been too busy covering her own wounds in this last exchange to notice, but Kaisel saw evidence of a man still recovering from damage.
Her trust doesn’t pull him out any better than her hands. Maybe he’s not free falling now, but he’s still struggling. ”It’s not us I don’t trust,” he sighs, the sound straining past the tightening in his chest. ”What if he does something to force us to break our vow?” Kaisel absolutely thinks the conniving telepath will find a way to manipulate it to his advantage. It all hinges on whether he wants to put in the work, and they’re back to gambling on whether Jack decides to act.
Pulling his head back from hers to find her face, he continues. ”And it’s not worth it,” he counters. ”Your life means something Flora, but you keep gambling it!” His volume creeps up, tone sharpening with the same worry that creases his expression. ”Fuck,” he curses, the sound low, shaking on an uneven breath that carries into his hands. The possibilities of losing her may be slim, but they're still present, and that’s more than was ever possible until now. ”Gods, Flora, this was so reckless. You realize that this time—” he struggles to finish and a hand sweeps up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he takes a steadying inhale. ”This time he’s found a way to keep you dead.” She’s handed Jack an impressive gun and asked him to pinky promise not to use it.
”If he breaks his side, does ours dissolve? Because otherwise, he can fuck about and burn a feather, but he still lives. For you…you’d be ‘killed’ instantly. And without you..." He doesn't know what's left without her.
His mouth seals into the shape of fear, that cold fighting the warmth of her hands. He quiets because he wants so badly to hear what she says, wants it to be exactly what he needs, coaxing certainty out of hiding like a spooked animal. Except she doesn’t tell him he heard her wrong, and gods, he knows that even before she speaks. Why else would she be holding him like the world is ending, if not for the world ending?
His eyes pinch shut when she says that’s never gonna happen. So certain. Always so certain that she can escape death. He shakes his head, the motion small between the cradle of her hands. ”You don’t know,” he insists, voice thin against everything it’s pushing back against. His eyes open and find hers instantly—vibrant as surf in sunlight, brighter than the band on his wrist, sparkling more intently than stardust laid by a god. It arrests him for a breath, because in them is everything he has the potential to lose.
”You think you know, Flora, but you don’t. No one does, not for sure.” It’s the surrender to the volatile nature of the world, to the variables of the future and the people and the pathways in it. How many things has she once known, only to be wrong now? She had once known love with Jack, and yet. His grip tightens upon her. ”You knew Jack,” he corrects, and there is no attempt at unkindness there. It's the reality that the longer the bridge between them burns, the less familiar the shape on the other side becomes. ”People change, especially when they’re hurt.” Maybe she’d been too busy covering her own wounds in this last exchange to notice, but Kaisel saw evidence of a man still recovering from damage.
Her trust doesn’t pull him out any better than her hands. Maybe he’s not free falling now, but he’s still struggling. ”It’s not us I don’t trust,” he sighs, the sound straining past the tightening in his chest. ”What if he does something to force us to break our vow?” Kaisel absolutely thinks the conniving telepath will find a way to manipulate it to his advantage. It all hinges on whether he wants to put in the work, and they’re back to gambling on whether Jack decides to act.
Pulling his head back from hers to find her face, he continues. ”And it’s not worth it,” he counters. ”Your life means something Flora, but you keep gambling it!” His volume creeps up, tone sharpening with the same worry that creases his expression. ”Fuck,” he curses, the sound low, shaking on an uneven breath that carries into his hands. The possibilities of losing her may be slim, but they're still present, and that’s more than was ever possible until now. ”Gods, Flora, this was so reckless. You realize that this time—” he struggles to finish and a hand sweeps up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he takes a steadying inhale. ”This time he’s found a way to keep you dead.” She’s handed Jack an impressive gun and asked him to pinky promise not to use it.
”If he breaks his side, does ours dissolve? Because otherwise, he can fuck about and burn a feather, but he still lives. For you…you’d be ‘killed’ instantly. And without you..." He doesn't know what's left without her.
Kaisel
// I could really use a wish right now //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
