[SE] FORTify your heart

// Start a tiny riot //

It's a good thing he doesn't cut down trees for a living, might not make it past the first day if the way chopping her down right ontop of him is any indicator. A gwuff of air slams out of him, which is unfortunate, since he'll need all the breath he can get the moment her fingers descend upon his sides. His messy smile, born out of victory as much as failure, yanks down into a peal of terrified laughter the moment she sets in. "NOOO—FLORA!" He tries to bellow around the giggling shrieks, slapping at her hands and writhing to and fro as he tries to stay ahead of where she'll attack next with an arm block.

He's completely winded and limp with defeat by the time she relents. A one eyed-scowl is all he's able to offer her subsiding mirth, what with his head angled flat towards his shoulder and the rest of his body splayed out like a tragic crime scene victim. It doesn't take long for his arms to wind snug and purposeful around her though, holding her to him as natural as anything else. "I think this qualifies as Stockholm syndrome," he murmurs with an entirely lazy grin.

"Wait!" His eyes widen suddenly and he stiffens. His hug unravels from her, hands bracing against her upper arms and pushing up as though he might bench press her. "It's not done yet, there's one more thing." Wriggling out from under her he pops up. A few bedrooms pillows are lobbed her way before he darts out of sight. "Put those and any extra blankets inside, I'll be right back!"

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

His cries only fuel her. Each squealed syllable of her name, every wriggle and slap at her invading fingers, spurs Flora on like some twisted little symphony of triumph. "This is what happens," she declares between peals of laughter, "when you frame a queen!" Her fingers dig mercilessly between his ribs and above his hips, chasing each flinch with the precision of someone who’s studied the art of tickle-based warfare, only relenting once he’s a breathless, boneless wreck beneath her—more sea sponge than man.

He sags like her favourite victory banner. But when his arms wind around her again, strong and warm and so effortlessly right, her mischief gentles like a tide pulling back. She sinks into him, fitting perfectly to his chest as her lips brush up the long line of his throat—soft, lingering kisses planted one after the other: the edge of his jaw, the apple of his cheek, the corner of his grin. No words needed. Just breath and affection, unhurried and golden.

That is, until he yells. She blinks down at him in confusion, sitting up as he stiffens beneath her, a puff of curls drifting down over one eye as if her whole body is affronted by the interruption. "Wait? Wait what—?" Before she can demand clarification, she’s being bench-pressed like a startled cat, limbs momentarily flailing as he scoots free. She glares after him, half-annoyed, half-admiring the boldness of it. "Rude!" she mutters, though the glint in her eye betrays her amusement.

With a sigh and a theatrical huff, Flora reaches for the pillows he’s flung her way, dragging them into the depths of their makeshift sanctum like treasure hoarded by a dragon. Blankets follow, twisted and tucked and fluffed with deliberate, imperious care as she burrows deeper into the fort, vanishing into its heart to await whatever nonsense he’s plotting now.

"This better be good!" she calls from within, her voice muffled by fleece and anticipation.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

He gallops up the stairs. Gallops—hands slapping the stairs ahead of him while his feet stomp after. It's unclear if it's faster, but it sure feels like he accomplished some speed.

Ducking into his room he grabs a package and takes the stairs back down two at a time, sliding off the banister at the end and gliding over the floor briefly when he lands as the momentum and sock skates carry him over the hardwood.

He dives through the well-crafted archway in full penguin, skidding to a premature stop partway in the hall. He swims through the air for a moment before getting purchase and scooching the rest of the way into the fort mansion to her side, breathlessly producing the finishing touch. "Glow in the dark stars," he grins, the bag of them crinkling as he holds them up. The top is already torn off, having fully charged them up before she came over. "C'mon, hold out your hands," he instructs, angling the bag to sprinkle half into her hand.

The self-adhesive on the backs sticks well enough as he sets them to the underside of the table, the chairs, and the sheets. "You ever have these when you were little?" She probably just used the real stars, being in the Greatwoods, but there's still a certain kind of magic to these artifical ones. "When I was really little I was scared of the dark, so these got put up in my room and it helped me sleep. I took them down eventually when I wanted to prove I was brave, but I always missed them."

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

It’s a good thing Flora can’t see Kaisel galloping up her stairs like a sugar-drunk colt, or she’d have kicked him down them without remorse. The sound alone—slapping palms, thunderous stomps, the unmistakable chaos of limbs with no clear chain of command—earns a brief pause from within the depths of their fabric fortress, her brow lifting in slow, curious disbelief.

Inside the lounge—because obviously their fort has designated wings—she finishes fluffing the pillows into a makeshift chaise, smoothing out the blanketed floor and adding the final fold to what she’s decided is the beverage nook. By the time Kaisel returns, a little breathless, a little radiant, sliding in like a boy too bright for this world, she’s lounging back with her legs tucked to the side, half-shadowed by the soft, uneven glow of lantern light spilling through the weave.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep the smile from overtaking her face as she gazes at him. But all teasing dies the moment he upends a small handful of stars into her cupped palms. Her smile vanishes, replaced with a stillness so rare it almost feels like silence in motion. She stares down at them, lids low over aqua eyes, and one finger trails lightly across the sharp little ridges as if they might hum beneath her touch. They gleam faintly already, warmed to life by whatever charge he’d given them upstairs, and her throat bobs as she nods.

"Yeah," she says softly. "I’ve seen them." She doesn’t move right away, just watches as Kaisel begins to press them onto the blanket ceiling, each one stuck into place with care. Still cradling hers, she glances sideways at him, mouth opening and closing once before she finds her words. "My dad used to make them for me and Enzo," she murmurs, gaze dropping again to the plastic stars in her hands. "When we were little. They were supposed to make up for the fact he was always gone." Her voice doesn’t falter, but something quieter coils through it, a softness like salt beneath the sweetness.

Lifting one, she peels off the back slowly and reaches up to press it against the wooden leg of a chair, her fingers gentle in the way people are with memories. [sa]y"Remi’s were made out of clay. He used…I don’t know, something weird to make them glow. They had this kind of…earthy smell. Like stone and mint and burnt pine." Her lips curve faintly. "He told us they were real stars. Said he asked them to fall for us." A pretty lie that had only shed more light on his absence in their lives.

Another star finds its home on the underside of the table. And another. Her hand moves slowly, delicately, as if each one is a spell. "I like these ones much better."

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

For a moment, he doesn't notice the way she hasn't moved since receiving the stars. He's still brimming with the sort of joy that struggles to be contained, the kind that breaks free in hundreds of small ways and overwhelms the other things around it with all its eagerness. It's a glimmer in every look that contains her, whether the brief stolen ones she never sees or those that linger so long that everything else starts to blur and fade except for her. It's a flash within each smile, intense and broad when it's the wild, face-eating ones, but winking even through the reserved lines. It's a sparkle that hums at the heart of every laugh, sending them out frequent and without reason, loud and long or whispered as it fades into charged breath.

He's sneaking one such glance now, expecting to see her caught up in the magic of glowing stars same as he is, but she's so still. His grin, nearly a tattoo at this point for its permanence, stutters. She is caught up in something, that much is clear, but is it magic?

Her gaze slides over, weighted and meaningful in a way that makes him lower his hands from where they hold the press of a star to ensure it sticks. It'll fall minutes later. "Why was he always gone?" Kaisel asks carefully, not wanting to dig up old hurt for her, be it accidentally with stars or purposefully with clumsy words. A hand drifts to curl against her leg, warm and reassuring even amid the low light of memories glowing green. "I never thought about what a star would smell like," he admits with a faint smile, watching the tender way she builds her version of the sky here. "I think it would be close to that though. Maybe a touch of popcorn."

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

The second his hand finds her leg, Flora moves to his side; fluid, instinctive, the kind of movement that doesn’t ask for permission because none is needed. She presses herself against him like a tide against warm rock, fitting snugly beneath the crook of his arm, breath pulling deep into her chest as she turns to look up at him.

His copper eyes glint in the shadowed glow of their fort, lit from without by the world and from within by every tiny plastic constellation he’s plastered across the ceiling like it could hold back all the darkness. He looks soft like this. Bright and quiet and kind, full of molten warmth and the kind of attention that doesn’t waver or drift.

She swallows, one hand reaching for his as the other trails a star slowly along the side of his ribcage, drawing light from the hush between them. "Enzo and I weren't planned, obviously," she says simply, voice low and sure, like she’s rehearsed the line enough times for it to sound like a fact and not a wound. "My mom came to one of Frey's shrines and found Remi there. She was going to pray, and Frey..." Her lips twitch upward in a dry little smile, amused despite the weight of the story. "They challenged them to a race. Said whoever came first won, and the prize was turning Hotaru into a hybrid."

She doesn’t look away from Kaisel, doesn’t let the absurdity or intimacy of it distract her from the truth that pulses underneath. "And if you can imagine, having sex in front of Frey is like, the fastest way to guarantee you'll get pregnant." She snorts softly, her lashes lowering with wry knowing. "But also kinda hard to turn down, especially if you see what you want to see, so.."

Her fingers find Kaisel's palm, turn it upward, and she starts tracing her own stars against his skin. Her voice stays calm, steady, even as it wanders into deeper waters. "Back then, my parents had an open marriage or whatever, but Ronin was still pissed when he found out. Remi was the Guardian of the Greatwood, and Hotaru ran there from Halo to have us, and—" she exhales, frowning as her hands still, "—Ronin lost it. Went full dragon. Destroyed, like, half the forest. Wouldn’t even look at us."

Her eyes flick up to him again, wide and ocean-bright even in the gloom. "He wouldn’t let us live with them, so we stayed with Vai. Remi visited when he could." Her brows lift pointedly, words laced with all the meaning she doesn’t have to say aloud. When he could hadn’t been enough.

And when the air feels too thick with old shadows, she exhales and cuts through it with a wrinkle of her nose, shifting just enough to peer up at him through lashes gone half-lidded with fondness. "You only think they smell like popcorn because you always burn yours." Her grin curves slow and wicked, the corners of it full of light again.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

He doesn't say anything as she folds into him, just makes the room for her as he lifts an arm up. It winds around behind her as she tucks into his side, his hand perching on her shoulder. Fingers strum slow and slight against her skin periodically, an external pulse for her to come back to as she wades into something that's gonna get her hair wet with it's depth.

His other hand rests across his lap, fingers curling into hers as easy as air into lungs. The shooting star she drags down against him is what he's watching as she starts to talk, and even with the soft radiance of pretend stars, the faintest twitch of a smile becoming lost as she sinks. She isn't lost, not exactly. She's navigated these waters, but she's still dredging up something heavy and everything buoyant struggles with it.

Surprise is the first thing that finds him as she threads the tale, not the least of which is because she rather literally says, well let me start at the beginning—I was born. He knows of her parents, has met most of them even, but he doesn't know them or much about her earlier childhood. He's considers saying something comforting, like lots of kids aren't planned, but are still dearly loved, or weird way to be conceived, but they still love you. Wisely, he waits, listening even as her breaths pause for a moment in thought.

His eyes had long since drifted from the star to watch her, but now as she spins his palm over, needing it less for grip than a pad for artistry, he can only comply. It's more difficult than it should be to guess the pattern that she traces out, the ghost of her design leaving a subtle tingle on his skin that the hairs on his arms stand up at, gooseflesh rippling out. As she continues though, his attention snaps back up towards her, his disbelief so strong and sudden he can't bite back the harsh "what?!"

He's a bit slack jawed, 'brows furrowing with concern and the clash of reality with the easy going Ronin he's met thus far. "What the fuck?" is the only thing he can seem to manage, her story one so at odds with his experience he can't quite grasp it in full. "Ronin?" he breathes out, frowning a bit. "Just, the whole time? Ronin never made up for it? Remi never stood up to him, fought for you two?" He could maybe understand that initial reaction, especially if Ronin had been surprised by it all, but just essentially casting them out like that? Remi...if he didn't mean to have her, maybe he felt the visits had been enough, but what you mean, as Kaisel has begun to learn, doesn't actually matter much. Remi did have her, and clay stars aren't nearly enough for all the empty days.

A deep breath is blown out, softening parts of him that began to grow harder with an anger that doesn't really belong to him. What use is there in demanding answers of her for their faults, she probably still doesn't understand half of the whys of what they did, and maybe they don't either. Even if she does, the answers won't undo it.

He presses her in tighter with his arm. He won't apologize—he doesn't want to give her a gas station flower. Instead he just takes one of the smaller stars he still has and presses it firmly to her forehead, then tugs her back with him into a flop against the pillows and blankets she laid out, giving them a good view of the starry canopy. "I can see why you left," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair. Why Enzo matters so much to her, because for a while he was all she really had. "Well I'm really glad you're here." Maybe no one had ever told her as much, but he definitely is.

"It's hard to tell when it's done. Some are still popping while others are smoking and when I think I have it, either half of it is still kernels and ruined or half is burnt and ruined," he huffs. He's not proud of his popcorn inadequacies. He might also be sprinkling some extra passion into the simplistic issue to keep her mind for falling back into that cold dark.

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

Flora's smile comes slow and sharp, cutting clean through the remnants of Kaisel’s disbelief like moonlight through stormclouds. Cold, but not cruel—more resigned than anything else—shaped by the edge of too many years learning not to flinch at memory’s teeth. "One of the first times I ever went out with him, I was probably seven? Maybe eight?" she murmurs, gaze fixed on their faux starfield as her fingers resume their gentle tracing along his palm. "I broke my ankle running up some stairs, and after Ronin healed it, he literally told me and my brother that we were a scab he couldn’t stop picking at which is why it always hurt and wouldn't heal."

Her smile tightens. "Said he loved Aoife’s mom. Hated ours. That I should stop trying so hard to fit into his family." Her fingers still for a moment, pressed lightly against Kaisel’s. "Looking back now, I get it, or at least, I think I get what he was trying to say. But when you’re a little kid hearing that?" She huffs, soft and bitter. "It was a pretty shit thing to say." And since then, aside from Enzo, Flora had never belonged anywhere.

She shrugs, but it’s small, the kind you do when you're used to brushing dust off something cracked. "We didn’t talk for years after that. And when we did, it was because Enzo died." Her voice lowers around the name, quiet as if speaking it too loud might shatter something. "Well, not because he died. Ronin came to defend Mateo, actually. I’d hurt his feelings." Her mouth twists, a wry little grimace. "Because he told me to stop moping about it."

The silence that follows is thick but not heavy. Kaisel’s presence curls around her like balm, grounding, and real. When he presses her in closer and kisses the crown of her hair, Flora sighs and lets her eyes flutter closed for a moment, breathing him in. And then she laughs—short and dry and not at all humourless—as he asks about Remi. "Gods, Remi was worse. Of course he didn't defend us." She shakes her head, curls brushing against his chest. "Clay stars don’t really fill the space where a dad should be." Her voice is light, but her eyes don’t match it.

But as Kaisel says that he was glad she was here, something in her stills. She turns to him, affection blooming across her face like sunrise cresting the waves. No fanfare. No sass or sting. Just this unguarded glow that starts in her chest and spills into every corner of her expression. She leans in without a word and kisses him, soft and slow, a whisper of gratitude shaped in warmth and skin. "Thank you," she murmurs as she pulls back, barely any space left between them. Her fingers squeeze his hand, tight and earnest, because, no, she doesn’t think anyone’s ever said that to her before.

When the star touches her forehead, she wrinkles her nose on instinct, giggling as he pulls her down with him. Her body curls into his instinctively, with her knee hooking over his, one arm draped across his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as if it’s always belonged there. "You’re banned from popcorn duties forever," she declares, mock-stern. "I’m putting myself in charge of that. Indefinitely." A beat passes, and then she grins, voice soft but sure as she adds, "So I guess you’re stuck with me unless you want perpetually burned snacks." The stars above flicker gently, and for once, she feels like maybe they’ve fallen in the right place.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

Speechless is not something Kaisel comes by easy, it feels as eerie and artificial as a delayed sunrise, but it's got a chokehold on him now. He can hear the way the scars silver her voice, and what sterling moments they are. Scab?! Ronin fucking likened her to a godsdamned scab? Told her to stop trying to be part of his family??? White knight his fucking nuts. The man's so deluded from shoving his head up his ass he mistook the crumbs toilet paper caught on the ring of his butthole for a halo.

A twisted noise, maybe once a huh when it started, is certainly more mangled and unrecognizable by the time it trips out of his chest. It's his only manageable response to her being told to stop m o p i n g about her dead twin that she feels entirely responsible for. Chat, respectfully—nah fuck that—disrespectfully, what the FUCK?

Her quiet isn't comfort, but it is a chance for him to breathe, to try and get a handle on the outrage building like cancer inside him. It's all he can do to press some of the energy into her, mold the heat into something that could warm the chill out of her instead of make him combust and send him running to pick a fight with two of the strongest, shittiest demigods around. Godsdamnit, he's so mad he went to their barbeque.

That she considers Remi’s worst crime being absence rather than vitriol says everything about Flora. Of course, after recounting all the ways love’s been stripped from her, it’s the moments of nothing that hurt most. She’d rather be laid bare again and again than never be seen or touched at all. It's so representative of what matters most to Flora that he can't fight back the broken smile that creeps in. The feathering that had set into his rigid jaw disperses, the tight lip of his frown cracking open a bit. "You deserved so much better," he murmurs, offering to be her daddy instead.

Popcorn galaxies do not seem nearly enough to offer her now, but he tries all the same.

The splay of her beside him, spilling over him, it's right. Yet again he's faced with the truth of being unable to do something to repair a past hurt, some scars just simply not worth it, but if she can still find ways to shine like she does, he'll do his best to make sure that stays true going forward. He decides then, with one sideways glance to the grinning girl beside him, that he'll always celebrate her. Maybe with enough time and care, he could turn misery into a drought instead of the sea she just tries to weather.

"Snacks that aren't burnt and you?" he laughs into her hair, building a nest of daydreams and promises with each hopeful look towards their future. "Twist my arm why don't you." The sound of the humor dims into a vibration of appreciation as his arm wriggles from beneath them and curves around her, lying overtop the one she's flung out across his chest. His fingertips rub gently against her knuckles while he taps an idle beat into her foot with his.

Above, the stars radiate something that keeps the moment soft, not bright enough to reach every dark space, but dim enough to watch it shrink away into the corners without having to squint. "I love when we have these non-squinty moments," he informs her after a breath, as if she'd been inside his head to trace the meaning of that. The first night on the Sugar Tide had been non-squinty. The others had technically been squinty—tears and all—and he likes them too, just not in the way this one belongs to.

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

She can feel it, the way Kaisel hums with a surprising amount of restraint beneath her. Not loud, not sharp, but there, like a current pressed too tight beneath the skin, seeking somewhere to go. Flora shifts slightly and nudges her shoulder against his, wanting to ground him with the soft rhythm of her weight before her fingers curl gently around his. Without ceremony, she lifts his hand and presses a kiss to the space just above his knuckles, warm and steady. "It was a long time ago," she murmurs, the kind of phrase people always say when it still lives too close to the surface but there's nothing to be done about it.

But when her gaze flickers toward the slight, cracking curve of his smile, she leans up and presses another kiss there too, right at the corner of his mouth where emotion lingers longest. Then she sinks back into him, their limbs all tangled again, her cheek pressed just above the steady thrum of his heart as she gazes up through the makeshift canopy. Her lashes cast delicate shadows over her cheekbones, her body draped across his like a crown worn sideways.

"Careful," she warns with a snort, her voice featherlight with laughter. "You tell me to twist your arm, and I will." Her grin widens, eyes darting up to catch his again. "Don’t forget how freakishly strong I am." The star still stuck to her forehead catches the light as she grins, gleaming like a misplaced crown jewel. Her smile softens, cheek nestling back against him as she shifts just enough to keep the ceiling in view; the stars above them pulsing with their soft, plastic glow, a whole universe spun from his hands.

So when he speaks again, cryptic and earnest in the way only Kaisel can be, she blinks at him for a moment, her expression folding into fond amusement. She assumes by squinting moments he means ones that don't require scrutiny, ones that aren't terribly difficult in a way that requires close attention. Her head lifts from his chest, and her brows bounce with theatrical innocence as she leans close enough for her grin to nearly brush his mouth. "I could ruin it for you," she offers sweetly. "If you want your squinty-moments to stay rare and precious, I could call Spice in to test out our defenses." Pulling the star from her forehead, Flora will place it against Kaisel's chest, above his heart. "Then again, I do really like this," she adds softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Are you still afraid of the dark?" Flora murmurs, shifting just enough to press her nose lightly against his collarbone as she settles back against him.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

He's not ordinarily the sort to hold much of a grudge, but maybe he'd just never had enough of a reason to. Between exes cosplaying as the x-men Storm (he couldn't even be bothered to get a wig?) and fathers attempting to ctrl+z a child and crashing out when it didn't work, he's starting to collect a few hatchets. Forgive and forget to avoid a life of regret sounds nice, but he can't quite hear it over the what the fuck? still bouncing back and forth.

His attention rises as her lips brush his hand, and he blinks back through the gloom of the past and pretend stars. A long time ago—yeah, maybe. He can tell as much becayse, well one she's not eight any more, and two she's able to talk about it without folding in entirely. It doesn't mean she doesn't carry it though, the whole forget part always the toughie in that grand ol' saying. It hasn't been very long at all for him, and even though it isn't his wound, blood stains whatever it can touch. "Hmm," is all that finds its way loose in his breath in response to that, like maybe he doesn't fully buy the little bow that time tries to add to trauma.

He'd like to ask more. To know what they've actually done to make up for it. To understand why she bothers with them at all still—although he can guess the answer to that, because shit or not it's who she's got. Ultimately, asking won't really help her, so happily he let's her pull him away from the water's surface before either of them drown in it. She manages to do so with the kiss she presses into the edges of his thoughts, the ones that seep into the lines of his face without him noticing, lingering on the fringes of his lips where cheeks and smile get lost to one another.

A hand rises to his forehead, splaying across his face with a sudden, groaning laugh that's half defeat and half show. "I'd never forget that." Although some sudden, chaotic voice inside his head is abruptly tempted to dare her to. The sane part of him keeps that voice inside—please applaud.

It seems she's running just as chaotic though as she, nearly proud about it too, offers to ruin the non-squinty moment he just said he loved. He pulls back, leaning away with a face that's all dramatic and not in the least bit purposefully dialed up. "Da fuuuuuq?" He draws it out, wonderful and weird in a way only comfort can provide. "I'm never telling you again next time we're in a non-squinty moment if you're gonna go all beach sand-castle stomper on it." He looks at her with all the incredulity of someone who's realized they just laid back with Godzilla instead of the hot chick from Baywatch, like she'd been some sort of humanoid Kelpie tricking him.

The non-squinty moments are the ones that are soft and a little fuzzy. The ones that aren't too bright or too dark, too loud or sad, or too anything really except right and wonderful. They're the moments that shimmer just enough, an ordinary river rock threaded with quartz, so that you never have to squint when you look at them. Sometimes, even the good times, are a lot of noise, activity, and color, and you smile so big and full it presses up into your eyes and makes you squint. Sometimes the days are so shit, and you're weary, worn out, and on the verge of a sob or completely lost to one, and everything's blurry and wet, so those ones you have to squint through too. This one though, it's stretched a little every which way with fun and fucked up, so nothing is squinty.

He doesn't stretch away far, or for long, pulling back in like a slinky as her hand presses a star to his heart. Combined with the one she put on his ribs, it's a bit like a celestial AED, but all he needs is her mouth-to-mouth and he'd be saved. He settles for a kiss to her forehead as she nestles back against him, gaze drifting over the ambient green of make-believe cosmos as she asks the frog on his shirt about childhood fears. The hand still around behind her, drifts lazy and slow up and down her side. "No," he says with the certainty of something outgrown and replaced with the harsher realities of the world. "Realized monsters don't care about the time of day, they're always around." Night maybe made them a little harder to see, but monsters are real good at smiling anyway even when you're looking right at 'em, so what's the difference? "Still a little creepy," he admits with a huff. "Like I definitely don't take my time putting out at the trash at night, but, no. Just ghosts and sharks and failure now." Normal, adult things to fear, especially ghosts.

"What're you scared of?" He glances over the wave of her hair, just able to see the edge of one eye. His hand stills and curls over her stomach, holding her like one might a stuffie that grants confidence in the dark when something has just gone bump.

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

Flora can feel the quiet in Kaisel as he listens, strange as it is, given that normally filled silence like water fills a glass; never still, never stalled, always ready with some sideways joke or shameless tease. But now? Now he’s Thinking with a capital T. She doesn’t need to look at him to know it. She feels it in the stillness beneath the softness, the way his chest rises a little slower, the way his copper eyes—so warm, so sharp even in the dim—have gone distant in that way that means something’s cracked open and he’s still trying to decide if it needs stitching or salt.

Still, when he groans and splays a hand across his forehead like a man struck by lightning, her grin brightens, dazzling and delighted. It steals across her face like dawn over saltwater, all sparkle and slow-blooming joy. And yes, maybe she offers a bit of silent applause, lifting her brows in faux awe at his restraint, even if she does love those tiny, chaotic voices in his head.

When he pulls back in theatrical horror, she wrinkles her nose with dramatic innocence, shrugging with the most unconvincing who, me? expression she can muster. "I was only preserving the moment," she says, voice dripping with mockery and fondness both. "I mean, if all we ever have are non-squinty moments, how would we know they’re special, hmm?" Before he can offer a retort, she’s reaching out, fingers snatching the collar of that ridiculous frog shirt with all the power of a dagger-thrower turned fort-queen, dragging him back toward her with absolutely no effort concealed, and press her lips to his.

The kiss is not deep, not heated, but full of flourish, like sealing a pact or finishing a scene with the perfect final note. Her lips press to his in a kiss that’s laughter-soft and affection-sweet, one hand resting lightly against his chest, the other still tangled in fabric.

When he kisses her forehead—her favourite, always, always her favourite—she exhales against his sternum in a long, loving sigh, her lashes fluttering as she nuzzles in like it’s the safest place she’s ever known, before chuckling softly as he admits to fast trash duty, her voice muffled by his shirt. "You need a dragon," she murmurs. "Or maybe like...a weird winged toad that screams when monsters get too close." She pauses. "Spice is pretty good for that, actually. She screams at everything."

At the mention of sharks, Flora lifts her head, grinning down at him, eyes brightening as her curls tumble around them like sunlit seaweed. "Okay, as soon as it’s warm enough, we’re going swimming with manta crystals. They let you breathe underwater and if we take the bubble jet to the mer city, you’ll see loads of sharks." She beams. "Exposure therapy, right?"

She snorts softly, a crooked little smile tugging at her mouth as she lets her head settle once more across his chest. Her fingers drift lazily over his shirt, starbursting outward, chasing invisible wrinkles and smoothing each one down as she hums. "Oh, you know," she says lightly. "Just the usual stuff. Never being good enough, crippling fear of being abandoned...cellulite." Her nails trace lightly down his ribs. "Just the usual things."

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Start a tiny riot //

He can scarcely accept the kiss around the effervescent joy that breaks free of him the moment she yanks him back, apparently dissatisfied with the speed of his ongoing return. He tries though, cheeks puffing with the effort, but she'll likely find more teeth than lip with the way his face has stolen the line of it in a blazing grin. He hums into the offer, the giddiness simmering into the edge of her nose as he lingers with her, capturing it a moment longer with a hand to her chin, trying to plant tenderness amid the frivolity.

It sticks, the low warmth of her affection, and he settles back into cradling her like they're the only two things alive in this fabric universe they've built. Even though he doesn't need to anymore, he still finds himself caught in the old habit of trying to grab moments with her that he wants to suspend forever. Right now, this is one of them. She's stunning like this—not dressed in armor or dancing in spotlight, but wrapped in sweats and a soft comfort that disguises its effort. The green wash of the stars coats her in an otherworldly glow, constellations scattered across skin that's endured storms and scars yet still gleams bright. What undoes him most is that for all her strength, she leans on him, and he can hold her—that together they knot into something that feels invincible.

The moment doesn't stand still though, of course it doesn't. It doesn't scare him though, like before, because more of them will come spilling in, a stream now instead of rain he's trying to collect between each downpour.

"No waaaaay," he laughs, his chest jostling her with it so that the starlight flickers back and forth against her. "The best thing about toads is they stay on the ground. If it could fly I'd never get to eat gummy worms in peace again." Rupert is hardly a one of a kind thief, he suspects. "A dragon though..." His humor fades into a thoughtful hum. "I will get one, someday." It's said quieter, but braided with a determination that isn't about if, but when. "You don't think Spice will get jealous though?"

His gaze is already drifting across all the different plains of her when she twists around, mischief uncurling beneath her excited offer like shadows around the moon. He holds steady on the spark of her sea-green eyes as they become utterly vibrant, the sort of shine they always get when she's plotting adventure, the entire world her backyard. "That literally sounds like the perfect way to get eaten alive," he moans, flopping his head away from her and against his shoulder, like maybe she adheres to monster rules and not being able to see her means she can't see him and come up with death-defying trauma she'll label as a vacation. "I like your idea about seeing whales much better."

When she melts against him again, his head turns back towards her, the faintest smile coming in as she irons out his sternum. In many ways, she's been doing just that to his heart, and though some of the crease lines will never completely fade, they're harder to spot than before. As her fears slip out, the hand he's been trailing along her side stills, all of him crisp with attention. "What makes it enough?" he asks after a moment, hid voice smaller than he meant it to be, barely rolling out into the space and daring the moment to get sharper than this, to cut deeper into her than it already has. His hand lifts, smoothing out the hair against her temple, fingers brushing gently through her static-touched curls. He doesn't have any night lights he can give her for those fears.

Just then, the star he never quite finished pressing up falls with a muffled thunk near them. He lurches upright, dragging her with him. "A shooting star!" His voice cracks with the kind of breathless urgency reserved for battle or treasure. "QUICK, make a wish!" That they aren't real, doesn't much seem to matter right now.

Kaisel

// Stop being so goddamn quiet //

flora

Flora’s laugh rings bright as cut crystal at the mental image: some absurd winged toad swooping down just as Kaisel lifts a gummy worm to his mouth, snatching it away with zero remorse. "Okay, but that could be sort of hilarious," she snorts.

But as his voice shifts, softens, her laughter fades into something quieter, curious, listening. Her brows rise when he says he’ll get a dragon, her gaze sliding slowly upward without lifting her head fully. "Oh yeah?" she murmurs, and though it’s teasing on the surface, there’s a glint in her sea-glass eyes like she believes him. At the mention of Spice, though, Flora chuckles low in her throat and immediately nods. "Absolutely. She’s possessive as hell. She screams if I ask for ice cubes from anyone but her." The look she gives him is lopsided and loving, almost shy beneath the boldness of her grin. "You won her over too hard." Her voice trails off, but the way her eyes linger on him, the softness blooming in her expression, suggests he's very much won her over too.

When he groans dramatically and turns away, she huffs, curls bouncing as she nudges her face against his shoulder. "Nah, you won't have to worry," she drawls. "Sharks only eat people with lots of muscle." Her grin flashes, wicked and utterly unrepentant. But when he mentions the whales again—the plan, the trip they’ve talked about and delayed and promised and shelved—her expression gentles. She leans in and presses her nose to his jaw, her voice quieter but sure. "We should go," she says. "This season. No more putting it off."

Back against his chest again, her fingers dance absently over the fabric of his shirt, tracing the muscles and soft edges beneath, the heartbeat she’s come to crave. But his question stills her completely for just a breath. Then, slowly, her fingers move again. "It’s always whatever I’ve done," she murmurs, voice low and dry and cuttingly casual, "plus, like...twenty percent more." The truth of it settles in her like saltwater through a cracked hull; familiar, stinging, relentless. She’s died trying to do the right thing. Brought people back from the dead. Given everything. Bled in the dirt, carved plans into the skin of the future with her own hands, and still it was never enough. There’s always someone who says she did it wrong. That she missed a step. That the thread she wove should’ve been longer, stronger, the net cast wider, the fire hotter. She could’ve said more. Waited longer. Asked the right question. Been less selfish. Less loud. Less her. And no matter how much she gives—no matter how many pieces she breaks off and hands over—there’s always someone walking away with their back to her, muttering that it wasn't enough.

But then—she’s yanked upward with a squeak, dragged abruptly into a sitting position as Kaisel launches them both like the star overhead was a signal flare instead of a sticker slipping loose. Her hair fluffs out in every direction as the blanket above them shifts, casting shadows that ripple across the folds of their fort. But she doesn’t look up as Kaisel mentions making a wish, not at the star, not at the ceiling; she looks at him.

Kaisel, sitting there in the hush of their blanket universe, bathed in the sea-glow of pretend constellations. The light filters over him like it’s been waiting for this moment—like even pretend stars know he was meant to be admired. His copper eyes catch the green like moss kissed with moonlight, and even now, as he stares upward with all the urgency of someone who believes wishes might still work, there’s that crooked smile tugging at his mouth. That softness.

He’s all sharp lines and warmth, shoulders broad beneath the ridiculous frog shirt, hair tousled from her fingers, lashes casting delicate shadows over cheekbones that really should be illegal. He’s handsome in a way he doesn’t bother to notice, and that makes it worse somehow. Or better, maybe, Flora hasn’t decided.

And gods, the way he moves through the world. Like chaos and comfort braided into one breath. One moment he’s kissing her forehead and holding her like something precious; the next he’s yelling about falling stars like a kid on a sugar high. He drags her into joy without asking. Builds galaxies out of furniture and flings pillows like war. She’s never known someone who could make her laugh and feel safe in the same heartbeat.

So when he tells her to make a wish, she just stares at him, because there he is—hair glowing faintly green, eyes bright with hope, mouth still half-open from whatever spell he’s just cast over her—and how could she wish for anything else? So she just smiles up at him, slow and secret, as if the stars might get jealous if they saw her loving him this much.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!