broke the sweetest promise

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

The cute little cafe that Flora had mentioned in her letter was bustling. Liam was glad he'd arrived early, since it took him a few minutes to find a table. He perused the menu while he waited, knowing he'd probably just end up ordering something simple, but it gave him something to do with his hands while his mind ran wild. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, if he was being perfectly honest. He didn't know Flora well. He didn't owe her anything.

Except that he hadn't been able to get that brief flash of hurt on her face out of his head.

And she'd opened his eyes to what Maea was starting to mean to him - unintentionally, perhaps, but it was there all the same. 

As for what he wanted to say to Flora? Gods only knew. He'd never been particularly good at removing his foot from his mouth once it was there. His late wife used to tease him endlessly that he was the only person she knew determined to dig his own grave. It was ironic, really, that he'd ended up digging hers. Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck - a nervous tell. He'd figure it out when Flora got here. And, gods willing, he wouldn't make things worse.

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora spots him before he sees her—of course she does—and there’s a flicker of nerves that tries to rise up before she promptly crushes it with the heel of a mental stiletto. Denim shorts, white crop top, and gold stacked everywhere like armour disguised as accessories; she’s cute, casual, and just enough done up to remind anyone watching that she’s still the queen, thank you very much.

Her curls are up, piled in a messy-but-deliberate top knot that leaves her neck bare and the glint of her jewellery catching the sun with every step. She carries herself like she owns the café, the street, and probably the coastline, and yet..Flora slides into the chair across from Liam with a smile that’s just shy of dazzling. Not flirtatious, not sharp. Just...polite. Breezy.

"Hey," she says, crossing one leg over the other and resting her forearms against the edge of the table. Her bracelets jingle faintly. "Didn’t think it’d be this busy today. Guess everyone’s got the same idea—coffee and regrets." A light quip, tossed like a pebble across a pond. Testing the temperature of the water before diving in. "You order yet?"

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

Flora arrived with the subtlety of a hurricane. She was decked out in gold: golden jewelry, sun-kissed hair, tanned skin. It was a good look on her, and Liam wasn't the only one who noticed. His gaze flickered from the queen to the cafe-goers, half of whom had turned to look at the young woman with varying levels of envy or admiration. It was enough to bring a half-smile to his face.

She slid into the chair across from him with a polite, breezy smile that held none of the mischief or, alternately, the faint softness that he'd come to associate with the Doubletake. Still, she was clearly prepared for anything, if her little quip about regrets was any indication, and the corners of his lips tugged ruefully upwards at the barb. "I don't know," he said. "I've heard regret goes better with beignets." Something light, perhaps an attempt at a peace offering - who was to say?

As for ordering, he shook his head. "Not yet. I was waiting for you." He gestured at the menu. "Got any recommendations?"

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

"Guess we’re sticking with the regret theme, then," Flora says, chin propped on her hand, gold rings flashing as her fingers tap against her cheek. Her smile is airy, almost amused, like this is all just harmless fun and definitely not a social minefield she’s trying to read step by step. "Regret and beignets, regret and coffee—kind of sounds like you’re covering one particular base."

One brow arches, her gaze flicking from Liam to the menu he gestures toward and back again, as if still trying to get a proper read on what exactly he’s doing here. "I usually go for the bagel, toasted and piled with cream cheese, cucumbers, and salmon." Pausing, the queen glances at Liam from over top her menu. "Then again, the molten pineapple wrap is a good choice if you're looking for something hotter."

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

Liam had never been very good at navigating this type of situation, and he grasped onto Flora's suggestions like they were a lifeline. "Great," he said, catching their server's eye. Once their orders were placed, Liam handed over his menu and waited for the woman to sashay away before turning his attention back to Flora. He'd been the one to ask her here; so he supposed that meant that he should just dive right in.

"Look, Flora - thanks for meeting me," he said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I... felt like I owed you an apology. And maybe an explanation. A better one than you got on the beach, anyway." He shifted in his chair. "I was... flustered, and it got the better of me." He paused, giving her the option to turn him down. She could, after all, refuse to hear any more about it and leave right now, and he wouldn't blame her.

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora hums softly, reaching for her drink as if it might buffer the weight of what she isn’t quite willing to show. Her bracelets clink faintly as she lifts the glass, taking a sip just long enough to organize the fragments of her ego and pull something breezy around herself like a silken wrap.

"There's no need to explain," she says, too brightly, too quickly, like it’s already old news. Her smile is light, the kind that looks effortless if you don’t know her well enough to clock the tiny edge beneath it. "You're hot, I thought you were single, and when I found myself pinned beneath you...I figured if a surprise makeout was ever gonna make sense, it was right then and there."

Setting her glass down with a soft tap, she shrugs one shoulder and adds, "But hey—if I read the moment wrong, no big deal." Her tone aims for casual, but there’s a subtle tightness in the way her fingers toy with a ring at her knuckle. She doesn't say it’s fine, because it kind of isn’t, but she makes it sound like it is anyway.

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

Flora was bright and bubbly, as though it really didn't bother her, and for a moment, Liam contemplated leaving it at that. He didn't know her well enough to see that she was just a little too breezy, just the teensiest bit on edge. And maybe he should have just left it well enough alone, but it bothered him. And maybe it was selfish of him, but he wanted to clear the air between them, to ensure there were no hard feelings.

He lifted his drink and took a sip, just as Flora called him hot - and he choked on the beverage, spluttering at her forthright nature. A blush crept into his cheeks, and he shook his head, though whether that was to clear it or to deny her opinion was unclear even to him.

"I'm married," he blurted suddenly. Then, panicking, because he needed to clarify lest she think he was leading Maea on, he added, "Or, er, I was. I just - I hadn't had someone interested in me like that since my late wife, and it took me by surprise. And then you asked me about Maea -" He was rambling now, and he took another sip of his drink, if only to force his mouth to close.

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

The choked cough makes her arch a brow, but the flush that colours Liam’s cheeks earns a small, satisfied smile. Not vindictive—just vaguely triumphant. If she was going to get politely let down, at least she could still turn a few heads doing it.

But then he blurts it out.

Married.

Flora’s brows shoot up, aqua eyes wide—but before she can even sip her drink to cover the awkward twist in her gut, he’s clarifying. Was. Oh. Her features soften immediately, the exaggerated expression fading into something quieter. She sets her glass down, fingers lightly tracing the rim. "I’m sorry," she says, not perfunctory, but genuine. "That’s...yeah."

She exhales, not dramatically, just a low breath like she’s setting something down. "I lost my twin," she adds quietly. "Not the same, I know. But… I get how they stay with you. The ghost of them, how you carry it."

She doesn’t linger there—doesn’t want to drag them both into grief, not in the middle of an awkward quasi-apology brunch—but there’s an undercurrent to her voice that says she means every word.

At the mention of Maea, Flora nibbles the inside of her cheek, gaze flicking away for just a second before returning. "I, uh. I asked her," she says with a shrug. "If you two were a thing, and she said no, so...I figured it was fair game." Her smile tilts, not quite apologetic, not quite bitter—just that hint of vulnerability again, threaded through the humour. "I just got broken up with, so I think I was just..." Flora looks down at her glass, golden rings sparkling as her fingertip makes another orbit around the rim. "..just looking to feel something, I guess."

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

Perhaps to Liam's surprise, Flora didn't scoff or laugh or any of the other potentially negative reactions that he could imagine. Instead, she offered condolences, and even if he didn't know her that well, he could tell that she meant it. "I'm sorry about your twin," he said softly - a moment of shared grief, in the midst of an otherwise awkward brunch. And she was right - he often wondered what his wife would think of him now, what she might say if she knew how low he'd fallen, and how long it had taken him to pick himself up.

What she'd think of it being Maea that helped him to do it.

Clearing his throat, Liam sat his glass on the table. "We're not a thing," he agreed. "Not exactly." Not yet, he thought, and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "But she's... important to me. I just hadn't really... accepted that before you asked."

He watched as Flora traced the rim of her glass, her golden rings catching the light. He hesitated, then said: "It's drinking, for me. Although I guess that's less about feeling something and more about trying to feel nothing." He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze, feeling entirely more vulnerable than he'd expected and not sure that he liked it. "It's... not exactly the same, but... I get it."

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora listens. It’s not her strong suit—never has been—but she tries, gold-ringed fingers stilled on the rim of her glass, and something in her expression quiets. If there’s a sting—if there’s a part of her that curls inwards at the quiet tucked around Liam's words at the mention of Maea—she doesn’t let it bloom into anything visible. Doesn’t let it colour the air between them with anything heavier than what’s already been laid down.

When he mentions drinking, though—trying to feel nothing—she barks out a laugh. Bright and surprised. "Gods," she grins, tipping her head back before looking at him again. "I used to own a bar and I’ve never tried that. What a waste of an opportunity. Maybe I’ll start." She says it lightly, but her tone is easy, not mocking. If anything, it’s the kind of gentle irreverence that makes pain less jagged.

Then she sits up a little straighter, shrugging as she exhales through her nose. "But really, it's all whatever," she says, a little breezy again. "You definitely didn’t owe me an apology. Or even an explanation, honestly." Her mouth quirks, amused, tired, still warm. "You could’ve just ghosted me like a normal person."

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

Flora's laugh was bright and genuine, and Liam offered a rueful grin in response. "If you ever need a drinking buddy..." he offered, raising his glass to her in a playful salute. It was better than lecturing her on how his habits might have dulled the pain for a while, but never permanently. Besides, he'd managed to get his drinking (mostly) under control, these days. Not that he was going to offer up a line like time heals all wounds, either. Wounds like theirs left scars, and on the bad days, those scars still ached, no matter how much time had passed.

In any case, his mouth twitched with amusement as she suggested he could have ghosted her. "I could have," he agreed. "My wife used to say I never knew when to leave well enough alone. I guess I haven't changed all that much." He paused. "I just wanted to make sure we were still on good terms. I do like you, Flora. I'd like it if we could be friends." And friends, he seemed to imply, did not ghost one another after a briefly shared kiss gone awry.

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora grins, wry and sharp around the edges. "Careful," she teases, lifting her glass in a loose mirror of his salute. "I just might take you up on that." She pauses long enough to take a sip, aqua eyes glinting over the rim. Then, with a wrinkle of her nose—more affectionate than dismissive—she tilts her head. "Your wife sounded like a smart woman." It’s said lightly, but with enough weight to honour it, to acknowledge the loss without prying.

At the talk of friendship, though, she only shrugs, the motion loose and casual, like it costs her nothing despite how utterly fucked up nearly all of her friendships were at the moment. "Oh...you probably don't want that. Being friends with me is kind of a high-risk situation right now." Her smile thins, not quite bitter, but definitely steeped in something darker. "Dahlia’s already threatened everyone I care about if I even look at Haulani, so..." Flora sighs and leans back in her chair. "Pretty sure if you aren't willing to make out with me, that means you aren't willing to die for me either," she adds, her smile all varnish, the sparkle of which doesn't reach her eyes.

A machine where your heart once was
Slowly takes the place of you

His wife had been a smart woman - smarter than Liam, by far. He smiled wistfully, thinking of all the ways in which she'd been better than him. Too good for him, really, and yet... they'd worked, somehow, in a way that he'd never really been able to understand or explain. "She was," he said softly.

It took him a moment to come back to the present, but when he did, Flora was warning him away from friendship. "What's life without a little risk?" he teased, trying to bring back a hint of the brightness that talk of Dahlia stripped away. "And I'm pretty sure there are friends who would die for each other but would prefer not to make out," he pointed out. He could personally name several.

But then he sobered. "I told you before, Flora: if you run into trouble, I'd do my best to help." That day in the Undercroft, when they'd been looking for information on Vi's Roses. She'd called him old, which seemed funny in retrospect. "That still stands."

Only hold the memories now
Of a love I thought I knew

Liam

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora laughs, but it’s quieter this time—wry and tilted, not quite bitter but edged with something harder to define. "You know, I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever had a male friend I haven't made out with," she says, tapping a nail against the side of her glass like she’s trying to measure the shape of that thought aloud. "Not sure what that says about me. Probably nothing great."

Her smile comes crooked as she lifts her eyes back to him, expression somewhere between sheepish and defiant, like she’s bracing for judgement and refusing to care about it in the same breath.

But when he says he’d still try to help her—when he says it like that, like he means it—her gaze softens, shoulders relaxing a touch into the back of her chair. She studies him for a second longer than she probably should, before letting her lips curl into something warm and surprised.

"Doesn’t sound very ex-soldier of you," she murmurs, chin tipping to the side. It sounded to her absolutely like someone who still carried the weight of it. The duty. "Why aren't you a dragoon anymore? If you don't mind me asking."