is this the end of all the endings?
The sound of Kai's voice—sleep-thick and a little rough around the edges—pulls something bright and buoyant through Flora's chest that has her smiling before she can help it, the expression blooming easy and then running rampant as she hums softly in answer, the note warm and pleased as it slips between them in place of anything more articulate. Of course she missed him, the feeling still fizzing under her skin like something just uncorked, impossible to contain now that he’s here to take the full force of it.
His theatrics earn a quiet laugh from her, soft and breathy where she snuggles closer, the sound dissolving into him as she tucks herself neatly beneath his chin. "Mm, yes, and definitely no being more than an arm's length away," she murmurs, playing along without lifting her head, as if the house truly might rearrange itself at his command, as if the day beyond these sheets has already been dismissed if only because he told his spiritual-alexa to make it so.
Her hands slip beneath the hem of his tank top greedily, palms flattening against the warmth of his skin. Her fingers wander idly, tracing the familiar lines of him, the rise and fall of his breath, the curve of his waist and hip as though reacquainting herself piece by piece, committing it back to memory now that she has him within reach again. She lingers there a moment, just feeling him, breathing him in, the quiet of it settling around them in a hush that feels soothing now that she isn't experiencing it alone. "How was it in the Grounds?" she murmurs against his chest, her thumb brushing a slow, absent path along his side.
His theatrics earn a quiet laugh from her, soft and breathy where she snuggles closer, the sound dissolving into him as she tucks herself neatly beneath his chin. "Mm, yes, and definitely no being more than an arm's length away," she murmurs, playing along without lifting her head, as if the house truly might rearrange itself at his command, as if the day beyond these sheets has already been dismissed if only because he told his spiritual-alexa to make it so.
Her hands slip beneath the hem of his tank top greedily, palms flattening against the warmth of his skin. Her fingers wander idly, tracing the familiar lines of him, the rise and fall of his breath, the curve of his waist and hip as though reacquainting herself piece by piece, committing it back to memory now that she has him within reach again. She lingers there a moment, just feeling him, breathing him in, the quiet of it settling around them in a hush that feels soothing now that she isn't experiencing it alone. "How was it in the Grounds?" she murmurs against his chest, her thumb brushing a slow, absent path along his side.
my broken bones are mending
