is this the end of all the endings?
The moment he shifts upright, something in her follows without thinking, the ease of a lazy morning giving way to a sharper kind of attention as she watches him, a small crease between her brows appearing before she quite realizes it’s there. It isn’t fear—not yet—but it’s enough to pull her up with him, the sheets slipping as she moves, tucking one leg across his instead of over him this time, reconfiguring rather than retreating. Her hand finds his automatically, fingers threading through his with quiet insistence, grounding more than gripping, the contact steady and deliberate like she’s making sure he doesn’t drift off into whatever this is about to become.
At first, her expression shifts in pieces; brows lifting when he insists nothing happened, one corner of her mouth tugging faintly like she’s not entirely buying the urgency of it, her eyes narrowing just slightly as he doubles down on how very not-touching they were. It builds, that look, stacking suspicion on top of suspicion, until it just stops. Because there's nothing there. No confession of cheating. No slip he wishes he could take back. No moment that actually connects him to anything except standing nearby while chaos did what chaos does.
Flora blinks at him, then again, slower this time, as though she’s just missed something obvious and is waiting for it to catch up. "Okayyyy—" she starts, drawing the word out just enough to give herself space to rearrange what she’d been bracing for into what she’s actually been given. Her free hand lifts, gesturing vaguely between them as if she can physically sort the pieces into something that makes sense. "Let me make sure I understand," she says, her tone careful but already tipping toward incredulous, her brows climbing higher as she goes. "You’re telling me that your ancient friend—with a documented history of turning into a dragon, causing problems, and convincing people to do absolutely unhinged things—who is also, just casually, the priestess of a literal goddess of chaos—" Her hand pauses mid-air, palm up, like she’s presenting the argument to an invisible jury. "—said you fathered her baby...because you were in the room when Dygra did it?"
Silence lingers for half a second, her expression holding, before her head tilts slowly to the side, curls shifting with the motion as she studies him like he’s just handed her the world’s most ridiculous explanation and expects her to sign off on it. "Kaisel," she sighs, the word drawn out with theatrical weight, not sharp, not angry, just deeply, deeply unimpressed in a way that somehow still carries a thread of fondness beneath it.
At first, her expression shifts in pieces; brows lifting when he insists nothing happened, one corner of her mouth tugging faintly like she’s not entirely buying the urgency of it, her eyes narrowing just slightly as he doubles down on how very not-touching they were. It builds, that look, stacking suspicion on top of suspicion, until it just stops. Because there's nothing there. No confession of cheating. No slip he wishes he could take back. No moment that actually connects him to anything except standing nearby while chaos did what chaos does.
Flora blinks at him, then again, slower this time, as though she’s just missed something obvious and is waiting for it to catch up. "Okayyyy—" she starts, drawing the word out just enough to give herself space to rearrange what she’d been bracing for into what she’s actually been given. Her free hand lifts, gesturing vaguely between them as if she can physically sort the pieces into something that makes sense. "Let me make sure I understand," she says, her tone careful but already tipping toward incredulous, her brows climbing higher as she goes. "You’re telling me that your ancient friend—with a documented history of turning into a dragon, causing problems, and convincing people to do absolutely unhinged things—who is also, just casually, the priestess of a literal goddess of chaos—" Her hand pauses mid-air, palm up, like she’s presenting the argument to an invisible jury. "—said you fathered her baby...because you were in the room when Dygra did it?"
Silence lingers for half a second, her expression holding, before her head tilts slowly to the side, curls shifting with the motion as she studies him like he’s just handed her the world’s most ridiculous explanation and expects her to sign off on it. "Kaisel," she sighs, the word drawn out with theatrical weight, not sharp, not angry, just deeply, deeply unimpressed in a way that somehow still carries a thread of fondness beneath it.
my broken bones are mending
