it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'
Flora feels it before she can stop it, that small, quiet dip somewhere in her chest when Kai leans forward and urges the man to run, to leave, to get out like it’s obvious, like it’s the only answer there’s ever been, and though nothing in her expression falters right away, though her mouth still curves faintly and her fingers still idly trace the edge of her sleeve, something in her settles just a fraction lower, like a tide pulling back without making a scene about it.
She shifts slightly within the circle of his legs, not away but not quite further in either. The room has already softened back to candlelight and ghost-patterned blankets, but the echo of that too-perfect house lingers in the edges of her vision, stubborn in a way that feels annoyingly appropriate.
When he groans about the ending, about the man almost making it, she lets out a small breath that could pass for a laugh if anyone were listening for it, her nose wrinkling faintly as though she’s just remembering she’s meant to be entertained by this. "He took too long thinking about it," she says, light and easy, though her gaze drifts somewhere past him for a second before she pulls it back, her fingers briefly tugging at the cuff of her oodie as if straightening something that isn’t actually out of place.
She pauses, just for a second, her gaze flicking up to him properly now, catching his expression in a way that feels a little too deliberate to be accidental. "Could you imagine?" she asks then, the question sliding out with a softness that almost hides the edge of it, her brows lifting as she looks at him more directly, something bright and searching tucked just beneath the playfulness. "Like, waking up one day and realizing everything around you is perfect, but none of it’s yours?" You know, potentially like the life you're living right now? Her fingers twist absently in the fabric at her wrist, a small, restless motion that doesn’t quite match the ease in her tone.
She shifts slightly within the circle of his legs, not away but not quite further in either. The room has already softened back to candlelight and ghost-patterned blankets, but the echo of that too-perfect house lingers in the edges of her vision, stubborn in a way that feels annoyingly appropriate.
When he groans about the ending, about the man almost making it, she lets out a small breath that could pass for a laugh if anyone were listening for it, her nose wrinkling faintly as though she’s just remembering she’s meant to be entertained by this. "He took too long thinking about it," she says, light and easy, though her gaze drifts somewhere past him for a second before she pulls it back, her fingers briefly tugging at the cuff of her oodie as if straightening something that isn’t actually out of place.
She pauses, just for a second, her gaze flicking up to him properly now, catching his expression in a way that feels a little too deliberate to be accidental. "Could you imagine?" she asks then, the question sliding out with a softness that almost hides the edge of it, her brows lifting as she looks at him more directly, something bright and searching tucked just beneath the playfulness. "Like, waking up one day and realizing everything around you is perfect, but none of it’s yours?" You know, potentially like the life you're living right now? Her fingers twist absently in the fabric at her wrist, a small, restless motion that doesn’t quite match the ease in her tone.
anything to get more of this feeling
