I think you're shiftin' all my tectonic plates

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora lifts her lashes at him in a slow, exaggerated flutter, the picture of wide-eyed innocence despite the unmistakable curve of mischief beneath it. A soft hum slips from her, the kind that pretends to be thoughtful while actually fanning the flames of whatever game he thinks he’s caught her in. And when Kaisel says he’ll just have to wait—when the unspoken when we’re married settles warmly between them—delight swells so visibly in her cheeks she has to tug her expression into something loftier just to keep from glowing outright.

She widens her eyes teasingly, as if baffled he’d make such a bold assumption. "Guess we’ll both have to wait and see then," she murmurs, the playfulness stretched silk-smooth across a truth she has no interest in denying. Gods, it almost makes her want to order spliced pineapple just so she can slide a ring onto his finger right here in this sticky breakfast booth and call him hers without even giving him time to swallow his first bite.

His thumb moving across her hand draws her attention back in with easy gravity, and she nods softly at his answer, letting the comfort of his reasoning settle around them. "It’s just weird," she says, her tone thoughtful rather than troubled. "My whole family are basically aliens, the same way The Family were." She turns to Kai fully then, aqua eyes blown comically wide as if she’s about to reveal a scandal of cosmic proportions. "Do you think that makes me part alien? Or is that not the sort of trait that gets passed down?" Her expression is earnest for exactly two seconds before amusement curls at the corner of her mouth, the question floating between them like a spark she’s waiting to see him catch.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

It's a good thing the orange juice hasn't arrived yet because he surely would have been sipping on it and done a spit take at the insane comparison Flora makes. As it is his spit nearly threatens to do him in instead, forcing him to turn a cough or two into his shoulder. "What!?" he manages to squeak out before fully recovering. Had it ended there he might have thought her to be serious about considering her family to be like The Family, but the humorous curl that finds her and the ridiculous question that follows swiftly reassures him that she hasn't completely lost her mind.

"Oh, no, you're definitely out of this world," he asserts with no room for doubt, a grin streaking in at the cheese. Alien parents and a god present for her conception, she's got a touch of something to be sure. "Although you've clearly never driven a spaceship with the questionable way you pilot the Sugar Tide sometimes," he can't help but to tease in return. Their drinks do arrive this time, his in a glass and hers in a pitcher, which he supposes would be a swimming pool size for certain creatures.

"Did you decide what to eat or is this all too Caido-specific and lacking stardust?"

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora regards him with an expression of wide, suspicious innocence as he all but chokes on his own spit, her brows lifting higher with each cough until a grin breaks through, bright and delighted at her own success. When he calls her out of this world, laughter spills warm and easy from her, far more flattering to her ears than alien could ever hope to be.

The huff that follows is tremendously dramatic, and she swats at his chest with the back of her hand in a gesture so playful it barely qualifies as a reprimand. "Excuse you, I haven’t hit anything in months," she declares, chin lifting with exaggerated pride. "And all those little dings give the Sugartide character." Her eyes narrow in faux offence before she tilts her head at him with a slow, pointed side-eye. "Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re usually the reason I can’t focus on flying properly in the first place."

She widens her eyes accusingly as the drinks arrive, then sits back with just enough elegance to let the server set everything down without risking orange-juice collateral damage. The moment they’re alone again, she ignores the glass entirely and slips a straw straight into the pitcher before taking an enormous, indulgent sip. The sigh that leaves her borders on blissful. It is absolutely, undeniably the cure for everything still lingering from last night.

At his question about breakfast, she fights back a giggle, then lets it escape anyway, soft and conspiratorial. "I’m really glad I can finally open up about this with you," she says, lowering her voice as if sharing a deeply personal confession. "Because yes, basically everything tastes lacklustre to my interstellar tastebuds, and no one understands the struggle I go through." Her tone is so solemnly dramatic she barely keeps a straight face, her aqua eyes shimmering with feigned tragedy as she lifts the pitcher for another long sip.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

The sound of her laughter warms him immediately, making it more difficult than it should be to properly tease her around the buoyed tilt of his smile. He does manage it of course, he always will. The swift rebuttal of her breath and hand sends his laughter free now, as though no matter how soft the strike, it’s enough strain to undo the barely contained joy. He leans back with it, unable or just unwilling to take his eyes off her, forcing a sly look even as he shakes his head back and forth. He’d not speak to the fact that sometimes she let Spice steer, or that maybe her decrease in dings is correlated to her spending less time in the Sugartide now that it’s not her house. ”Oh is that what it is? Mm, and when is her character arc over with?” he wonders with enough innocence to almost seem honest. ”Or does that just mean every time you continue to ding her, you’re just doing it for the plot?” Very Flora coded to bang up her own shit for some luls.

At the baseless accusation that he is the one to blame for all this, he can’t help but remove his hand from hers and hold it up in deference. ”Look, you ask me to swab the decks, so I can’t help it if that proves distracting. I really have to drop it low to manage the task, because I’d hate to leave a spot unattended properly.” He leans in towards the end, voice pitching lower with each word until it ends in just a whispered buzz near her ear. His hand drops back towards her, but instead of reclaiming her fingers, his palm rolls from her knee up her inner thigh, just far enough to be dangerous before withdrawing. He straightens up beside her as the drinks are delivered, really earning brownie points with this waitress so far.

Claiming his glass with a clink against her miniature pool for a good morning toast, he tips some back with an amused hum at her continuation of interdimensional woes. ”Now this sounds like something only your husband should know. Are you sure you trust me enough with this intel?” Not waiting even a moment for a response he plows ahead, talking around his next sip, the glass echoing back some of his words. ”Sounds to me like you need more butter and cheese. Usually fixes my problems.”

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora huffs with enough theatrical grandeur to belong on a stage, lifting her chin as though deeply offended by any suggestion that the Sugartide might ever be anything less than iconic. "The Sugartide will always have main character energy," she declares with a lofty sweep of her voice, as if this is an immutable law of Caido. Her eyes flick toward his ribs with a spark of calculation—wondering whether she could tickle him from this angle—but the booth is too cramped, and she’s not willing to risk elbowing the table and hitting her own funny bone in the process. Instead she leans heavily into him, her weight warm and deliberate. "And I do not ding her that much," she adds, huffing again for emphasis even as amusement curls through her chest.

She’s about to tease him right back—about spots left unattended, and the very specific one she knows damn well he never forgets—when his hand slides up her inner thigh with that wicked, lazy confidence that always lights her nerves like starfire. Heat blooms low in her stomach, bright and sweeping, and her cheeks flush as if someone has just cupped her face in both hands. She presses her lips into a thin line, trying desperately to maintain an expression of stern disapproval despite the giddy swell of delight threatening to puff her cheeks out like a chipmunk’s. "I hate you," she whispers, though the soft breath of it betrays her, warm and fond and absolutely overflowing with the opposite.

Recovering with a gulp of orange juice straight from the pitcher, she nods with an exaggerated solemnity, miming the act of zipping her lips shut. "You’re absolutely right," she intones, as if he has saved her from a catastrophic misstep. "What was I thinking."

At the mention of butter and cheese, she lets out a low, approving moan, eyebrows lifting as she turns her gaze back to him with a smile that borders on sinful. "Sooooo, what are your basic Caido taste buds in the mood for?" she asks as she nudges the menu toward him.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

Already well on the way to smug, he makes it there on double time when her low I hate you curls between them with all the heat of an Easy-Bake oven. Though, he has to turn away for a moment in order to keep the wide smile under control, which will absolutely fail for a multitude of reasons if he looks at her now. That, and she’s not the only one who felt a flush of warmth, one he’s dowsing in his OJ because he has no intention of ramping this up further, not with pancakes on the line.

Only after he manages to button it up does he glance back her way, his very good point made, resulting in a bright laugh as she zips herself up with all the drama of a corset. Letting his hand slip from his glass, he grabs the menu she’s inching his way, though he doesn’t look at it. His gaze remains steadfast on her, lit up in the certain way that only she manages. Completely enamored, he can’t help the slow tilt of his lips as he watches her expression shift into something curious, though poised to go sly at a moment’s notice, as always. It grows deeper when her fingers dance softly across the table, golden rings throwing back the firelight in quick, mischievous winks. It’s there in the way her hair dries from the rain into uneven and lively curls, springing with every motion she makes. It’s the simple sound of her voice, asking him what he wants for breakfast, and that’s all it takes to feel something soft brush along the inside of his ribs with a familiar warmth that’s only ever been the case with her.

He answers in a voice edged with playful warmth, the sound carrying the same crooked smile already tugging at his lips, softened by that unmistakable affection he never bothers to hide around her. ”Hmm, I’m kinda thinking…something…exotic.” He leans in before the last word fully settles, brushing a tender kiss to her lips—slow, sweet, and full of the affection that words don’t seem able to deliver fully. When he pulls back, the smile is still there, a little wider now and full of quiet delight. ”Pancakes and bacon. Easy,” he murmurs simply, as if finding moments to adore her are as routine as breathing, and just as catastrophic to ignore.

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora barely has time to draw breath before the kiss steals it from her—soft, slow, devastating in its gentleness—and the world drops away with the kind of dizzying suddenness that always feels a little unfair, like he’s cheating somehow. One moment she’s teasing him about breakfast, the next she’s nowhere at all except inside the hush of that kiss, suspended in a place where time folds in on itself and leaves her floating with only the warmth of his mouth and the quiet promise threaded through it. It is outrageous how easily he does this to her, how the slightest brush of his lips turns her bones to warm honey and her thoughts to smoke. A single unhurried sweep of his tongue could dismantle every plan she’s ever made, leaving her ready to shout his name from rooftops or drag him beneath covers without a second thought, her entire world realigning around the simple fact of him.

When he pulls back and murmurs his breakfast order, she can’t even reach for a teasing comeback. Instead, she exhales softly, the breath trembling faintly as colour blooms high across her cheeks, love so fierce it presses against her ribs from the inside. For all her confidence—for all her bravado and the way she runs headfirst into emotion—she still carries her own insecurities, her own fragile corners, and every time he does something so simple and sweet like this, it knocks her clean off her feet. A gentle kiss shouldn’t feel earth-shattering, but with him it always does.

She swallows, her gaze lifting to him with a shine that softens everything in her expression, her smile unfolding slowly like something blooming in warm light. She only turns away when the waitress returns, clearly checking under the table to make sure nothing scandalous is happening. Flora, entirely unrepentant despite her flushed cheeks, orders smoothly for them both—"Pancakes and bacon for him, waffles with those sugary strawberries for me, and extra syrup and whipped cream for both of us"—before turning back toward Kai as the woman retreats.

Still riding the swell of warmth he put in her chest, and determined not to abandon all sense of public decency by grabbing him and kissing him senseless right there in the booth, she forces her mind to safer ground. "So," she says pointedly, pushing air through her lungs as though steadying herself, "do you know what you’re going to say to Asta?"

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

The wide smile he offers the waitress might look like a guilty cover up, but it's meant as a completely honest show of hands to go see??? when she finds nothing exciting happening with her little peek. Admittedly, one for two means her trust hasn't been fully regained, and she's bound to check again upon her return with the food. Trying his best not to let his smile dip into a snicker about the whole ordeal and really ruin their odds of spit-free meals, he turns into his hand and is ever grateful that Flora has the grace to remain diplomatic enough to order for them.

Watching the server walk off, he wonders for a moment if she woke up on the wrong side of the bed or if she's always this unfun. "You have to give me a bite of your strawberries," he informs Flora with all the airs of a contract reminder as he turns back towards her. There is none, of course, but that hardly seems reason enough for her to withhold his favorite fruit. Maybe if he'd bothered to look at the menu, he could have added strawberries to his pancakes, but instead he'd been far too confident about the whole thing and now he's woefully underprepared to watch her eat strawberries without him.

Resuming her role of able diplomat, she reminds him that they're not just here to celebrate large breakfast options and each other's lips, sadly. "Hm?" he murmurs into his hand, leaning back of the table and into the booth. He slouches into her as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment in thought. "Here, you be him," he tells her with a glance and a scooch away. "Tell me how this goes!" He ducks out the other side of the booth, side sharp with cold after the loss of her heat, and he nabs a napkin container off a nearby table (let's hope the waitress isn't watching) before disappearing around the corner so they can each prepare for the scene.

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora’s eyes widen with scandalised delight, her hand lifting dramatically to her chest as though he has just invoked some ancient Caido law. "Oh, I do, do I?" she echoes, staring skeptically down at her left hand as if checking for a ring that might grant him such audacious privileges. She taps her fingertip thoughtfully against her cheek, then tilts her head with a slow, exaggerated hum. "I dunno.." she muses, lips pursing in an overdone display of great moral consideration. "That definitely seems like a husband privilege. Or fiancé, at the very least."

The deadpan lasts exactly two seconds before her smile cracks through, bright and impossible to hide. She nudges her shoulder warmly against him, giving in with all the grace of someone who had never intended to resist in the first place. "But I’ll make an exception," she concedes, voice softening with the affection she never bothers to disguise around him. "Because of how much I like you."

She barely has time to bask in the warmth of the moment before Kai suddenly scoots away from her, and she blinks at the abrupt loss of his heat as he slips out of the booth. Her gaze follows him just in time to catch him pilfering a napkin holder like it’s a priceless relic, and a snort breaks free before she can smother it behind her hand. Whatever he’s planning, she can already tell it is going to be ridiculous.

Straightening, Flora pulls her shoulders back and arranges herself with a rigid precision that would make a marble statue proud. She lines her spine like a steel rod, presses her lips into a thin, disapproving line, and narrows her eyes with chilly, ancient judgement, doing her best impression of someone who has centuries of grump stored in their bones. By the time Kai reappears around the corner, she’s sitting bolt-upright, arms crossed with frosty gravitas, every inch of her radiating Asta’s particular blend of elegance, restraint, and deep, abiding irritation with the world, and she waits, perfectly poised, for him to make his opening move.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

The eyeroll he gives her is the sort mothers warn you about, you know, the way your face might get stuck like that. It makes his lashes flutter with the force of it, a silent ugh accompanying it with the roll of his head. If only he had less of a big mouth and never told her anything about marriage until it was the proposal. Gods help him when it actually is. "Every time you bring it up, I'm gonna start adding one month to the timer," he threatens, glancing sidelong at her with as much irritation as he can muster, although the little smirk at the corner of his lips betrays him completely. Although he might break and propose to her if she continues to withhold delicious treats from him until he puts a ring on it.

As she swiftly cracks with a nudge, his laugh spills free just as easily. "You had me fooled that time," he admonishes with a scandalized gasp, shouldering her back with an exasperated sigh. Though the moment soon melts into something more purposeful as The Apology rears up like a test he hasn't spent enough time studying for.

Napkin dispenser in hand, he rounds the corner with a whistle, acting nonchalant at first until his gaze alights on the very stern Flora. The look of which almost undoes him on the spot as she gravely scowls across the table in a manner he is certain he's never seen on her. He inhales sharply to clamp down on the burst of laughter that threatens, and in that moment he decides he 100% cannot go through with the roleplay.

Swallowing it all down with a humming smile, he swings over towards the table edge, nodding and waving at her. The napkin dispenser, meant to pose as Asta's tea gift, tumbles from his hands with a clatter to the floor by their booth. Quickly, he drops to one knee before her, reaching out as if to retrieve it. Instead, he lifts up a paper circlet that's used to keep the assembled silverware and napkin sets together. "Will you be, my breakfast wife?" he asks her solemnly, doing his best puppy dog eyes as he peers up from the ground and over the booth.

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora lifts one brow with the kind of slow, syrupy confidence that makes it abundantly clear that his threat isn't one she's taking seriously. If anything, it only fans the flame of her mischief brighter. "Gee," she says lightly, her voice floating on a feigned airiness that does nothing to hide the spark in her eyes, "I sure hope no one else proposes to me in the meantime, then."

She flares her eyes dramatically at him, as if she is absolutely the sort of girl who might say yes to the first stranger offering her a ring. The look lasts all of a breath, enough to land the joke and nothing more, because she can barely hold the façade when he can undo her so effortlessly.

When Asta’s supposed entrance begins and Kai appears around the corner, Flora fixes him with her most unimpressed scowl, spine straight as an arrow, lips pressed thin in the way only an Ancient with perpetual grievances against the world could manage. She watches the napkin dispenser tumble from his hands with a clatter, unblinking and wholly in character.

But then he kneels, and when he lifts the flimsy paper circlet like it’s the crown jewel of an ancient dynasty, when he peers up with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes and asks if she’ll be his breakfast wife, she has to bite down hard—so hard—on the inside of her cheek to stop the tidal wave of sheer joy from breaking over her face. Even so, the delight that surges through her is nearly impossible to contain, rising warm and bright enough to lift her right out of her seat.

She manages to school her features only by a miracle, though her aqua eyes glitter with traitorous playful light. Tilting her head, studying him as if weighing something terribly serious, she lets her brows lift as though reaching a grave conclusion.

"I’m pretty sure asking Asta to be your breakfast wife is not going to work as an apology," she says at last, her tone steeped in dry, Asta-coded severity even as her lips start to twitch with the threat of a smile she can’t quite swallow down.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

"Damn," he grinds out between his teeth, turning away to consider, rolling into the continued ruse as if this is all going exactly as he expected and now he's completely at a loss for what to do with Asta. "You really don't think Astaroth will be my breakfast wife? That's the best I got!" He glances back up at her, trying to keep the seriousness there and failing miserably, especially with her own faltering restraint starting to shine through. "Is it too presumptuous, you think?" He props his elbows up on the booth seat now, spinning the paper circlet around his finger while leaning his cheek into his other hand.

"Well, maybe Flora would be my breakfast wife, that way sharing strawberries won't be taboo." He peeks from his thoughts back towards her, smile spreading into his cheeks. "As for Astaroth?" he mumbles into his hand with a huff, more out of genuine effort than displeasure. "Perhaps I should stick with a simple, yo dude, I'm sorry I lost my head and made the night a big bummer. This doesn't make up for it, but as a token of friendship, here is some tea." You know, maybe a bit more polished than that, but that's the general heart of the matter. He lifts his 'brows expectantly for her judgement. "Say, what do you think about inviting them back over for a take two at Wildering house night? The apology is only gonna go so far, I wanna make sure things are actually alright." And make sure they don't think he's the worst boyfriend ever for her. He'd propose to her for real, right here and right now, if that's all it took. To him though, making sure the people that mattered to her were in approval of everything was important to him, because that'd keep her roads smoother in the long run.

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora gives her head a mournful shake, the gesture grand enough to belong in a tragic play, as though she too feels the profound disappointment of Asta refusing to become Kai's breakfast spouse. "Truly devastating," she murmurs. But her theatrics soften as she looks down at him—still on one knee, still spinning that flimsy little paper circlet like it’s a priceless talisman—and the sight hits her with a quiet, blooming ache of affection. The rain has left his dark hair drying in uneven, soft waves that frame the strong line of his jaw, and there’s a playful shine to his copper eyes that makes the entire world tilt just slightly brighter. It’s completely absurd—the posture, the prop, the premise—and yet she feels that now-familiar rush of warmth in her chest, the one that insists he is hers in all the ways that matter.

"It took Asta months of being around Danta before he could even admit he had feelings for him," she points out with dry sympathy. "So yes, I would say your proposal might be a touch presumptuous. And far too fast."

When he pivots toward her being his breakfast wife, she lets her eyes drop meaningfully to the paper ring, the corner of her mouth lifting with slow, deliberate mischief. "Hmmmmm," she says, drawing out the sound until it curls between them. "It does kind of sound like you’re only proposing because you want some of my breakfast." Her brows lift, playful and sharp. "So what exactly is in it for me?"

His next attempt at an apology earns a snort she doesn’t bother disguising. She shakes her head, curls brushing her cheeks. "Asta is hundreds of years old, babe. If you want him to understand you, you should probably stick to something simpler." But then—when he mentions inviting them back to her house—the humour falters, replaced by something softer and deeper. Her smile fades not from reluctance, but from the swell of emotion that rises in its place, warm enough to smooth the air around them. The gratitude, the affection, the sheer awareness of what he’s trying to do, it gathers in her chest like tidewater, steady and full.

"That sounds like a really good idea," Flora says. "And it’s Danta’s birthday, so maybe we could make him something special for dinner too." Her thumb traces a small circle against Kai's elbow where he's leaning against the booth, her expression full of that soft, luminous affection she can never quite mask around him, especially when he’s kneeling in a breakfast booth like some chaotic fairytale suitor with a paper ring and the best intentions she’s ever known. Whatever else she might have said lingers warmly on her lips until the sudden shadow of their waitress falls across the table.

The woman stands there with both plates balanced expertly in her hands and not a single flicker of amusement in her expression, as though she’s walked in on this exact scenario far too many times in this establishment. Her eyes drop briefly to Kai on one knee, then to the paper circlet he’s brandishing like priceless jewellery, then back up with the flat resignation of someone who is simply trying to deliver breakfast before her shift ends.

"Am I interrupting something," she asks, tone so incredibly unimpressed it could flatten stone, "or can I put these down?"

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top

"Hmm..." He seems to consider it all quite seriously, schooling the sneak of his smile back into something neutral. "Months to even admit he had feelings?" His nose wrinkles at the very thought, clearly finding that timeline unacceptable. "Can't relate. Don't think it'd work between us." Maybe it'd taken Kaisel even longer to act on the admission, but he'd known it long before, and he had good (questionable) reasons to delay everything.

Fortunately he's got a much better pairing in mind for his ring, although he certainly hopes her answer comes with a lot less questions and a lot more speed when it actually matters. "What!?" he scoffs with all the incredulity of someone accused entirely correctly but not happy about it. "No no. I mean... yeah, yeah, but, that's kinda the whole point of breakfast wife. You also get to have some of my breakfast," he points out, not even sure if she wants any of it but still trying to pawn it off like it's something shiny enough to be worthy. Scrambling for something to sweeten up the deal, glancing around the table like literal syrup bottles could do the trick, he quickly tacks on. "And, you...get to veto one breakfast option every day."

As for the apology, her advice is about as expected, but no less helpful to hear it said. "I'll keep workshoping it," he promises. The comforting reach of her touch tells him more than just her smile or her voice, and some of the nerves that have unknowingly risen aroun the ordeal of needing to make this right are smoothed out by that small gesture. It's encouraging to think they could move past this into a night that doesn't go sideways. "Oh it is? So we're like bday twins kinda. Doesn't that mean we have a lot in common?" Which, could be argued, yes.

Before he can ask her more about it and rise from his position on the ground, the sudden pause in conversation and the terrifying presence behind him has his spine straightening on the spot. He doesn't need confirmation, not entirely, but he still casts a glance over his shoulder right before the waitress speaks. The look she offers up could wither crops. "Oh so sorry, be my guest," he murmurs, hastily clambering back into the bench and scooching excessively into Flora to better escape the server.

He leans back into the seat as she places each of their plates down with a punctuated catter of the dish on the table, clearly making a point with the sound and the brusque delivery. "Thank you!" he calls out after her retreat, which doesn't earn him so much as a pause, but he's alright with that. "I think she likes us," he confides to Flora with a short laugh, getting about to accurately dispersing the butterm syrup, and whipped cream over his pancakes before diving in for a bite. "So what would Danta like?"

Kaisel

The perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life