with each love i cut loose i was never the same
The colour that climbs into Niki's face is instant and unmistakable, and Flora latches onto it like a spark finding dry kindling, her delight blooming bright and uncontained as she turns fully toward him now, abandoning any pretence of subtlety the moment she sees just how thoroughly she’s caught him. "Oh no," she breathes, the words softened into something mock-sympathetic that doesn’t quite hide the grin tugging at her mouth, one hand lifting as though in genuine concern even while her eyes gleam with mischief. "Carried by a big strong demigod? How awful," she adds, the cadence just shy of sincere, the corners of her lips betraying her as they twitch upward, even if she is fully aware of why, proximity to Sunjata aside, that Niki would hate being carried without permission.
But then he keeps going, something in his explanation catching oddly against her expectations, and Flora’s expression follows suit, amusement faltering just enough to make room for confusion as her brows knit together, her head tilting slightly as though that might help her make sense of what he’s just said. The image rearranges itself in her mind—Niki, his room, Sunjata shifting, sleep—and it refuses to settle into anything coherent, her gaze sharpening as she studies him, searching for the punchline she’s convinced must be coming, only it doesn't.
Flora straightens a fraction, turning toward him properly now, all of her attention narrowing in with sudden intensity, disbelief threading through the way her lips part. "Fell asleep?" she repeats, the words lifting at the end, incredulous, her brows arching high as though she’s trying to peer over the top of the answer he’s given her and find the one he’s clearly forgotten to include.
But then he keeps going, something in his explanation catching oddly against her expectations, and Flora’s expression follows suit, amusement faltering just enough to make room for confusion as her brows knit together, her head tilting slightly as though that might help her make sense of what he’s just said. The image rearranges itself in her mind—Niki, his room, Sunjata shifting, sleep—and it refuses to settle into anything coherent, her gaze sharpening as she studies him, searching for the punchline she’s convinced must be coming, only it doesn't.
Flora straightens a fraction, turning toward him properly now, all of her attention narrowing in with sudden intensity, disbelief threading through the way her lips part. "Fell asleep?" she repeats, the words lifting at the end, incredulous, her brows arching high as though she’s trying to peer over the top of the answer he’s given her and find the one he’s clearly forgotten to include.
