You want a facial?

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

His head tilts a bit, the weight of his smile seeming to pull it down on one end, the shape of it just as tilted as it's caught somewhere between a tease and wonder. "Just don't take me out and turn me into drift wood," he cautions, fully expecting her to go full riptide on his ass. Knowing her she'd even have a shark tucked up her sleeve, or just, in her mouth. Might need a dash of red for the attack.

The curl of her fingers in his hair is an immediate peace, dispersing all the images of her turbulent seaside assault he's crafted. His eyes shut with a soft, appreciative sigh, sensation prickling against each strum of her nail. Outside the little cavern of darkness that sparks with a bright line at each shift of her hand, he hears the way her voice lowers, slipping into memory. One amber eye rises back to view, the other still shut and tucked into the crook of his arms. "Oh yeah," he offers on a breath, holding the moment between them in this soft space of the past dredged back into this present. He searches for her gaze, like holdings hands over distance. "I guess you're right. Is each color from your homes, then?" Since that had been part of the reason she built the comfort world she had back then, a terrain that had felt too at odds to be anything but imaginary.

He rouses fully, chin resting back over his arm instead of tilting against his shoulder, his other eye blinking open at her as she pivots. He appears almost shy for a moment as he considers, though it has nothing to do with the way she's expectantly waiting and watching. She's only ever been the warm sort of light that inspires him to lay out fully, like the perfect beam on a porch to curl up and take a nap in, the wind coming in just enough to brush away too much heat, and the shade a bite too cold to want. It's from not being able to match the splendor she created, where her colors are a tapestry of life, and his is one he pulled out of a box one day and declared was the best. "Yeah, but your colors sound much nicer, and they go well together." The hand that he'd freed to design the sea of her body folds in over her elbow, hand sprawling over skin and paste and wrap like she's a sensory table. "But," he adds after a beat, figuring he could offer up his crayon to her and she could decide if it belonged.

"Mine would be purple." He sets it down amid her sea and forest like a small flower that's decided to take root between them. "Maybe we cover Spice in it and she can trot through at the very end," he suggests with a half laugh.

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

Flora's lips press into a flat line, chin tipping just slightly as she shoots Kaisel a look. Not the dangerous one—though that’s always in her back pocket—but the you tried to bait me and I almost fell for it kind of look. The one that twitches at the corner with amusement, no matter how theatrically annoyed her eyes try to be. "Mmhm," she says dryly of turning him into driftwood, brushing her fingers through his hair again, "then you’d better hold onto something. Tides don’t wait."

But the smile softens as he tucks himself closer, all languid limbs and those molten eyes slipping shut beneath her hand. She breathes it in, lets the moment lap at her like a lazy wave, half-melted against the seaweed and paste. His question floats up like driftwood on calm water and she considers it with more honesty than she’d meant to. "I didn’t do it on purpose," she murmurs. "I just liked the colours, but...yeah I guess it is kinda like the Greatwood and Torchline."

As Kaisel shifts, Flora has to bite at the inside of her lip to keep her smile from running away with her. Whether he's collapsing in her kitchenette on the Sugartide down onto the couch or folding himself down beside her now, a little too long for the angle but too perfectly him for it to matter, he seems to fit no matter where he is. He sinks into places like sunlight through curtains, easy and warm and grounding. She watches him through her lashes as her fingers slip idly through his hair, and the thought curls around her chest like smoke: she is so happy. Just...happy. And she can’t believe how much it sneaks up on her, how simple it all feels now that they’ve stopped pretending that this is something they can't have.

So when he says her colours are nicer, she just shakes her head, barely more than a tilt. She doesn’t believe that for a second, not with the way he’s sprawled here glowing like golden hour itself, and not with the way his hand finds her elbow and her skin and makes her want to climb right off the table just to be closer.

At the mention of purple, she grins slow and sharp, eyes narrowing like he’s just handed her a birthday gift with the bow already halfway untied. "I like purple too," she says, fingers still tangled in his hair. "We could always do more than one painting." Her gaze slides lazily around the Wildering House, the expanses of floors and windows and walls that feel more like a playground than a gallery. "Mine can be Twister with aqua and gold." Her lashes flick back to him, brows lifted now, the grin creeping wider. "And yours can be blue and red to make purple, and we can play..." Her voice dips, teasing, affectionate, "gummy-worm snakes and ladders."

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

The spread of her grin tugs on his, like some invisible thread has connected them together. While hers is sly and sharp though, his is questioning and soft, matching her but not sure why yet, just always eager to see his starslung wish working. At the admission that she likes purple too, he laughs low and airy, his smile deepening now with understanding and his own quiet humor about the whole thing. He tilts his head, catching a kiss to her wrist, before reluctantly pulling away from her side. Her very distracting side. "You like all the colors," he accuses, figuring her favorite crayon would be all of them.

Finishing the salting of her front side, his gaze follows the way hers trails around the halls. "I had no idea you were such the art collector," he muses, imagining a newly colored banner getting hung up in every alcove, a testament to her bright and wild life. Each one a streak of a moment she's trying to capture out of the wind and put onto canvas. The idea is perfectly, uniquely her. "Gummy-worm snakes and ladders sounds perfect," he beams, gaze flicking up over the toes he's basting to capture the look of her dreaming. "Adding game-style body painting to our to do list." The only good kind of to do list he's ever seen, the one with all their plans and adventures.

"So, on the topic of colors, what nail polish do you want for your mani-pedi?" Finishing the last of her tidepool blessing, he starts to layer the seaweed over this side too, the wrap keeping in all the warmth and moisture of the salty smear. "Could always test out the canvas colors," he offers, but shrugs, because he's certain they don't require any sort of trial run. "Something dark and shiny to match the upcoming LongNight maybe." Perhaps a night sky on her hand, but with the moon and stars still present. "Orrrrr, something that glows in the dark? Although, the glow would only last so long without sunlight to recharge it." A disappointing truth, as it would have made her extremely easy to spot amid the crowds.

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

If Flora knew that Kaisel still thought it was his wish upon a star that made her this happy, and not him, she might have throttled him. With love, obviously. Tender, furious, unhinged love. She’d have tackled him right into the seaweed, tickled him until he was crying and breathless and begging for mercy, then straddled his chest like it was a throne and made him listen. Listen as she listed, in agonizing, drawn-out detail, every single way he made her heart flutter. Every accidental tilt of his smile, every stupid poetic thing he said without meaning to, every time he tucked himself into her space like he belonged there. Every reason why the moment she curled into his arms on that beach—chose him, chose them—she hadn’t looked back. And gods, she never would.

So instead of tackling him now (because her front is currently basted like a fish about to be grilled), she flashes him a grin. "I’d wallpaper this whole place with our painterly exploits if I could," she says, light but sincere as her gaze skims across the Wildering House again. "Every wall, every floorboard. Even the ceilings. It’d make it easier when you’re off in Stormbreak. Or just...away." The last part is softer, the words folding inward a little as her fingers curl gently against the cushion. Not needy, and certainly Flora would never ask him to do less with his life, but it would make it easier.

His question about her nails cuts through the quiet like a sunbeam, and she exhales a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, we should have gone to the Gilded Market. I bet they'd have glowing nail polish," she groans, imagining rows of tiny bottles glowing like fairy lanterns. "Next time."

Then her grin sharpens again, blooming bright beneath the seaweed and salt. "But for now..." She hums, wriggling her painted toes with great fanfare. "Classic red."

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

He's about to tell her that sounds garish, even by her standards, and impossible to clean, but the quip fizzles out the moment her voice drops. His motions still, concern creeping in. He's been gone most of the season, which he knows it's been difficult on them both, but persistent as ever about putting others first she hasn't really let the weight of it on her show much. The compass and the parchment have been lifesavers several times over, but he'd rather not have to keep looking for rescue. He'd rather be here. "I won't be gone much longer," he reassures, a weak smile nudging into one cheek as he squeezes her seaweed calf.

"Let's say we spare the cost of the paint supplies and the trouble of redecorating floor to ceiling and just make it through the season. I'll be back for LongNight, and that'll be here before you know it. We're gonna break away from all the torches and the noise in between my patrols and go skinny dipping. You just have to fight all the sharks off, okay?" He'd meant to pounce on her and steal her away mid-conversation, race her down the shore and dare her for it. He'd rather kill the surprise and let it sit like hope between them, a better future soon at hand, where their mornings can be splendidly lazy in bed and they can close down all the restaurants at night. Stormbreak means something to him, had been home, but she means more, and he wants to build a new home here with her.

"Just red?" he asks, the classic part of it hardly seeming to matter. He's expectant of some tremendous and beautiful explanation of the color, but the let's it land simple and flat. His 'brows rise, prodding her. "Matching an outfit?" he wonders, leaning up into a stretch as he completes the seaweed wrapping. "Should we be obnoxious and dress alike?" He grins, the idea the risk of something you do ironically until it stops being ironic. Since LongNight is not just one night, he'd need more than just his soldier garb. He lets her consider it while rustling around for her mani-pedi supplies nearby.

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

Flora sighs, not with impatience but with something softer, something quieter. Her gaze lingers on Kaisel as if she's trying to drink him in—his voice, his smile, the press of his hand against her salt-slick calf—as if doing so could store him somewhere behind her ribs for later. "I know," she says gently, voice low and fond. "I really do. And I get why you're there." She shrugs, curls shifting where they rest against the cushion. "Besides, it's so fun showing you how much I miss you when do come back. Wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic if you were always here." Her nose wrinkles playfully, affection curling the corners of her mouth.

But then—then—he says the words skinny dipping, and it’s like setting off fireworks in broad daylight. Her mouth drops open, eyes flaring sea-glass bright with gleeful scandal. "You? Naked? With all that sand around?" she gasps, fingers clutching the cushion as if bracing for impact. Her teeth catch at her bottom lip, biting back a laugh, but there’s no masking the thrill that leaps to life in her eyes. "Absolutely yes," she says, nodding enthusiastically like he’s just offered her cake for breakfast and a pony with a bow on it.

As he questions her classic red, she hums mischievously. "Maybe I should go nude instead, if it's meant to match what I'm wearing.." she muses, deliberately bouncing her eyebrows in suggestion, the words as bare as the polish. And when he floats the idea of matching outfits, she can’t help it; a snort escapes before she buries her grin in the crook of her arm. "If we’re doing that, it’s my turn to dress like you," she declares, peeking up at him with sparkling challenge. "Since you already stole my look at my last party."

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

Knowing something doesn't always make it any easier to deal with, as he thinks they both understand. The heart and the mind can often disagree, especially when the pulse is as loud as theirs. Still, he's glad to hear the reassurance of her knowledge and the patience it bears. "I could get used to getting missed," he grins, voice dropping a touch lower with the suggestion wrapped in all of it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all, although he's fairly certain if it gets much more fond it just might pop, little bits of confetti puffing out, cut into tiny Floras and flowers. His trips have had the benefit of giving this some of the slowness she requested, although the reunions in between the absences almost seem to undo it all, as if they're both trying to make up for lost time, of which they have a couple years to account for as well.

He would like her to always react this way when he declares he'll be getting naked, thank you. A surprised laugh slips free, enriched by the excitement that's practically buzzing off her, certain that if he even puts a finger on her it'll snap back with electric teeth. "I dunnooooo, might be better. Half the problem with sand is the way it gets in all your clothes and lingers and chafes." Which, isn't to say he won't be eventually putting clothes back on, but maybe he could streak through the town, avoiding torchlight, to make it back to the sand-free showers and soft fuzzy bathroom towels before he has to dress himself again.

The sly suggestion of her new color earns a longer, bark of a laugh. "Definitely nude then." Though, he still grabs the bottle of red as he gathers everything up and makes his way back to her, plopping down on a stool at her side. Taking her hand in his, he bends the fingers and rolls a kiss over each knuckle, gaze sparking across the ridges to find the devilish curve of her mouth he so adores. It's her planning lips, the sort that always perch on her features right before she unleashes something spectacular. Much like the lights dimming before your movie starts, it's a sign to pay attention, because the show is starting.

It's the last thing he expects, and he physically bows back from the reveal, though his hand continues to clutch hers. "W h a t!?" he laughs, barely able to see around the smile as he shakes his head. "I meant like, you wear a red shirt and I wear a red shirt, and we both have black bottoms, or something." He grabs a warm, wet towel and rubs down her hand. "I guess the best time for you to dress like me would be when it's hard to see, which is not a dig," he lifts up a hand to halt any compliments she might load up. "I'm just saying, your outfits are way better to look at." Setting the file and clippers to her nails, he looks up every so often as he works. "Although, if it's hard to see, you might actually get mistaken for me and end up enlisted on patrols." So, she might be risking her party time for work.

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

A lopsided, thoroughly mischievous grin curves Flora’s lips as Kaisel takes her hand, his fingers warm and seaweed-slicked against her skin. "One day," she murmurs, voice dipped low like a secret passed through candlelight, "I’ll tell you all the things I do to take my mind off it, when I miss you too much." Her thumb traces the edge of his wrist, delicate and slow, as her grin turned suggestive and pleased.

As talk drifts back to their hypothetical moonlit escapades, her shoulders lift in a delighted shrug, aqua eyes dancing. Nudity doesn’t faze her—never has—and the heat clinging to Torchline’s nights makes modesty more of a costume than necessity. "Sounds like you just need to be nude on the beach all the time," she teases, gaze glinting as she leans a little closer. "Don’t worry. I’ll join you. Strictly for moral support, of course." Though the wink she gives him says otherwise.

Then comes the manicure, the mood shifting like tidefoam turning glassy. Each kiss he rolls over her knuckles softens her expression, her lashes lowering slightly as if to trap the moment between them. The brightness doesn’t fade, it just gentles, transforming into something quieter. Her brow lifts just a little, her mouth twitching with fond remembrance. "Do you remember the last time you painted my nails?"

Snorting at the idea that anyone might confuse her for him, Flora lifts her other hand and wiggles her fingers in faux-masculine fashion. "Just because I dress like you doesn’t mean I style like you," she retorts, grin flashing. "Dark or not, if anyone mistakes me for you, they'd better be blind." Her smile softens again as she glances down at the tools in his hand, then up at his face. "Anyway...I probably have to do some work during LongNight anyhow, so if I do get volunteered for a patrol it won't be that big a deal."

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

The brush of her fingers on his wrist is enough to make his pulse rise up, a tingle racing along the delicate touch. "Why wait," he wonders, wolfish as he beholds her, leaning in a touch as if he might coax it from her like a secret if he just offers the distance for whispering that such requires. "I could die tomorrow, you really want me to go without knowing?" That her fathers have the market cornered on death and resurrections doesn't help his case, but he's conveniently ignoring that little detail.

At her suggestion of a persistently nude beach experience he just pahs out a cousin of a laugh. "Ain't no way I'm letting little Kai dangle out for a sunburn." Just the thought is enough to make him cringe. He'll stick to darkness where onlookers can't cop a good look and he doesn't have to bother with sunscreen or its consequences. Though, the idea of her always nude on the beach makes him consider it for a long moment, pros and cons weighed back and forth. He shakes his head at the notion though in the end. Maybe at her little private beach out here, the Wildering shore.

With her properly trimmed and filed, he grabs a bowl to soak her fingers in, heading to repeat the first process on her other side. "I remember," he says with a smile, one that edges in from fond to sly as the memory plays out in snippets behind his eyes. They lift from her nails, settling on the sparkle caught in her aqua stare. "You were nearly nude then too. I almost couldn't talk to you." Throwing himself overboard had crossed his mind a few times that day, but he's glad he'd managed to hold out until she got a shirt on and they went below deck. "You made me promise the impossible," he laughs with an accusation that can only come from affection. "That's why I had to cross my fingers."

His 'brows lift at her implication that she'd be a better version. A sexy Kaisel. "You saying I didn't style like you at the Hanged Man? Were the jorts not short enough? My ass cheeks felt breeze all night, any shorter and my balls would have too." Maybe it was the poorly tied top. "Isn't socializing with your people work?"

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

Flora’s lips curl sly and slow, a drowsy kind of seduction blooming at the corners like a secret garden about to open its gate. Shoulders lifting in a shrug, she lets her gaze widen, lashes fluttering just enough to play innocent without committing to it. "Maybe I just want to give you a reason to stay alive," she whispers, bouncing her eyebrows once, suggestive and sweetly wicked all at once.

But then he says little Kai and she blinks at him, aqua eyes stretching wide in slow disbelief. Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something, only for it to twist at the corners as she bites the inside of her lip, trying—and failing—to keep the smirk from tipping fully crooked. "Little?" she echoes, head tilting with mock confusion that’s all curves and challenge. She lets the question hang while her expression stays guileless as seafoam.

By the time he settles her hand into the soaking bowl, Flora exhales a breathy laugh, shoulders jostling with the motion. "I’m almost always nearly nude," she points out, unrepentant before her tone softens into something fonder. "And I didn’t know you were coming over that day. If I had, I might’ve worn something less scandalous." Her glance says the opposite, and they both know it. Then, quieter, more coloured, she murmurs, "When you picked me up and carried me downstairs..." Her cheeks bloom rose-pink, the memory pulling warmth to the surface like a tide rising against a sunlit dock.

But then he says crossed fingers and she pulls her hand from the water with a sharp little gasp of faux outrage, flicking droplets directly at his face. "What?!" she cries, scandalised in the most theatrical of ways. "You LIED to me?" Her voice is bright with glee, but beneath the sparkle is something softer. She lets her shoulders dip in a subtler shrug, voice dropping just slightly. "That was the day where I think I kind of knew I had feelings for you." It’s offered offhand, as if she doesn’t quite trust it to carry too much weight, but her gaze doesn’t waver from his face.

As the topic pivots back to wardrobe choices, Flora snorts under her breath and leans back a touch. "There’s dressing like me, and then there’s wearing my outfits," she corrects with a pointed look. "Just tugging on a pair of jorts doesn’t mean you’ve captured the whole aesthetic. There’s an art to it." Her gold rings glitter as she gestures vaguely, and then she squints playfully at him.

"And if you’re saying socializing with my people counts as work, then technically all the time you spend with me is work." She shakes her head decisively, curls bouncing. "And I hate the sound of that."

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

That curl to her lips, it's the merciless kind. It looks sweet in the surface, but he's seen it before, usually right before she tickles him into a hiccup fit or tag teams with Spice. His gaze narrows at it, and he weighs the importance of pushing for this now versus later when her wickedness might be on decline. Hard to say really, it's an ever changing state with her when it comes to deviousness. Like a wildfire in dry grass, it doesn't require much to be sparked and be sent off racing. He always likened himself to a firefighter, heroic and all, but gods she makes arson appealing.

The thought dwindles beneath the very important matter of setting the record straight. "I mean, MASSIVE, clearly, I don't need to tell you that. But he can be ginormous and girthy and still be little. Lil' at least." He gestures at the length of his body for size comparison, because little, or Lil' Kai, is smaller than him, but by no means small. Just dont ask him to demonstrate after jumping into cold water.

"Oh, that's not just for my benefit?" he grins, referring to her nearly always nudity, which is a favorite of his now. As for her blatant lie, he lifts his 'brows, jaw turning a bit slack as his smile simmers into sly. "Well it all worked out. Imagine if you'd worn a shirt, would have altered the whole timeline." He had liked seeing it all after all, much as he'd tried not to.

Ready to hear all about what carrying her did, he's instead doused. He reels back as though severely scalded, nearly tipping off his stool, Oscar worthy thrashing and moaning in agony commences. At least, until a laugh cuts through it, copper peeking through death throwes just before he lurches forward and seizes her hand in an over the top apology. "It was the only way," he laments, lips grazing the back of her hand. "Besides, is it really a lie if I didn't actually promise it for realsies?" Misled, yes, but she lied too or else they wouldn't be here. Harmless his ass.

Getting back to her nails, he finishes the hand and sets it to soak while pivoting back to the other side for a final once over and cuticle work. "Okay hot shot, so what's your plan to dress as me then?" He'd like to see her do better. Drying off her hand he shakes a bottle of clear coat and starts to apply it along her nails, too detailed to glance up, though he listens. "I dunno, I'd love to schedule a one on one meeting with you boss." Seeing her work him over has always gone well.

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

Flora wrinkles her nose with dramatic flair, like he’s just said something absolutely unholy. "Girthy? Ew, never say that ever again," she groans with the most offended lilt she can manage, aqua eyes widening to match. Then, naturally, the grin creeps back in, lips curling as she leans slightly closer and nods slowly. "Ahhh. Okay. That clears it up." Her tone is all mock-seriousness, but the twinkle in her eyes makes it clear she’s filing the phrasing away for some devastating future moment.

She straightens slightly as if gathering decorum, chin tipping upward. "My whole life does not revolve around you, you know," she declares with feigned haughtiness, hand fluttering to her chest. Her lashes flick upward, mouth twitching into something warmer. Then, with a softer kind of amusement threading her voice, she adds, "It is kinda crazy, though. How many things had to go exactly wrong and just right to get us to here."

Her train of thought derails with a startled snort as Kaisel reenacts a dramatic, slow-motion drowning on dry land. She watches him with folded arms and an expression that straddles fondness and unrepentant smugness. As he clutches her hand like a martyr, she quirks a brow, skeptical. "Was it, though?" she challenges, though her voice is light. "Because maybe, if you’d just told me you liked me back then, we could’ve skipped the whole Caly–Jack interlude."

She lets him get back to her nails, but only just, as her lashes flutter dramatically as if calling forth divine inspiration. "Hmmmmm," she hums, lips twitching. "As much as I love how long your shirts are on me when I sleep, I’d probably tie one at the waist. Or just crop it and call it a day." Her nose crinkles again, though this time with amusement. "Pretty sure I have a cute backpack that would match, and I could try and do my curls forward like yours. Sort of a messy boyband moment."

Then he drops the “one-on-one meeting” line and Flora lets out an EWWWWUH that comes straight from the pit of her dramatic soul. She lifts her freshly base-coated hand in warning, wiggling her fingers like a sea witch about to hex him. "You’re this close to getting flicked in the nose," she warns, but the snicker that follows undermines the threat entirely, especially as her voice lowers. "Why? You think you deserve a raise?" Her smirk curves with dangerous promise. "Or were you hoping for a detailed critique of your job performance?"

Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait

"What—girthy?" His expression lifts, genuinely glad to have found this particular button to push. "It is sooooo girthy though," he teases with a growing grin, leaning in for emphasis. "Maybe not the girthiest," stay humble, "but it's not lacking girth." He could go on, and will, in the future.

She's collecting something clearly, and he leans back a touch, expectant of what's about to be dropped in return. It does earn a touch of a smile, his head dipping in a mildly apologetic bow. "I wouldn't dream of that being the case," he assures. "Just hoped maybe the nude parts did," His smile sharpens, and even now, with her coated in salt and seaweed, he'd like nothing more than to strip her bare and devour her.

Though, he has to doubletake the Doubletake as he gets back to work, because bitch what?! "Oh?" he says with drama dripping over his surprise. "So it's all my fault, huh?" One 'brow sketches up higher than the other as he levels a dry stare on her. "That's an awfully girthy responsibility."

"Hang on, which one are you cropping?!" His voice heightens, genuinely worried. "Not the limited edition collector one of Remi when he led Torchline. I got that one at a yard sale, sap didn't realize he had gold on his hands." Though he's pretty sure she would not be wearing any of her fathers or Hadama, so perhaps the frog shirt. Still, he must let it be known that one is off limits.

A dismayed shout rises from him as her hand yanks away, interrupting his work. He looks up with all the scorn of an artist who's just been bumped mid-stroke. "Don't harrass the staff please, ma'am," he huffs, taking her fingers back as she relents her threat, though a smile cracks in on his faux seriousness. At least, until he's pretty certain she's just laid another trap for him. He prefers to keep his head bowed to the work, although he can clearly imagine the devilish look of her right now. "I was looking for some more face to face time with you to really dig into the details and get more hands-on with our collaborative efforts."

Finishing up her one hand's clear coat, he leans down to blow across the polish, shaking both the nude and the red bottles in his other hand. He holds them both up to her for a final decree. "What about nude nails and red toes?"

Kaisel

Got no reason not to celebrate

you can call me honey if you want

At the fourth use of the word, Flora recoils like he’s just lobbed a dead fish at her instead of a compliment. One hand flies dramatically to her stomach, the other to her forehead, eyes narrowing like she might faint right off the table. "GODS, Kaisel," she groans, as if she’s never been more scandalised in her life. "I'm never having sex with you again." But the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth says otherwise, and the way she lets her eyes travel down his body and then back up, slow and deliberate, says she knows he’ll test that threat and come out the easy victor.

Still, she manages to conjure a vague air of aloofness, shoulder tilting in a breezy little shrug as she glances out one window. "Only most of the nude parts revolve around you," she concedes with faux casualness. "I kept plenty for myself." Then her head cants, blonde curls bobbing slightly with the motion as one brow arches and her eyes flicker back to him; inviting, teasing, suggestive as hell, content to let his mind wander, knowing where that particular road would lead.

As Kaisel goes all wide-eyed at her not-so-gentle accusation, Flora doesn’t flinch. In fact, she meets his stare like a battle-hardened queen staring down a court jester, nodding solemnly as if bestowing some sacred truth. "Mmhm, and based on everything you’ve said so far?" A small wave of her hand, elegant and dismissive, as if wafting through all his prior uses of the word girthy. "The shoe seems to fit." Or the circumference.

At his horrified gasp over the potential cropping of precious wardrobe pieces, Flora scoffs, scandalised in her own right now. "As if I’d wear anything with my dads’ faces on it,"y she says, nearly gagging on the thought. "Mum’s the only exception—obviously—but if I crop it, I can just get you another one." She waves him off like that’s the easiest solution in the world. "Pretty sure there’s a box of old merch tucked away at their place from when it all first came out."

As her hand is snatched back and he grumbles about being interrupted, Flora lifts her chin with regal hauteur and issues a loud HMMMPH. "You didn’t seem too bothered being harASSed earlier," she points out, hitting the syllable hard enough to make it gleam. She lets him reclaim her hand without resistance, but her smile twists, wicked and knowing. Even if he’s pretending to be too focused to meet her gaze, she knows exactly the kind of look he’s not seeing.

"More face-to-face time?" she echoes with an incredulous, singsong lilt. "Clingy much?" But it’s all mischief and delight, her thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. She’s teasing, not protesting, not even close, because truth be told, all she’s wanted lately was more of him. More of these slow afternoons and shared laughter and ridiculous plans she now fully believed would all come true. "I guess I could make room in my schedule for you," she allows, breathy and mock-busy, before her grin grows positively filthy. "Especially since I’ve got a few new ideas I wanted to run by you." The implication is not subtle about what the context of those ideas might be, and she doesn’t want it to be.

At the flash of colour, Flora eyes the bottles thoughtfully. Then she nods, waggling her fingers like a queen granting royal permission. "Nude nails and red toes," she agrees with a pleased hum. "Polish at will."