with each love i cut loose i was never the same
The terrace is already bright with morning, the kind of light that turns everything a little too sharp at the edges—the pool flashing white-blue, the stone warm underfoot, the air carrying that soft salt-sweet drift from the sea—and Flora slips into it like she belongs to it. White on white, Flora wears white shorts and a white crop top, bare legs catching the sun, curls half-pinned and already threatening rebellion, she moves with the sort of deliberate quiet that only ever means trouble, aqua eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the scene Niki's made for himself: shade, book, coffee, an almost comical attempt at peace.
It lasts exactly as long as she allows it to.
She circles in behind him without announcing herself, the faintest curl of a smile already tugging at her mouth as her gaze flicks to the table, to the glasses set down with all the careless trust of someone who hasn’t yet accounted for her existence, and she reaches for them without hesitation, lifting them delicately between her fingers before slipping them onto her own face in one smooth motion. The world tilts a fraction, sharpens oddly, and she squints immediately, one eye snapping shut as if that might fix it, her nose wrinkling as she leans forward just enough to loom over him, hands settling on her hips in a posture that’s equal parts accusation and affection, sunlight catching in the gold at her wrists and throat. "Gods," she murmurs, the word drawn out with theatrical disbelief, her voice warm and easy and entirely unconcerned with the fact that she’s just invaded every inch of her friend's carefully curated solitude, "you must be blind without these."
It lasts exactly as long as she allows it to.
She circles in behind him without announcing herself, the faintest curl of a smile already tugging at her mouth as her gaze flicks to the table, to the glasses set down with all the careless trust of someone who hasn’t yet accounted for her existence, and she reaches for them without hesitation, lifting them delicately between her fingers before slipping them onto her own face in one smooth motion. The world tilts a fraction, sharpens oddly, and she squints immediately, one eye snapping shut as if that might fix it, her nose wrinkling as she leans forward just enough to loom over him, hands settling on her hips in a posture that’s equal parts accusation and affection, sunlight catching in the gold at her wrists and throat. "Gods," she murmurs, the word drawn out with theatrical disbelief, her voice warm and easy and entirely unconcerned with the fact that she’s just invaded every inch of her friend's carefully curated solitude, "you must be blind without these."
