its in the way you leave

flora

Flora hadn’t been here in years. Not since she and Enzo were small enough to scramble up the roots of this tree like a ladder, dirt beneath their nails and matching grins painted across their faces. Now, the roots seem larger, more gnarled, weaving through the soft, damp earth of the Saltkiss Estuary like the veins of something ancient and knowing. Flora’s fingertips brush over the rough bark, searching for something that shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did—until, finally, she finds it.

Two names, carved into the wood with the kind of childish certainty that had once convinced her they would always be together.

Enzo & Flora.

The names are worn with time, softened by the seasons, like even the tree itself had tried to smooth away the hurt of loss. But their names are still there, even if he isn't.

Flora sinks down at the base of the tree, knees pulling up to her chest as she wraps her arms loosely around them. The crisp scent of brine and freshwater lingers in the air, the breeze teasing at the loose curls that have long since fallen from her braid, catching in the damp streaks on her cheeks.

"Hey." She swallows hard, tipping her head back against the trunk. "You wouldn't believe the shitshow my life's become," she murmurs, voice thick with something like laughter, something like grief. "Or maybe you would." Flora exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against the old carving. "Okay, you almost definitely would," she adds, and the smile that forces its way onto her lips has her tensing against a sob.

"I wish you were here to tell me what to do," Flora admits in a whisper. "Or even just to tell me anything at all."

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

The Saltkiss is beautiful in an unsettling sort of way; the kind of place that surely holds secrets, hidden beneath the twisting roots and plunge beneath the brackish waves. Koa walks the estuary with practiced caution; a city boy through and through, he's found the experience of living in the wilderness wholly foreign and full of new and, were he in a better headspace, rather fascinating things.

Like nearly everyone else on the continent, Koa is looking for stupid flowers in a stupid forest that he's pretty sure is actively taunting them all. It's been nearly a week since he reached the Greatwood, and in that time he's neither found a rose nor heard of anyone else stumbling upon one. But what ese is he supposed to do, with the world actively crumbling around him? Without his home, his family - without hope - what does he have but stubborn persistence and the ability to wander through some woods?

But still he looks, peering among roots and under bushes, desperate to spot a flower in the brush. And that is what happens, in a sense, although the flower the boy stumbles into is far from the one he'd sought to find. Like a kiss in the dark the murmured voice is carried by the wind, causing Koa to hesitate as indistinct words tickle against his ears. It's something he almost recognizes and yet cannot place; he cannot decide if it's a mistake or not to follow it to the source. Probably, but that doesn't stop him.

When has it ever, before?

Pressing his palm to the rough trunk, Koa peers around the tree. "Hello?" he calls out cautiously, his steps steady and slow. "Are you alright?" He does not immediately spot the Doubletake, tucked away as she is. But she is sure to see him as he rounds his way further, familiar and a stranger in this most unlikely place.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Flora startles at the sound of a voice—familiar, painfully familiar—and her breath catches sharply in her throat. Her first instinct is to hastily scrub the tears from her cheeks, though she knows it won’t do much good; her face is still flushed, her eyes still lined with pink from crying. But gods, she can’t be seen like this, not now, not by—

She peeks out from around the tree, half-hidden behind the massive trunk, and nearly forgets how to breathe.

Koa?

For a second, she just stares, like her brain is still catching up to reality. Because what were the odds? What were the fucking odds that of all the people she might run into here, it would be him? He looks different in the way that time makes everyone look different—subtle things, new angles, unfamiliar edges—but he’s still him. Still the boy she once knew better than anyone, the boy who had held so much of her heart, until—

She swallows hard, blinking rapidly, words trying and failing to make their way past the knot in her throat. "I—" She starts, but her voice cracks, and she clears it quickly, forcing something steadier. "I’m—"

She isn’t.

She lets out a sharp, unamused huff, shaking her head as she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes for a second. "No," she admits finally, exhaling hard as her hands drop back to her lap. "No, not really." The words feel like a surrender, but she doesn't have the energy to pretend otherwise.

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

Somewhere near Koa's knees, a blur of motion catches his eye. He follows it down to a tangle of gold, the curve of a cheek, a flashing blue eye. It's scarcely the sliver of a face, and Koa knows it at once. His stomach lurches; his diaphragm constricts. Of all the trees in this damned forest, he managed to find hers.

Flora.

His first instinct is to run; he doesn't do that. His second is to drop down to his knees beside her; he doesn't that, either. Frozen by surprise and a flood of emotions, Koa stands there, still and rooted as the bloody tree. He's dimly aware of the tears on her cheeks, the crack in her voice when she answers a question he feels like he asked another world ago. His tongue is leaden in his mouth; his throat is tight, his saliva cloying. It takes him a second to remember how to form words again, and when he does the thing he manages is a rather hoarse:

"Oh."

And then because that feels wholly inadequate, he tacks on a halting: "Is there anything I can... do?"

Which is arguably not the right thing to offer, but like, what is he meant to do? Hug her? Laugh? Say Oof or That's rough buddy or Is it because of the whole dying thing? or Maybe you deserve whatever fucked you up after tearing out my heart and stomping it into the ground? Because those are the alternatives that pop into his head, and none of them seem great.

Well, those and the instinct to drop down beside her and wrap her in his arms and offer to beat up whoever made her cry. But he doesn't have the right to protect her, now. And maybe he never did.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Flora hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any worse than she already did, what with things being rocky with Jack, the murder of her sister, and her disastrous meeting with Hadama, Sunjata, and Deimos. And yet, sitting here, curled at the base of this tree with Koa standing there looking at her like that, his voice rough and uncertain in a way that makes something inside her twist—yeah. She feels worse. So much fucking worse.

Because she shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t feel the sudden, overwhelming ache of nostalgia, the wave of longing that crashes over her so violently it nearly pulls her under. She was the one who'd picked someone else, the one who’d turned away when he’d told her he loved her. So what right did she have to even an ounce of upset or regret? What right to want a hug or a smile, to curl up in the warmth of familiarity and expect something that no longer belonged to her?

Flora's fingers tighten against the fabric of her skirt as she forces herself to take a steady breath, blinking rapidly as she drags her palms over her cheeks again to remove her tears, though she makes no effort to get up. Instead, she huffs a quiet, bitter laugh, tipping her head back against the rough bark of the tree as she glances up at the dragoon, exhausted and resigned. "Not unless you know how to cure an infected family member," she murmurs, voice wry, but not quite sharp. "Because if you do, I’d love to hear it."

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

Her bitter laugh cuts a serrated slice in his memory, leaving a jagged tear in the shield he's built around memories of happier times. Once upon a time her laugh was golden, as warm and easy as a summer breeze. Once upon a time that warmth had been for him, but he hadn't cherished it enough while it lasted.

How far away that all feels now.

The revelation has him starting, momentarily shaken from his own twisted grief. Alarmed, he turns wide eyes to Flora. "Fuck- Mateo?" Koa asks, his thoughts racing to his friend. Had he finally given himself to Dahlia? Had Everest convinced him to stray? The idea that it could be Remi or Ronin doesn't even cross his mind.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Flora shakes her head quickly, fingers tightening reflexively around her knees. "No, not Mateo," she says, her voice thick with relief that at least her brother had somehow managed to dodge this particular disaster. "It's Ronin."

The name catches painfully in her throat, and she grits her teeth against a sudden wave of helpless frustration, anger burning sharply behind her eyes. "And now the springs are gone, and..." she mutters, dragging her fingers through tangled curls, eyes flashing briefly with exasperation before threatening to well up with tears again. "Torchline is literally the only region completely protected against the Void—like, we did everything we were supposed to do. But we've already had two people murdered, Ronin got his rapier stolen, and now he's infected anyway."

Her voice grows tighter, harsher with each word, the emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface again. "I just—" she breaks off, shaking her head fiercely, feeling impossibly young and small as she looks away.

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

It's Ronin.

Well, that's not the news Koa wanted to hear, or what he ever expected. "Ronin?" the boy repeats, incredulous - there simply is no way. If the Family has their fangs in a demigod, if they've grown that bold and powerful...

But then again, hadn't Sunjata been one of their earliest targets, and Hotaru? Maybe this shouldn't be quite the surprise it is.

Koa sags against the tree, visibly deflated by this news.  "Noe, too." Without really thinking about it he sinks down to sit in the soft dirt. He's compartmentalized against Flora by the wide roots of the tree, not quite able to see her without peering hard over and around the top: a safe position for them to be, the divide allowing him space to separate himself from his emotions for the Doubletake - especially important just now, as Flora's voice breaks.

"At least you still have a home." Koa's voice is tired and bitter, though the vitriol isn't for her. "Stormbreak is..." Trailing off, he scowls at the murky water, but weariness dampens any real bite from his tone. A deep exhalation and he leans his head back, eyes clenching shut as rough bark rubs unpleasantly against his back. "I have no idea how to get it back. Or how to cure Noe. I'm so tired of feeling so fucking useless all the time."

It's more than he'd usually admit, raw and honest, all bravado cast aside. But Koa can't hold his shields up against Flora, and besides, it's not like he has any reason to impress her - she's already made it clear that he will never be enough.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Flora’s heart sinks at Koa’s admission, the bitter ache in his voice piercing through her own frustrations. But it's when he mentions Noe that her breath hitches sharply, a fresh pang slicing through her chest, swift and deep. "Wait—Noe?" she echoes softly, eyes wide with sudden distress. She twists slightly, curls tumbling as she peers around the roots toward him, worry pinching tight between her brows. "Gods, Koa, I'm—I'm so sorry."

Her fingers tighten around a handful of moss, gripping it like she might unravel without something tangible to hold onto. She remembers clearly that night in Torchline during LongNight, Noe’s laughter brightening the darkness. She remembers how much family means to Koa, how fiercely he'd fight for them.

Which means he's probably tearing himself apart.

"I know how you feel." Her throat tightens painfully with the admission, and she shakes her head sharply, eyes stinging with the threat of new tears. Because while Torchline hadn't been taken over by the Family, all of their efforts had seemingly been for nothing given how easily it was for those Flora cared about to be infected anyway."Look, maybe it's incredibly stupid—" She exhales roughly, forcing back the ache as her voice firms, gaining a defiant edge. "—but I think I have a plan. I’m so tired of just waiting around for the demigods to decide how to handle everything. Clearly, that's not working. And I'm sick of watching everyone get hurt." Not to mention she was sick of being treated like her ideas were always secondary to theirs.

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

The concern in Flora's voice is achingly genuine, bright and clear and real enough to make Koa believe she actually cares. Which is an uncharitable thought, and he realizes it quickly, swallowing down the bitterness that comes so easy in his throat. "Thanks. Me too."

Does she know how he feels? Does he? Koa picks up a rock absent-mindedly, rubbing his thumb over its sharp edge and licking at his lips. There is a sea of emotions raging inside him, but Koa is too lost and tired to be able to figure out exactly what they are. Maybe that's what Flora understands, though - she's always been an ocean herself, from sunny and still to roiling and wild, full of depths and versatility they both struggled to read.

Stupid plans draw Koa back; interested despite himself, he leans forward, brow pursed. She doesn't really say anything, which isn't a surprise - the young Dragoon has been paranoid enough for long enough to get the danger of giving details aloud. But what she does say resonates in a way few things lately have. Tired of waiting, of watching the people he loves and wants to protect be hurt. "Seriously," Koa agrees almost vehemently, chucking the small stone toward the estuary, where it skips upon the briny water.

Turning for the first time toward Flora (or the little of her he can see above the root divider), Koa inhales a breath. "Look- I don't know what you're planning, but if anyone can pull it off, it's you." It's said simply and as entirely factually, because Koa genuinely believes it. Were Flora to set her mind to it, he's pretty sure she could find a way to singlehandedly storm Starfall. "And if you need help... well. I might not be a demigod, but..." He trails off, shrugging. He's also not her friend, or boyfriend, or anything at all. But he's tired, too, so fucking tired, and he's willing to put their past aside if it means he can help.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Flora’s heart twists a little more sharply at Koa’s quiet gratitude, at the heaviness she can practically feel radiating off him even through the tangled roots between them. For a second, she doesn’t speak, caught in the ache of it all, fingertips pressed into the cool earth to ground herself against his quiet admission of exhaustion and helplessness.

But when he speaks again—when he turns toward her with that simple, matter-of-fact confidence in her—it’s like sunlight-piercing clouds. Flora's breath catches sharply, eyes widening with something between surprise and relief, because gods if it isn’t exactly what she needed to hear, something she'd been told the opposite of by those closest to her. By her family, by Jack.

It’s not quite a smile that pulls at her lips, more a softening, a brightness flickering back to life. "That...is maybe the best thing you could have said to me right now," she whispers, a tremulous laugh hidden somewhere in her throat. But it’s impossible to stay lighthearted, not when everything feels like it's fraying at the edges. Flora sighs softly, leaning back against the roots again, head tilted upward as she stares through the shifting canopy. "Honestly, Koa? I'm so fucking sick of the demigods. I'm glad you aren't one."

For a moment Flora says nothing, before her expression gentles, earnest beneath the faint shimmer of unshed tears as she glances only vaguely over her shoulder, hardly even able to make out more than the dragoon's presence out of her peripheral vision. "Also, that means a lot," she finally says softly, fingers curling in the moss again. "You know, that you'd offer. Even after...everything." Her voice grows softer still, sincerity wrapped around uncertainty. "And same goes for you, by the way. If there's anything you need, you just...just say the word. Maybe we could channel together...get Vi's attention and get a rose for Noe, or.." combine MP or something

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

Well, Koa supposes with a curdled sort of amusement, it's good to know he still knows the right things to say to her, even if she doesn't want to hear it from him. It makes him wonder what he said, the oh-so-wonderful Jack. And why it isn't him she's seeking comfort from, where he is in her difficult hour.

Why he's picking up these pieces, when nobody picked them up for him.

But that's a bitterness he'd rather not entertain, and so he swallows it all back down. Instead he barks a surprised laugh at her anti-demigod sentiment, raising a dark and querulous eyebrow that she of course cannot see. "That's the second time you've told me that," Koa remarks drily. "Don't worry - I don't have any designs toward demigodhood. And even if I did, there's like a hundred better candidates." He shrugs, shoulders digging into the coarse trunk, the discomfort nearly a relief.

Silence lapses in between them: not pleasant, perhaps, but comfortable enough, a tenuous, weary thing. When Flora breaks it it's to pierce another small barb into his heart. Koa winces, and is immediately grateful she cannot see him, because the last thing he needs is for her to see how wounded she still is. He shouldn't be offering to help her at all, not after everything; yet here he is, pride be damned, unable to do anything else. Though her follow-up offer is more surprising, especially when she suggests they channel for a rose.

"I..." Emotion makes his voice claggy; he clears his throat, unwilling to deal with whatever it is he feels. He can feel himself closing off, shoring against the terror that she'll worm in and hurt him again. "Um. Thanks. That... thanks. But I'm still looking." A smarter, more humble man might have taken her up upon her offer; alas, Koa is dumb and proud, and the whip of her rejection still bites upon his heels. The last thing he'd asked Flora for, she hadn't been able to return.

He may be more than willing to help her in whatever lies ahead, but it will be a long time before Koa's ready to trust the Queen with any of his own needs again.

Forcing himself to rally onwards and thus (he hopes) avoid betraying the thundering of his heart, the Dragoon adds with affected brightness and nobility: "Besides, you have your other big, important plans. Plus, like... as much as I want to cure Noe, any roses either of us find should probably go to Ronin first. He's way more important, in the grand scheme of things."

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose

flora

Well, if you must know, Jack is actually flying overhead somewhere, soon to interrupt presumably. After that, he and Flora will nearly break up, then promise not to break up, only for the queen to go and try and save the world and be rewarded by, you guessed it, Jack contemplating breaking up with her.

Why it's Koa sitting here and not Jack is a question for fate, but never fear, everyone's favourite himbo will likely think Flora just as crazy for her plans as the good captain.

The queen absorbs Koa's responses like she might a harsh wind, letting them buffet against her without knocking her down. Each word he says only deepens the impression she has of him on the other side of the tree as she sinks against the weight of his unspoken grievances and the raw edges of their shared history. His laughter, even dry as it is, sparks a brief, genuine smile from her, a flicker of the camaraderie they once had before she has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing his name in admonishment.

As he hesitates over her suggestion about channeling for a rose, Flora lets the silence stretch, understanding too well the weight of his reluctance. When he finally speaks again, there's a clench in her stomach at his careful thanks, at the veiled pain she can't help but feel beneath his forced gratitude. She wants to reach through the roots and brush away the tension she imagines tightening his shoulders and his jaw, but she does no such thing, even as her fingers flinch against the moss.

Koa's final words, practical yet tinged with a self-deprecating brightness, make her heart ache anew, as if he'd just spraypainted LOL over the bridge repair, coming soon! sign she'd thought they were tentatively putting up. "Koa," she says finally, wincing at the familiar way her mouth hugs the sound of his name but not knowing how to say it otherwise. "If you find a flower, use it on Noe." Flora twists slightly to try and spy more of him around the base of the tree. "Your sister is just as important as Ronin is." With a sigh, the Doubletake flops back against the tree. "And besides, he has Remi to worry about healing him."

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Koa

Don't take this the wrong way
You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you

Flora's vehemence and sincerity crack something in Koa; he finds his eyes are bright with tears, though he cannot quite say why. For a moment he's silent, fingers twisting in the mossy earth. Dirt fills his nails as he digs the furrows, and the smell of it is sweet.

When he finally speaks again it is hoarse and halting, choked by emotion and false levity. "And if Remi is infected next? Or Deimos? Or you?" He laughs, mirthless, feigned lightness only serving to cast casting a stilted over the words. Of course in Koa's eyes Noe is important - more important, even, than any demigod - but where the grand scheme of things is concerned? Nobody who'd found a lily had opted to present it to his family, nor would they. Not when there was arguably a greater good to be served.

How does he explain what he's feeling to Flora - Flora who is daughter of four demigods, Queen of Torchline, whose loved ones are all people who matter? With her family infected, the masses would line up to offer a cure. And Koa would be among them, because it would be his duty, even if that choice might eat him alive.

"Anyway - it doesn't matter." Dismissive, clear- he doesn't want to talk about this, not any more. Not with her. "I'll keep looking, and you'll keep making plans. And if there's something I can do you know how to find me." He even manages to muster a smile, though of course she cannot see it, isolated as they are.

Only blue or black days
Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose