i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
Flora’s eyebrows climb so emphatically they nearly disappear beneath her curls, because haunted shuffle is not remotely up for debate. When Kaisel vows to lock in, she nods with immediate and matching seriousness, like this is a group project and her grade depends entirely on whether he stops turning skipping into a public safety concern.
The first attempts are still mostly swishing chaos, but then somehow, impossibly, he gets it. Flora holds her breath as he manages a few real skips, waiting for the inevitable trip-step that surely has to come, only for him to stop before disaster can catch up and grab her instead. The squeeze crushes a delighted laugh out of her; if she were a cartoon, her waist would vanish against him, her legs would stick out at sharp angles, and her head would pop comically large from the force of it. By the time her feet find the boards again, she’s already laughing, beaming up at him with the kind of adoring smile she has absolutely no chance of hiding. "Damn, you’re a quick lear—" she starts, stepping playfully away from him, only for her hip to bump the corner of the quiet little stall behind her.
The table jolts, the sign reading ONE RING BELLS tips, and then it clatters loudly onto the boards.
Flora freezes, hand still half-lifted in praise, before her eyes flick down to the sign and back up again with spectacular innocence. "Oops," she says, smoothing the front of her black sweater like the glossy HOT TAKE lettering might somehow testify on her behalf, "in my defence, that table came out of nowhere."
The first attempts are still mostly swishing chaos, but then somehow, impossibly, he gets it. Flora holds her breath as he manages a few real skips, waiting for the inevitable trip-step that surely has to come, only for him to stop before disaster can catch up and grab her instead. The squeeze crushes a delighted laugh out of her; if she were a cartoon, her waist would vanish against him, her legs would stick out at sharp angles, and her head would pop comically large from the force of it. By the time her feet find the boards again, she’s already laughing, beaming up at him with the kind of adoring smile she has absolutely no chance of hiding. "Damn, you’re a quick lear—" she starts, stepping playfully away from him, only for her hip to bump the corner of the quiet little stall behind her.
The table jolts, the sign reading ONE RING BELLS tips, and then it clatters loudly onto the boards.
Flora freezes, hand still half-lifted in praise, before her eyes flick down to the sign and back up again with spectacular innocence. "Oops," she says, smoothing the front of her black sweater like the glossy HOT TAKE lettering might somehow testify on her behalf, "in my defence, that table came out of nowhere."
