is this the end of all the endings?
Flora watches him the entire time, not even pretending otherwise, her gaze tracking every movement like she’s already decided how this ends and is just letting him play out the illusion of escape for her own entertainment, the smile at her mouth slow and knowing as she shifts, carefully, deliberately, peeling herself out of the sheets with a kind of languid intent that has nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with control. There’s something feline in it, in the way her feet find the floor one after the other, in the subtle gathering of her body as she straightens, shoulders rolling back, head tilting just slightly as though she’s lining him up in her sights.
"She?" she echoes, brows lifting, the word soft but edged with amusement as it curls between them, her smile deepening just a fraction as she takes another step toward him, unhurried, inevitable. "So it’s a girl we’re having now?"
The shift is so fast it’s almost absurd, the two of them tumbling from uncertainty into something playful and imagined without stopping to question it, as though the weight of the conversation from moments ago has been folded up and tucked somewhere out of sight, replaced instead with this easy, ridiculous certainty that of course they’d be like this, of course they’d skip straight past hesitation into teasing plans and hypothetical futures like it’s nothing at all, like this is just another version of them.
She keeps moving, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between them with quiet confidence, her hand already lifting, reaching for him with the intention of dragging him back into bed and seeing what sorts of screams he'd be able to pull from her, thinking it only fair he be allowed ot make her squirm the way she'd done to him, before a flash of red through the curtains stops her prowling. It’s subtle at first, just enough that it catches in the corner of her vision, drawing her gaze past him, past the door, toward the wide stretch of window where dawn has finally lifted enough to paint the harbour in clear, undeniable colour, even if maroon is the only colour Flora is currently capable of seeing.
Everything in her stills. The warmth drains out of the moment so quickly it almost feels like a physical thing, the playful tension snapping cleanly as her hand lowers, her body turning away from Kaisel slightly as she folds her arms across her chest, her gaze fixed out toward the water, toward the ship she knows too well, that she wasn’t expecting, that she—
Her mouth presses into a thin line, something sharper settling into the space where laughter had just been, and after a second she glances back over her shoulder at him, the look different now, quieter, before she jerks her chin toward the window. "Come look."
"She?" she echoes, brows lifting, the word soft but edged with amusement as it curls between them, her smile deepening just a fraction as she takes another step toward him, unhurried, inevitable. "So it’s a girl we’re having now?"
The shift is so fast it’s almost absurd, the two of them tumbling from uncertainty into something playful and imagined without stopping to question it, as though the weight of the conversation from moments ago has been folded up and tucked somewhere out of sight, replaced instead with this easy, ridiculous certainty that of course they’d be like this, of course they’d skip straight past hesitation into teasing plans and hypothetical futures like it’s nothing at all, like this is just another version of them.
She keeps moving, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between them with quiet confidence, her hand already lifting, reaching for him with the intention of dragging him back into bed and seeing what sorts of screams he'd be able to pull from her, thinking it only fair he be allowed ot make her squirm the way she'd done to him, before a flash of red through the curtains stops her prowling. It’s subtle at first, just enough that it catches in the corner of her vision, drawing her gaze past him, past the door, toward the wide stretch of window where dawn has finally lifted enough to paint the harbour in clear, undeniable colour, even if maroon is the only colour Flora is currently capable of seeing.
Everything in her stills. The warmth drains out of the moment so quickly it almost feels like a physical thing, the playful tension snapping cleanly as her hand lowers, her body turning away from Kaisel slightly as she folds her arms across her chest, her gaze fixed out toward the water, toward the ship she knows too well, that she wasn’t expecting, that she—
Her mouth presses into a thin line, something sharper settling into the space where laughter had just been, and after a second she glances back over her shoulder at him, the look different now, quieter, before she jerks her chin toward the window. "Come look."
my broken bones are mending
