There ain't nothing that comes close to as good as you
The slow brush of her fingers is like an external heartbeat, providing a steady pulse of affection that resonates through any uncertainty with that one, small rhythm of continuity. Whatever the other noise, the vibrations humming through him until his bones are set on edge, that one remains the constant he can fall back onto and find his cadence again.
There’s no disagreement on his part about the speed or the correctness of Soh’s choices in the matter. There is a brief moment though, where a small voice in his mind begs to derail this conversation (and oh, wouldn’t it be easier then) and make her justify how something can be both creepy and hot. It’s a claim he’s certain she’d have some evidence for, but even that pull isn’t strong enough to yank him from this tide of worry. One that extends beyond Soh, building with every ripple he’s inadvertently caused, the tossed wake of each of their arguments where she’s had to apologize on his behalf.
It’d been so simple before. Now, it’s different problems, different hearts, and a complexity he too often tries to pretend isn’t there. Not for the first time, he thinks of the tasks Safrin once set down for him that he so confidently refused. Not that he prefers a different outcome, but maybe he should have taken her attempted lessons more to heart, Caly just the first to suffer his carelessness, and Flora soon thereafter. The list has only grown since.
Hey lands with the firmer set of her hand, like a heart kicking against a sternum to be heard. Her eyes hang on, and his sigh makes room for her to settle in with him. ”I suppose so,” he admits with a softness that speaks to how gradually he chews on her explanation. The idea that maybe he’s not the only one who handled things wrong isn’t a novelty entirely, but he’s not the one who left the studio mad and dashed off a post to a friend. He would have come home and spilled his guts to Flora, but with a much different approach than this had become. Proof enough then, that if they’d both been wrong to some extent, or if there is no right, that he’d still done it the worst, because his caused harm. Unavoidable, maybe, but he’d prefer to try.
”I guess then, she might have done the same thing I did. Thought ahead and yanked back when it turned up wrong.” She thought he might celebrate her choice, same as he thought he would be. Just, different choices made than thought of. Which, fine, but then the immediate call to Flora only settles deeper. ”If she needed a minute, she certainly didn’t want it alone.” It didn’t feel like she wanted a moment; it felt like she wanted a way to get back. Maybe he’s overestimating her motives, and the coincidence that his wife is her best friend is all that it is, but it certainly reads to him like Soh is just as careless in her own way then. Flora is more than just her friend. She always has been.
The collection of her in his arms is like the first breath he’s taken in full for ages. That she doesn’t just meet him, but rises up, on tiptoe if need be, and carries them further will always be the thing he adores most about her. Where others see height and border, Flora has only ever seen beyond. Their shirts fall away like leaves long due to be shed, leaving nothing but the core necessity left to thrive. The feel of her is immediate—a warmth and sensation that drags around him like this entire time he’s been without his proper shape. His chin tucks in over her head where it rests on his chest, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he pulls her in tighter, greedy.
Suddenly, things don’t feel as large as they had been. Certainly not as sharp, or bright, or anything that can hold his attention for long. ”Oh?” he murmurs, the words muffled as his jaw doesn’t move and his lips barely part to let it pass, too content. ”Is that the difference?” he wonders, his own humor edging in, because the diference almost sounds absurd. He does hear it though, even if either way, it’s still upset. Which, he knows is unavoidable to an extent, however much he’d try to do just that. ”It’s all so clear now.” Truthfully, he’d rather have her loud and upset any day over distance and avoidance. ”You’re very good at it, y’know.” he says with a near wistfulness, as if even in this she has found a way to best him and earn more points. ”Being upset. Terrifying, really.” There’s enough lightness to his tone now to keep it from being a jab, but he pulls away from the rest on her head anyway to chase his fears, tilting down to kiss her long and slow, quieting everything to just them again for the time being.
There’s no disagreement on his part about the speed or the correctness of Soh’s choices in the matter. There is a brief moment though, where a small voice in his mind begs to derail this conversation (and oh, wouldn’t it be easier then) and make her justify how something can be both creepy and hot. It’s a claim he’s certain she’d have some evidence for, but even that pull isn’t strong enough to yank him from this tide of worry. One that extends beyond Soh, building with every ripple he’s inadvertently caused, the tossed wake of each of their arguments where she’s had to apologize on his behalf.
It’d been so simple before. Now, it’s different problems, different hearts, and a complexity he too often tries to pretend isn’t there. Not for the first time, he thinks of the tasks Safrin once set down for him that he so confidently refused. Not that he prefers a different outcome, but maybe he should have taken her attempted lessons more to heart, Caly just the first to suffer his carelessness, and Flora soon thereafter. The list has only grown since.
Hey lands with the firmer set of her hand, like a heart kicking against a sternum to be heard. Her eyes hang on, and his sigh makes room for her to settle in with him. ”I suppose so,” he admits with a softness that speaks to how gradually he chews on her explanation. The idea that maybe he’s not the only one who handled things wrong isn’t a novelty entirely, but he’s not the one who left the studio mad and dashed off a post to a friend. He would have come home and spilled his guts to Flora, but with a much different approach than this had become. Proof enough then, that if they’d both been wrong to some extent, or if there is no right, that he’d still done it the worst, because his caused harm. Unavoidable, maybe, but he’d prefer to try.
”I guess then, she might have done the same thing I did. Thought ahead and yanked back when it turned up wrong.” She thought he might celebrate her choice, same as he thought he would be. Just, different choices made than thought of. Which, fine, but then the immediate call to Flora only settles deeper. ”If she needed a minute, she certainly didn’t want it alone.” It didn’t feel like she wanted a moment; it felt like she wanted a way to get back. Maybe he’s overestimating her motives, and the coincidence that his wife is her best friend is all that it is, but it certainly reads to him like Soh is just as careless in her own way then. Flora is more than just her friend. She always has been.
The collection of her in his arms is like the first breath he’s taken in full for ages. That she doesn’t just meet him, but rises up, on tiptoe if need be, and carries them further will always be the thing he adores most about her. Where others see height and border, Flora has only ever seen beyond. Their shirts fall away like leaves long due to be shed, leaving nothing but the core necessity left to thrive. The feel of her is immediate—a warmth and sensation that drags around him like this entire time he’s been without his proper shape. His chin tucks in over her head where it rests on his chest, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he pulls her in tighter, greedy.
Suddenly, things don’t feel as large as they had been. Certainly not as sharp, or bright, or anything that can hold his attention for long. ”Oh?” he murmurs, the words muffled as his jaw doesn’t move and his lips barely part to let it pass, too content. ”Is that the difference?” he wonders, his own humor edging in, because the diference almost sounds absurd. He does hear it though, even if either way, it’s still upset. Which, he knows is unavoidable to an extent, however much he’d try to do just that. ”It’s all so clear now.” Truthfully, he’d rather have her loud and upset any day over distance and avoidance. ”You’re very good at it, y’know.” he says with a near wistfulness, as if even in this she has found a way to best him and earn more points. ”Being upset. Terrifying, really.” There’s enough lightness to his tone now to keep it from being a jab, but he pulls away from the rest on her head anyway to chase his fears, tilting down to kiss her long and slow, quieting everything to just them again for the time being.
Kaisel
There is you, then all the rest, second place is the best they'll get
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
