100% WTF

Kaisel

Her compass makes snap decisions about travel rather easy. He is away, but her tools have made it easier to not feel quite so much like he's on an island in the sky. He can slip away, or in this case, inform his folks that he in fact, will be fucking off back to his home for a bit—a pointed note in there that it's no longer their home or city that keeps that title for him.

Well, technically this is Flora's home. They all are, really, but when it comes to interpreting Florish, "I'm okay" means she's not actually okay, and therefore, tu casa es mi casa.

He hasn't actually been given a key here though, soooooo maybe tu casa es tu casa in this case. "FLOOOOOOOOORRRUH!" He calls out while pounding at the door, worry adding volume and urgency. 

Fire?

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

The coral-coloured door swings open of its own accord, no hinge creaking, no latch groaning—just the faint brush of unseen fingers on polished bronze. A gust of cool, scented air follows, kissed with the tang of sea salt and ghostly gardenias, carrying with it the hum of something not quite alive but very much awake.

Spice is the first thing Kaisel sees, the little white dragon perched jauntily on a marble pedestal as if she’s the official greeter of Wildering House. She chirrups once—an indignant trill that carries the sharp cadence of you’re late—then unfurls her wings and flutters down the hall without waiting to see if he follows.

The house guides him more than it invites, doors swinging open before he can reach for them, candles flickering to life in recessed alcoves, the soft rustle of curtains shifting without breeze. A window cracks open as he passes, letting in sunlight just sharp enough to throw stained glass patterns across his path. Wildering is less a house than it is a mood made tangible, shifting in tone and temperature with the weight of the moment—and right now, even with all its colour and splendour, it carries an unmistakable heaviness.

Spice leads him into the dining room like a tiny herald, and there, seated at the head of a long, extravagantly carved table meant for twenty and currently occupied by only one, sits Flora.

She’s curled up sideways in the oversized chair like a queen who’s abdicated the throne but hasn’t told anyone yet. Sweatpants cling to her legs, pale grey and soft with wear, and the tank top she wears is loose enough that one strap has slipped down her shoulder. Her golden curls fall in a dishevelled halo, frizzed from salt and sleep and the heat of whatever fire clung to her last. The faint smell of smoke still ghosts around her, clinging to skin and cotton and the smudge of ash beneath her nails.

There’s a steaming cup of something near her elbow, untouched. A wine bottle further down the table, half-drunk and not corked. She doesn’t look up right away when the door opens, either because she already knows it’s him or because she’s just… not ready yet.

But Spice makes a pleased sound and twines around the back of her chair, and slowly, Flora lifts her head, eyes finding Kaisel’s with the dazed kind of clarity that suggests she hasn’t said a word in hours. Not because she doesn’t have any—but because the ones she does have might hurt too much to speak aloud.

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!

Kaisel

He hesitates just a moment at the threshold as the door opens, glancing around as though looking for who might be there. At the sight of Spice though, an immediate relief that Flora is in fact here, he steps inside with a purposeful stride. "Spice," he greets with half a sigh. "Wher—" The draconic chiding quiets him, and as she takes to wing, he follows after, growing all the more worried as he hurries along. Spice's expectant perch and the way the house breathes a path for him assures him of only one thing, Flora is definitely not okay.

He doesn't say anything at first as he takes in the scene of Flora's grief. Just drops his backpack off on the floor and crosses the room to where she's at. He moves the wine further back on the table, out of her reach, although the motion just looks like he's making room for a perch on the edge. One he briefly takes, leaning back on his hands as he meets her torn up gaze with the steady wholeness of his own. "Don't know if anyone's told you, but there's easier ways to get fresh charcoal for art supplies than tearing them off a fresh burn site." He has noticed the dark residue on her fingers, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the golden halo of hair run through time and time again with worry until she's made herself an angel of despair. "I do admire your commitment to the craft though."

The slant of his smile fades as he pushes off the table and leans over her, extending a light kiss to the worn edge of her temple. "Not sure if chair time counts as floor time. Might let it pass, just this once."

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

Flora’s eyes lift the moment she hears Kaisel's enter, her gaze trailing after each step he takes as if her bones are too heavy to rise and meet him, but her heart has already leapt across the room. She watches in silence as he sets down his bag and moves the wine, noting the gesture but saying nothing of it. When he makes that quiet little joke about charcoal, she huffs a soft, near-soundless breath that might once have been a laugh if she had more in her to give. Instead, she just glances down at her hands and turns one palm up, studying the dark smudges beneath her ruined manicure with a faint curl of her lip.

"Art snobs can always tell," she murmurs, her voice low and uneven. "Store-bought charcoal doesn’t have the same...trauma." The word lands with a weak attempt at levity, but it dies out before it can take root.

As he leans in, her arm snakes around his waist, and the moment his lips brush the edge of her temple, she folds like paper. Her head presses against his stomach, face tucked into the fabric of his shirt as her fingers cling there like she might come undone if she lets go.

"It’s all gone," she whispers, the words barely there, trembling in the quiet space between them. She swallows hard, then tilts her head back just enough to look up at him, her eyes glassy and hollowed. "The bar...and the guild. Burned right to the ground."

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!

Kaisel

That she .manages to return fire, however weak, is like a litmus test for his understanding of what level of destruction is at hand. Admittedly the range is still being mapped out, because she's not yet failed to meet his humor, although this one certainly seems the weakest response of all. A sure sign that they're in shit's fucked range.

His arms sink around her shoulders for a moment, just holding her in response to the way she presses in and hangs on. As she manages to talk though, one hands lifts to brush her hair back careful and steady, a pattern more soothing than helpful. The motion only stutters for a moment when her empty look turns to him, full confirmation and clarity landing secondary to the pure loss etched in her. He can't ever possibly know the weight these things carried in her, not the history or the significance—even if told, it would never sit in him like it had in her—but he can feel the removal of it all through her.

"Fuck" is about all he can manage to scrounge up for a minute as his thoughts spin with all the implications of this. "You think it was her?" Not that he doesn't agree, but more that he's hopeful there's not another part of his relationship with Caly that has harmed Flora. Even wishing a bit that the golden girl behind the bar who captured his heart for a brief time, couldn't do this. It should come as no surprise that someone who takes after the sun will set things on fire, he'd just been naieve enough to think he wouldn't burn.

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

It’s not the words, not really—not the questions or the comfort or the fthat slips out like a cracked exhale—but the weight of him. The way he wraps his arms around her and stays. No hesitation, no clock ticking down behind his eyes, no half-excuses or glances toward the door. He came. Just like that. Just because she needed him, and gods, she can feel the difference of it. Like air returning to collapsed lungs, like a tether drawing her out from the smoke and ruin of her own thoughts. Kaisel is warmth, real warmth, solid and steady and there. The kind that melts knots from her shoulders without needing to untie them first. Her breath catches once in her throat, but not from grief this time, but from the sudden, unbearable relief of not being alone in it.

She bites the inside of her cheek, a small reflexive flicker of uncertainty still buzzing behind her teeth, and her lips twitch sideways with the barest hint of a frown. She doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to come right out and accuse Calypso. Besides, Flora had thought they were…not friends, exactly, but not enemies, certainly. Friendly, if not close. But meeting Kaisel’s gaze, she doesn’t say anything at first. Just shrugs, limp and defeated in his arms, brows tugging inward with a quiet crease. It isn't doubt exactly—not of him, anyway—but the pieces don’t make sense no matter how she fits them.

Sitting up a little straighter, fingers still knotted in the fabric of his shirt, Flora tilts her head, aqua eyes searching his face. "Is there…anything you’re not telling me?" Her voice is soft, not accusatory, more a quiet ache of confusion. She lifts a hand to brush her thumb lightly over his ribs as if to keep the question gentle. "It’s just..if it was Caly, I don’t get it. Like, I get why she'd be mad, but throwing bottles at you and grabbing you when you went to talk to her? And now torching the bar and the guild to try and hurt me? " Blinking, Flora gives her head an uncertain little shake.

"I thought she was the one who decided to friendzone you, and if it was just the one date you went on...?" Her brows knit further, unsure why what had sounded like a bit of kindling that had never quite been able to burn from Kaisel's description of it, had become a raging inferno on Caly's side.

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!

Kaisel

Sure to get texter's neck if he hovers above her like this much longer, Kaisel hooks a toe around on of the nearby chairs, drawing it closer to him with the finishing touch of a helpful spirit. That'll be something to get used to, and he almost stumbles because of it, not expecting the chair to be slid the rest of the way when he reaches back absently for it with a hand. Her question furrows his 'brow in thiught and he briefly releases her, feeling the small reassurance of her thumb as ot slips off him when he settles properly.

Never intending to be out of range for long, his feet creep forward along either side of her, and he reaches for her legs to uncurl them into his space in turn. "Mmm," he ponders, head tilting with the review of past conversations as she spins the doubts of this current issue. Idly his fingers drum along her knee, too slow to be nerves, just the tempo of searching for an answer and comfort in equal parts. "Nothing I haven't told you that I think matters," he admits. Much like she has spared him details of B.M.F. and her, he has not relayed every nuance between him and Caly. He still hesitates to do so, especially if Caly isn't as clear a culprit as first thought—just seems like something else to hurt her with.

There's one part that stands out most to him as maybe being important though. "I mean, she did friend zone me, but only after I told her I couldn't guarantee I'd put her first all the time..." he frowns, tugging on the memory of that conversation. "I just said I have people that I care about and sometimes they might have to come first, and that included you. She specifically asked about you." One hand ruffles thriugh his hair, sighing.

"At the bar, when I told her about us, I said she and I couldn't be friends." Maybe not his best wording, in hindsight, but the sentiment is the same, and still is. He's not sure he knows how to be Caly's friend, but it never meant he'd be going to war against her, just that maybe a clean end to whatever they'd been would be best. "It came across like I'd do for you what I wouldn't do for her." To some extent that's true, but then Flora had never asked him to in that same way, and even now when Caly would rather burn a bar, Flora had preferred to transfer its ownership. Flora has always been willing to give, even if it removes part of her to do so, but Caly prefers to grab hold and take.

"I dunno though, she was already in a really bad mood. Almost wouldn't look at me when I first got there and tried to stay busy with bar work." His features slant into an askew image of uncertainty as he glances up at her seagreen gaze, having drifted to watching his fingers over the rise of her knee. "I think she's closer with J—B.M.F. than you think. She was so irritated when she learned about me getting roasted by him, and the fact he was at their party..." He shakes his head, lacking better evidence than that, but for a father supposedly hands off, Kaisel saw a lot in that one night, and it very much felt like a family affair.

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

Her arms slide away just long enough to let him sit, her body yielding only in the way a tide does; making space not to recede, but to draw him deeper in. As Kaisel settles, Flora swings her legs up and over his lap without ceremony, draping them loosely across either side of him. Her toes hook behind the chair legs; her torso folds forward like she’s anchoring herself to his heartbeat. It’s warmer here, quieter. He makes the space feel padded somehow, like the sharp edges of grief dull the longer she’s curled into him.

His words thread around her with the same rhythm as his fingers tapping on her knee, and when he admits he hasn’t told her anything that he thinks matters, her ring stays cool. No flash of heat, no subtle twinge. It confirms what she already suspects: this isn’t about secrets, not really. Just oversight, or the kind of emotional context that doesn’t feel important until it gets set on fire.

And gods, that—the way he says it—pulls a dry, soundless laugh from her lips. There’s a weary affection in it, quiet but piercing, the kind that knots into the spaces between her ribs and squeezes until it’s almost too much. She exhales a whispered, "Oh, babe…" fingers drifting over the front of his shirt. It’s not pity, or exasperation, just...aching, a little, at how obvious it is now. Of course Caly would’ve been upset. Of course it hurt to see the lines between friend and lover blur only to be redrawn in someone else’s colours.

She doesn’t excuse it—burning down her bar was a bitch move—but she can’t really blame her, either. Because what Kaisel had offered Caly was a future built on contingencies and careful caveats. What he gave Flora, even if messy, even if chaotic, had never been hedged. No ifs, no safeties. He’d burned the bridge behind him to meet her here. Gasoline in one hand, a match in the other, and he hadn't thought twice about it.

"I get it," she murmurs softly, brushing her thumb over the side of his hand as she draws it into the strange little no-man’s-land between their chairs. There’d still been a spark between he and Caly; something he’d been trying to kindle with one hand, while holding gasoline in the other that was always meant for someone else. And when he told Caly they couldn’t even be friends anymore…it probably hadn’t sounded like boundaries. It had probably sounded like betrayal. Like: not only do I choose Flora, but I’m unchoosing you now too. Flora can feel how that would land. Can taste the humiliation of it, the slow burn of being measured and found wanting, of being loved less than someone else.

But the ease of it, the small bubble of clarity they’ve found together, pricks and shudders the moment he mentions Jack, and her whole body stills in response. "I mean, he’s their dad," she says quietly, not defensive, not quite anything, but it’s clear the words have to come out before she can think any deeper. Her gaze unfocuses slightly, looking past him, through him, to the place where smoke still lingers in memory. Her fingers, still clutching his, don’t move. "So..do you think she blames me, then?" The question barely lifts from her throat. "For him leaving Torchline?"

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!

Kaisel

His head hangs a bit when her oh, babe confirms every thought he'd been wringing out. It's always so obvious to her—the little things, what stays unsaid between the words, the complexities woven amid what otherwise seems simple. He's never felt completely obtuse about things, but in her company he is reminded of how often what he means somehow fails to truly land. Maybe in this scenario it always would have been unavoidable. Hearts aren't meant to stay whole.

"So you think I hurt her enough she'd..." his words fade off with a sigh as he lets his hand get drawn in. He allows the distraction to hold him for a moment, just focusing on the heat of her, on the steady strength still there in her grip even when she's just had to gather up pieces of herself again. She's well practiced at it, he supposes, which is a rather unfortunate skill to have. The char marks and the faintest scent of smoke he catches occasionally when she moves nearby is enough to keep the reality of the situation though, and his jaw works over the distaste of it all even as his fingers weave into hers.

He feels it then, the tension of bringing up the captain once more, and he hates its happened again, silly name or not. "Yeah," he says in low response back, trying to keep her gaze even as it drifts. He chooses not to press the point further. She knows well enough that just having a dad doesn't have to mean he's a good or substantial part of their life, not to mention countless other dads out there that have done even less. "I don't know," he admits carefully, but honestly. "I don't think I know anything about her, or that family, evidently. I never thought she'd be capable of...this." He'd mentioned Jack because he could definitely see the captain pulling this stunt, but saying as much doesn't seem helpful, and he figures Flora would find a way to defend him, the same way Kaisel finds himself wanting to defend Caly. Part of him just doesn't want to believe he'd have been so blind or careless, and the other part wants to believe better of her. That was always their problem though, too much being demanded of a connection that just started—he didn't know enough about Caly, and he couldn't even seen this coming.

"Forget I mentioned it, I don't have anything other than their birthday to go off anyway." The last thing he wants is her blaming herself more too. Better to make this more his fault, for what he made Caly feel. "Nothing can be reclaimed?" He wonders instead, of how badly burned it all is.

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

She shakes her head; not a no, not a dismissal, just the soft side-to-side of someone tracing threads too fragile to hold. There’s no blame in it, not for Kaisel, anyway, but that doesn’t mean the line doesn’t trace back to he and Caly all the same. Flora doesn’t think he struck the match, but he tried to grow the spark between he and Caly that eventually started the blaze.

If anything, it’s her own reflection she’s watching now, distorted in the blackened glass of what’s been lost. Because no matter how much of this was Caly’s, the part she can’t stop circling is her own. And worse—Jack's. Her grip tightens suddenly, fingers flexing over his. Not enough to hurt, but enough to speak to the spiral starting inside her. "If she was hurt enough," she murmurs at last, eyes not quite meeting his, "maybe it was easier to aim at something than at you again. And if that something happened to hurt your new girlfriend..." The words shouldn’t hurt, not when they’re shaped like logic. But her throat still works against the sharp edge of them, because fuck, she really had tried to be on Caly's side as much as she could.

There are no tears in her eyes, not yet, but her breath catches as she exhales, and her next words come out quieter. "I wonder if he was involved." There’s no need to name him, not when the syllables already burn like saltwater on a raw wound, and if anything Flora is tempted to use his real name. Cutesy nicknames don't feel as apt when someone might have burned part of your life down.

Intentionally, Flora forces her hand to loosen around Kaisel’s, though the effort trembles through her knuckles like she’s holding back a snarl rather than a sob. "They used illusionists," she says, low and tight, her voice steadier now not because she’s calm, but because something colder has begun to set in."So it looked like nothing was happening while it was burning. So no one came to try and put it out." The grief still lingers under her words, but there’s a sharpness cutting through it now like glass underfoot. That kind of strategy wasn’t heat-of-the-moment. It was deliberate. Calculated, but cowardly. Whatever goodwill had once existed for Caly, whatever understanding she might’ve offered if it had just been heartbreak and poor choices, it fractures.

Flora's gaze lifts to his, and though it’s still seafoam and stormlight, there’s a fury blooming in the depths now. "There’s nothing left," she says, but gone is the broken whisper. Her smile still tries to rise, but it’s no longer tired; it’s sharp and jagged and bitter, teeth bared behind honey. "All that fucking history, all those nights I poured into that place, torched because Caly—" She chokes off the words, not wanting to malign someone Kai once cared a good deal for, swallowing down her judgement instead.

"And if I find out that he had anything to do with it..." Her jaw tightens, the words unfinished, but hanging like smoke between them. It’s not sorrow clinging to her ribs now. It’s rage, blooming slow and bright as wildfire, only unlike Caly, Flora would be meticulous about where she aimed her blaze.

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!

Kaisel

The grip of her hand is answered with a press of his toes at her sides. Not the same warning of her fingers, but rather a hook to keep her with him, although she starts to submerge all the same.

Hurt enough. He wonders when it became enough. Where's the line between just saying fuck you to a brief fling and torching your own bar to the ground just to have enough ash to write it out instead? Is it the same line he crossed with Flora on the Sugartide, or is it the one he thought he erased in Haulani, only to see it got soaked in kerosene and handed to Caly like a wick. Is there a line for him, where arson would be a better answer than all the fist fighting he normally leans into? One look at Flora, slumped into him as best she can manage with the arrangement of the chairs, sooty and disheveled like some orphan street urchin, and the answer's yes. Too many times he's had to watch her crumple due to this wretched family—he can't bear for there to be any more.

It only gets worse as she describes the extent to which they ensured complete destruction. His unclaimed hand flexes against her leg, teeth clenching as distaste pulls on his lips. It's creatively cruel—thought out with an intention to do the most harm. He doesn't think they were hurt nearly enough in comparison. His gaze falls to the side as he rolls the knowledge back and forth, cursing through a heavy sigh. It's only the weight of her legs that keeps him in his seat, her presence more important than the energy coiling up inside, the sort that would send him pacing down these halls and inevitably getting into an argument with something inanimate. He puts it into the frame of her body instead, palm sliding down her leg in purposeful and repeating strokes from knee to ankle, as though he might coax comfort into them both where the wounds lie.

He doesn't see the return of her gaze, his still upending the corner of the room. He hears everything she says though, and the way she says it. It's when she cuts herself off that his focus swings back to the churning tide of her expressions. He doesn't realize the reason for her abruptly dropping her voice, but whatever affection remained in him for Caly, she smothered it in the smoke of this fire. It would not have been the kind that would be a risk in his heart, just the sort that comes from familiarity, but she's made sure to kill even the possibility of them returning to strangers.

"Who saw you?" he finally asks, jaw tight as it works around the words. "At the burn site—were you seen? Did you look sad?" He leans forward suddenly, both hands grabbing for hers, curling them into fists beneath the heat of his palms. "We spin this, make it seem like a good thing," he goes on, talking with a hurry that doesn't suit their chair lounging. "Make it seem like the fire was part of the demolition plan. Take ownership of the work done to hurt you. Rebuild another bar, name it The Phoenix, or Sunshine or, Smokehouse or whatever—hell decorate it and enchant it with fire to really take it back—just claim it. If anyone's gonna stab you, grab their arm and thank them for giving you a new knife." The normal, bright and copper light of his eyes has darkened to something almost black, narrowing as he talks. "Doesn't matter if you want another bar, the point is sending the message back—that you're stronger, that the stunt didn't harm you." His hands press in on hers, holding them like a heart between the two of them. Nothing upsets the haters more than their work seeming to flop, Kaisel has plenty of experience with that. If they wanted to reduce her to legacy to rubble, they'd smile through it and add some sprinkles, call it reclaimed history and make it seem like only the daring ignite what matters most to them, the way an artist might erase their completed work just as proof they can make it even better now that they've done it once.

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

She can feel the shift in Kaisel before he even leans forward, before the words start tumbling out of his mouth in that hurried way that always means something important is trying to crack open from the inside. It begins in the way his fingertips change tempo against her leg, slow strokes turning taut with a tension that isn’t angry, just urgent. His palm moves again, firmer now, as if each sweep might smooth out the edges of the world for her, and gods if she doesn’t want to believe it can. His eyes won’t settle, copper flickering to coal as his focus roams the corner of the room, the shape of his thoughts too large to be contained by a single point of attention. His lips twitch when he’s holding something back, she knows that twitch by now, that little restraint he always tries to apply like a dam over a flood. It never lasts long. And maybe that’s what makes her love him more. Not the control, but the way it breaks open in the direction of her every time.

The question catches her off guard and she blinks, taking a beat longer than she normally would to answer as she rewinds her memory, gaze drifting inward. "Uhh, I mean, probably?" she murmurs, "I wasn't really paying attention, but..." Her voice trails gently, her shoulders giving the smallest shrug, not evasive but careful; where she went, eyes normally followed. "But I didn’t break down out there, if that’s what you mean." The truth of it is quieter than her voice: Flora had long since learned the art of collapsing only when no one was watching. When the smoke was still fresh and the remains of her bar still bled heat into the wind, she had smiled. She had tilted her chin up. She had made herself the sort of beautiful wreck that looked intentional. And then she had walked back into Wildering House with the grace of someone who was not on fire, only to fall apart the moment the last door shut behind her.

She shifts only because he does, blinking again as his posture reorients so sharply it steals her breath. Her hands are already caught in his, his warmth pressing firm around her knuckles as he speaks faster than usual, and there’s a ripple in her chest as the idea blooms across her mind with each new word. It spreads slowly at first, confusion giving way to comprehension, and then something bright and delighted flares to life behind her eyes. Jack would’ve gone for blood. Sohalia would’ve wrapped her in silks and apologies. Niki might’ve explained it all away as inevitable. But this? This was theatre. This was Torchline. This was perfect. The kind of vengeance that doesn’t spit in your face but laughs as it rebuilds something shinier, louder, and more enviable on the ruins. Unless Caly came out and publicly admitted to the arson, she’d have no choice but to smile along through gritted teeth while Flora christened something bigger, brasher, and more brilliant in the very spot she’d tried to erase.

She can’t stop the smile now, even though it’s shaped like something too wicked to be sweet. Her hands slip from his only so she can slide from her chair into his lap with a kind of grace that’s all gratitude and gravity. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses her mouth to his without hesitation, not because she needs comfort, but because he’s just handed her something better than solace; he’s handed her control. Not of the past, not of the pain, but of the story that would be told next. And in doing so, he’s reminded her that she’s not rebuilding this life alone.

Her lips part from his only to press her nose against his, her eyes locking into his with that wide, starbright look that always seems to say too much without ever needing to speak. "I’ve never loved you more," she breathes, laughter trembling at the edge of her voice, joy and awe and something deeper laced through the softness of the words. "Gods, I love that idea." And it isn’t just the revenge that makes her breath hitch as she gazes at him—though that part is delicious—what knocks the wind out of her is the clarity of what this moment reveals. That this, whatever this is becoming between them, isn’t just built on flirtation and heat and the chaotic delight of being near him. It’s built on something that might actually really last.

She shifts just enough to sit up straighter, still grinning like he’s the whole damn sun, and gives her head a small shake, the curl of her lips both fond and teasing. "The best I came up with was using one of the curses upstairs to make her mouth taste like ash for a few days. Yours is way better." Her nose wrinkles at her own idea, clearly unimpressed in hindsight. "Will you build it with me?" Not just because it would be even more of a fuck you to Caly that her anger had only brought Flora and Kaisel closer together, but because she really did want to build something with 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!

Kaisel

He nods, already expecting as much—she's too smart, too public of a role, and unfortunately too practiced to be so openly vulnerable. Unfair as it is, she's accepted it, and that only benefits her ultimately. "Good, good," he murmurs, figuring they could always play off whatever twinges people did see as the brief regret of letting go of what has been wonderful. The same sort of look a hairdresser sees right before someone with long hair nods and says cut it all off.

The rest is just a rush, and as though the receding force of it all has swept her along too, she tumbles closer. The smile that blossoms steadily, built out of splinters and promise, might be the prettiest one he's seen on her yet. It's not that it's lovely, it's that it dares to break through all the gloom and the grief, violent in the way it surges into existence despite the odds. It catches him in that waiting moment, the one where breath comes quick after so much use, where skin feels a little raw beneath the tug of emotion, and where the mind wonders of the idea that sounded whole inside made it out in the same shape.

A tentative smile answers back on his face. There's uncertainty in the familiar shape of its happiness when the thunder of anything but still rattles through him. He more mirrors it because it exists on her, and he'd do anything to keep that there.

She laps against him like bathwater, completely comforting in her embrace. The press of her answers more for him than anything else could, and the weight of it tempers the storm of all this into a dull fog. His hands wreathe her torso in response, holding her like nothing else could possibly matter, especially not when she's kissing him like this. He chases the contact a touch longer when she starts to withdraw, always reluctant to relinquish her back to the world, but especially now. He does eventually relent, gaze flicking back to life when her nose bumps his. It's softened back into something more familiar, shadows dispersing beneath the bright glint that's reflecting from her.

He laughs low and surprised at her words, the sound coming more from his nose than anything. "And here I thought I was at my best just the other night," when he'd needed to thank her properly for her gift. He knows what she means though, and his smile settles in more firmly with the awareness of it.

"Mm, that actually sounds like it could be a unique grand opening drink," he grins, "salt rims are so overdone, time for cursed ash season." He's positive she could sell anything with the right swing. A hand lifts, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray eyelash carefully before he answers. When he does, it's with the slow depth of something they've already been building, the weight of it taking time to haul up from his chest where it gathers in greater magnitude each and every time he's with her. "I'll build the world with you Flora, you never have to ask."

Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

flora

It takes Flora longer than it should to speak, if only because every part of her is far too content being tangled against him, surrounded by the warmth of his limbs and the echo of his words still reverberating sweetly through her chest. The pull of him is constant, magnetic in that slow-blooming way that never quite lets her go, and while she’s always known their chemistry had teeth, today it sinks in like silk; soft, inevitable, and utterly impossible to resist. Even so, some stubborn part of her manages to find enough breath to laugh, and she gives him a playful nudge with her shoulder, just sharp enough to be scolding, but still tucked in close as if she can’t quite bear the idea of parting from him yet.

"Babe, that was so four days ago," she murmurs, grinning like he’s said something scandalous and she fully intends to reward him for it later. "And yes, you were at your best between the sheets, and the counter, and the hallway, and definitely the shower," she adds, the words sliding between them like sun-warmed honey as her fingers begin to trace lazy, circling patterns over the muscles of his back. He’s tight, she notices, in the way that speaks of hauling lumber and swinging tools. "But this is now," she goes on, nose wrinkling affectionately, the glow in her smile impossible to contain. "And now I love you even more. I haven’t hit my limit on how much I love you."

Her voice drops gently at the end, not from shyness, but from the gravity of how true it feels. There’s no edge to the statement, no jest curled in the corner of her mouth to blunt the vulnerability, just quiet sincerity held between them like something sacred. She leans into his touch with all the easy devotion of someone who knows exactly where she belongs, her cheek resting in the cradle of his palm like it was carved just for her, and for a moment she simply breathes in the comfort of it.

The grin returns, quick and playful as a spark catching dry bark. "Cursed Ash could absolutely be a cocktail name," she muses, her fingers still exploring the landscape of his back, her voice threading amusement and approval together like golden twine. But her teasing dissolves as her gaze finds his again, and what rises in her expression this time is quieter, deeper; less about the thrill of revenge and more about the future they might still have the audacity to build. Her aqua eyes don’t flicker or falter, only steady with slow, endless intent as her thumb brushes lightly over the curve of his shoulder.

"I want everything with you," she whispers, not because the words need to be quiet, but because they’re too large to say any louder.

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!