baby kiss it better

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

The image of Danta fucking in the kitchen isn't a welcome one, and Kaisel's features say as much as they scrunch together. "If I find a pube while making eggs in the morning I can't be held responsible for my actions after that. There may or may not be a kitchen fire involved." An overreaction, maybe, but plenty of people seem willing to burn their house down over a spider, and that he will happily scoop up and place outside. A pube however, that tells a story, one that includes dicks and balls being pressed into surfaces he'd like to never imagine them brushing behind clothing, much less in total freedom.

He's about to suggest to her that there could be a few more boundaries she enforces with the house key, but the squeeze of her hand in his draws the moment away into something far nicer. Instead of worrying about D-dog's ass imprints, he's got the solid and real feel of her warm presence with him, and the shimmering promise of retreating to their one safe haven here. "Yeah," he says around a sloppy grin, "that's c h e a t i n g." Which is to say, she is a complete pumpkin eater, like all the time. "I have considered getting one so we could play invisible tag though." Which kinda sounds like one of them might end up hurt, but with fountain water and her healing ring, that seems worth the possible risk.

That doesn't help them one bit now though, so very visibile, he presses in behind her, letting himself chase the tug of her fingers yet again, certain he always will. While she is on full stealth, graceful as a cat threading through lasers, he's doing his best to mimic her. Attempting to be covert is a challenge for Kaisel when sober, but presently drunk, he's pulling it off about as well as a dog with their favorite squeaker toy. He can't even look at her or his cheeks puff up instantly with laughter, so he's taken to staring directly at the floor, peripherals shot as he stumbles along after her hand.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora can’t help the quiet chuckle that slips out of her, even now, even with everything sitting heavy in her chest. She tilts her head, offering Kaisel a wry, sidelong smile that carries more history than the words themselves ever could. "And how would you even tell it wasn’t one of yours?" she asks lightly, multiple occurrences of their kitchen escapades flashing readily before her eyes.

A low hum rolls through her as she moves closer, shoulders lifting in a small, unapologetic shrug. "All things considered," she adds, voice warm with weary mischief, "I think I’m allowed to bend the rules a little tonight." When he answers her in kind, she lifts her brows and lets a tired grin curve her mouth. "Oh yeah?" The look she gives him is soft but unmistakably suggestive. "I'm sure you'd find more uses for it than just tag."

They skirt the kitchen entirely, guided not by stealth alone but by the house itself. Doors ease open before them, floorboards hush beneath their steps, and a breath of warm air nudges them along corridors that seem to shorten out of loyalty rather than architecture. Wildering House conspires in their escape, ushering them upstairs as though it understands exactly what Flora needs right now. The moment the bedroom door closes behind them, Flora exhales a deep, shuddering breath that feels like the first full one she’s managed since Sunjata’s words cracked her world open. The party is gone, reduced to nothing more than distant echoes, and the room feels private in a way nothing else has all night.

She looks around slowly, taking in the familiar space, the soft light, the quiet. This was supposed to end so differently; laughter, tipsy warmth, Kaisel’s hands impatient and hungry, red lace torn away without ceremony. Her palms slide down her hips instead, smoothing over the impossibly thin fabric clinging to her curves, and she lets out a wistful sigh as that version of the night gently dissolves.

Turning toward him, she pivots so her back faces his chest and reaches up to gather her curls away from her neck, exposing the delicate line of her back. She glances back at him over her shoulder, eyes tired but adoring, and asks softly, "Can you help me unzip this?" There’s no disappointment in her voice; even if things went wrong, even if the night shattered somewhere along the way, it still ends here, with him. And right now, that feels like more than enough.

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

He scoffs as if her insinuation that he can't identify his own pubic hair deeply offends him. "Because mine aren't blonde," he emphasizes with a fumbling handful at his crotch, before glancing down and seeming to remember he's still wearing pants, so instead fluffs through his top head of hair. "Might look like yours, but yours are cute, his I'm sure is hideous." He shudders involuntarily, as if dwelling too long on thoughts of what's between Danta's legs is going to threaten to gag him, not that Flora would know anything about gagging on what Danta's packing.

Happy instead to think about her rule bending, which he'd like to point out seems like she can come up with a reason to do on any night, he instead wisely chooses to just nod. However, the implication of all his grand invisible ideas rolls right past him, almost as if it's invisible, and he blinks after her. "What's that supposed to mean?" he whispers loudly. "Hide and seek?" He offers after a moment of thought, clearly caught on the game track still.

They're on the move though, and invisible or not he feels like they are with how secretly they weave back to their room. At one point he blows a small kiss to the spirit that guides them, a thank you mouthed silently as the door slips shut on the rest of the house and he feels like he can finally breathe fully again. The silliness of the escape fades as he flops back onto the bed, room spinning a touch, a toe leaning down to keep hold of the floor to ground him. His head shifts, dark hair fluffing around him with the motion, as his eyes settle back on her without risk of breaking apart into distraught humor. "We did it," he says with a relief that suggests he thought they might not.

Grunting, he pulls himself into a sit, loosening his tie with one hand while the other silently extends out towards her as she drifts closer. His palm glides over the red lace of her side as she comes in range and turns, offering up the hidden zipper line that keeps her from fully shedding the party. "I gotchu," he murmurs easily. Fingers slide from holding her to pressing on the bottom corner of the zippered trail, his other hand leaving the slack of his tie as he tips himself off the bed and back to standing. Carefully he rises behind her, brushing the back of his hand against her nape to tuck away stray hairs that've fallen out of her earlier arrangement. Pinching tight at the top with one hand, he pulls the tab down with the other, the delicate red falling away like wings over her shoulder blades as the fabric sighs itself apart with a metallic whine. "Do you want me to make you up a bath?" he says softly before leaning to press a polite kiss to top of her back, brushing where the zipper had been as his thumbs help push the lace away, sweeping back in with intentional pressure over the muscle of her shoulders.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora rolls her eyes hard enough it almost hurts, the gesture pure muscle memory and theatrics, and mutters, "You are so dramatic," even as a breath of laughter slips out of her anyway,  thinner than usual, a little frayed at the edges, but real. She glances at him with a crooked grin when he fumbles after the implication she tossed out. "Yeah," she says lightly, letting it rest there. "Something like that." On another night she might have chased the banter down every twisting hallway it offered her, but tonight has taken its pound of flesh, and she’s content to let the joke fade without forcing it into something brighter than it feels.

When he shifts, first sitting and then rising again to come in behind her, the change is subtle but it unravels something tight and over-wound in her chest all the same. It is the simple, undeniable fact of him there—solid, warm, unasking—that loosens her at the seams. No expectations press in, no performance demanded, no version of herself she has to hold up with both hands. Just Kaisel, at her back, after a night that veered wildly off course and still somehow curved them back to this quiet, shared end. The heat of him settles along her spine, steady and familiar, and the relief it brings is deep enough that she doesn’t try to explain it, only lets it bloom and breathe where the panic had been.

Her breath leaves her in a fluttery sigh that almost sounds like a laugh as he unzips her with careful patience, the red lace sighing away from her shoulders. She leans back into him instinctively, eyes closing as the dress falls and his lips brush her skin, the pressure of his thumbs against her shoulders grounding and sure. For a moment she simply stays there, letting herself be held in the quiet. At his question, she shakes her head gently, a soft sound of contented exhaustion humming in her throat. "I think I’d rather just...collapse into bed with you," she murmurs, honest and unguarded. Then she peeks back over her shoulder at him, one brow lifting as a sly little smile curves her mouth despite everything. "Unless that’s your way of telling me I’m too stinky to cuddle without a bath first, in which case you're getting in with me."

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

The barest bit of laughter puffs up in his cheeks and exhales against her exposed skin. "If you smelled I wouldn't even be asking, I'd already have the water running," he informs with a whisper of a smile as his hands finish stroking over her shoulders, leaving the delicate fabric to her finishing touches. He wanted to rip that dress off, but not like this, not clumsily and wearily when neither of them is ready to be laid bare beneath something that's been made not broken. Tonight is for keeping things whole and folding them away. "So collapsing it is."

He shifts to stand beside her, giving each of them the room to bend and strip in full. The folding is definitely figurative, because he just kicks his pants away into a pile across the room, the rest of his attire joining it. He might regret it in the morning when he'll have to iron them out, but in this moment he doesn't, and it's the now that concerns him most. Amid zippers, buttons, and rustling cloth, he undoes the party bit by bit, finally laying to rest the unfounded concerns and smoothing out the worry. It doesn't erase the fear surrounding Hotaru, not even sleep will do that, but it gives them more room to sit with it all.

Flopping sideways onto the bed with arms outstretched, he groans in loud and dramatic fashion with the utmost relief. "Something about the bed, with you, at the end of a shit day, is better than cold water in the middle of the night." That 2am drink be hitting like it's fresh from a private glacier. Fingertips reach up and grab hold of various decorative pillows, chucking them off like they're offensive into the side wall. Ordinarily he might've hucked them at Flora, a perhaps predictable routine for some evenings, but she needs all the strength she can get right now so letting down leech it away with a solid strike to the head seems like a bad call. Instead he works on yanking up the covers, creating a flap for her to slide into and join him beneath the protective layer of bed sheets where the world must keep itself at bay for a few hours. "C'mon babygirl, you're littlespoon." he says, patting the open spot as if she needs coaxing.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora huffs out a laugh at his murmured verdict, the sound soft and a little breathless, and then she turns away to deal with the dress without ceremony or performance. There is no attempt at grace, no teasing pause or glance over her shoulder; she simply steps out of it, letting the red lace slide down her hips and pool at her ankles like shed skin. She kicks it aside absently, left in nothing but black lace she had very much imagined Kaisel removing with his teeth under entirely different circumstances, and sighs quietly at the thought before it can turn sharp.

She watches him wrestle with his own clothes from the corner of her eye, the longer process of it almost endearing, and by the time he finally flops onto the bed she has already tugged an oversized shirt down over her head, the fabric swallowing her up to mid-thigh. "Mmm, lucky you, you get both," she says lightly, amused, when he mentions the bed and the water in the same breath.

As if summoned by the sentiment, icy glasses wait at either side of the bed, condensation already slicking the bases thanks to the quiet, loyal efficiency of the spirits and Spice alike. Flora barely spares them a glance before she slides into the silk-soft sheets, the fabric cool against her skin as she moves across the mattress and into Kaisel’s arms without hesitation. She turns, wriggles, adjusts, fitting herself against him with the familiarity of muscle memory. A long sigh leaves her as she finally stills, cheek tucked close, body relaxing in degrees rather than all at once, as though she is carefully lowering herself out of the tension rather than dropping it outright.

Above them, the house creaks and settles. Below them, through the floorboards, the party is anything but quiet. Laughter breaks, then dissolves into breathless sounds that are unmistakably not laughter at all, punctuated by muffled voices and the rhythmic thump of movement that sends a faint vibration through the floorboards. Someone groans, low and unashamed, and someone else answers it with a sound that makes Flora press her lips together, torn between humour and exasperation.

She exhales slowly, nestling closer into Kaisel, letting the noise fade into background and doing her best not to try and match moans with the party attendees she knows are staying over. "Mmm, wanna know a secret?"

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

With as long as he's been living in this house with spirits and a sneaky little dragon, he still finds himself surprised by what appears or vanishes throughout the home. His brow furrows at first at her remark, uncertain what she means, unless she traded out the mattress for a poor water bed. Shortly thereafter his gaze turns to the side, spotting the glistening glasses, and a small smile edges in on his cheeks. "Awww, so thoughtful, thanks buddies," he murmurs up towards the ceiling, flashing a thumbs up for good measure.

Much like Flora though, his focus is too set on the sheets and the space between them for now, but he'll be grateful for the water come 2am for sure. She slides into place, and he tucks in behind her with some shifting, lowering the covers around them. He curls in a mold of her shape behind her, one arm sliding over her side and fingers splaying out against her belly as he holds her firm to his chest until he begins to feel the subtle softening.

For a bit, he can't hear above the whisper of the silk sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. As they both quiet though, fingertips trailing in lazy sweeps across her, the obvious sounds find their way into the refuge regardless. Trying not to imagine the room the noises are originating from, he does press the wry smile on his face into her shoulder, transforming it into a small rainfall of delicate kisses. The downpour pauses as she dangles out a carrot, and his head tilts upwards, gaze sliding over her shoulder to catch the edge of her eye. "Always," he says with a cinspirator's hush, attention flicking around like they have to watch the shadows. "Spill Flo-ro."

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

The way he pulls her in makes something in her chest soften all at once, a familiar click of belonging settling into place even though, by any sensible measure, this is still new. A few seasons should not be enough time for a body to memorise another like this, and yet her skin already knows him, expects the weight of his arm, the spread of his fingers, the steady warmth at her back as though it has always been there.

She shifts just a little, careful and practiced, angling her curls so they spill harmlessly across the pillow instead of his face, a quiet domestic instinct she doesn’t even think about anymore. Her hand slides over his where it rests on her stomach, fingers brushing his knuckles before tapping lightly, animated, a tiny spark of energy she can’t quite contain. There is a small, private delight in knowing something he doesn’t, in holding it just a moment longer. "Wellllll," she murmurs, voice low and intimate in the dim, "Asta came by a few days ago to soak in the hot tub." Her fingers drum once more, then still as she goes on. "He’d gotten banged up by some memory mud monster in the Greatwood, and while Danta was on some hallpass in King's End, he came to visit and heal up."

She twists just enough that her shoulder presses more firmly back into his chest, chin tipping up slightly as if she might catch his expression in the dark anyway. The grin that curves her mouth is unmistakable, bright even through the tiredness. "And he told me," she adds softly, taking an extra pause just to drag it out more, "that he’s going to propose to Danta. He said he already has the ring and everything."

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

He's never understood the idea of falling in love. With Flora, it's always felt like flying. What'd once started as butterflies he swallowed down is now a steady soaring, as sure as any wind under wing, and he's only ever felt her lift him up higher. She's been like coming home, no idea he'd ever been lost to begin with. Maybe it's unusual, or fast, but puzzle pieces don't question why they fit together, so he has never bothered to wonder at it.

Given the timing of her choice to reveal something that she's keeping hidden, which lined up with the pattern of moaning from beyond their room, he's positive this will be some juicy scandal about one or more of the party attendees and some unfaithful behavior or embarrassing sexcapade. The sudden livelihood in her fingers suggests there's a meager battle of wills happening, anticipation warring with loyalty, and he sucks in a breath to keep him from doing anything that might make her change her mind and keep it close to her vest. Even the strung out welllll is met with a silent patience, afraid that acting too excited, or disinterested, might snap her choice into a different direction.

He's surprised to hear Asta's name come through next. In part because all his imagined ideas as to what the secret could be seem unlikely for the put together man, but then that's what'd make it so savory to hear. "Oh yea?" he inserts like a crumb to keep goading her on to the reveal, though what she says next has him audibly gasping, reaching for the wrong conclusion. Focusing on the Danta hallpass aspect, his mind begins to wheel with possibilities. Is that part of why Danta ran off from Asta's horrific haunt?

He glances down, ready to pop with ideas as her shoulder turns into him more, gaze connecting through the moonlit room. He blurts out at the same time she finally uncovers the truth, "Danta's leaving him for someone in King's End?!" Maybe someone he got pregnant?!

Oh, wait.

"W h a t?" he blinks, the surprised lift of his face scrunching down into thought as he tries to pick apart her words from his own. Not necessarily looking for their downfall, he's more than happy to gasp in newfound delight at the real truth. He sits up suddenly, twisting more above her, letting her fall under his chest as he braces on the bed on either side of her shoulders. "ASTA'S GONNA PROPOSE!?" He belts it out, as happy as if she'd told him Koa had finally settled down, because he's always a proponent of someone finding their happy ever after even if it is a demon. He also likes weddings about as much as Owen Wilson, so more opportunities to attend one the better.

The rush simmers down with a sudden realization, eyes widening further, which doesn't seem possible as he looks half crazed already. "When?!" he hisses, purposefully wriggling hte bed beneath him to shake the answer out of her. Glad as he is to hear it, he can't let his proposal to Flora steal any thunder, or wind up overshadowed either. This will take some careful planning on his part, and it starts with knowing more details.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora shoots him a playfully withering look over her shoulder the moment he veers off into that spectacularly wrong conclusion, the kind of look that could only ever be affectionate because it comes paired with a helpless spark of laughter. Even half-turned, she gets to watch the comedy of his expression unfold in real time, disbelief giving way to wild speculation, and she doesn’t even try to stop herself from reacting.

By the time he surges up over her, the sound bursting out of him is so loud she reacts on instinct, twisting and slapping her palm over his mouth to muffle it. The result is anything but dignified; she giggles outright beneath him, breathless and bright, the laughter spilling free as the mattress shifts and she’s jostled along with it, curls tumbling, limbs flailing inelegantly as she’s rocked back and forth.

"Shh—" she tries, but the word dissolves into another laugh, her shoulders shaking as she looks up at him, beaming despite herself. In the sliver of light slipping in from outside, his face is all sharp lines and widened eyes, lashes casting shadows, and something warm and fond blooms in her chest at the sight of him so openly delighted. She finally pulls her hand away from his mouth, letting it slide instead to his upper arm, fingers curling there with easy familiarity. One of her legs hooks around his waist, not just to draw him closer but to coax him back down, grounding both of them in the bed rather than the excitement threatening to lift him straight off it.

"He said he doesn’t have it planned yet," she says, shrugging beneath him, voice still whispery with amusement. "But knowing Asta..." Her smile turns knowing, a little fond, a little amused. "I think he’ll try to plan something elaborate and then just...end up doing it in the heat of the moment."

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

The clap of her hand across his mouth immediately returns the room to a hush, his disbelieving trumpet reduced to a strain of air and puffed up cheeks behind her fingers that's giving hostage situation. He doesn't fight the muzzling though, instead it gives him awareness of his volume, expression knowing. He inhales with considerable effort around her hand, the force suctioning her palm further to his lips until air streams in through his nose instead. It's all an attempt to calm again, although as she lets her hand fall away, he can't help but chase the retreat of it with a snuffling snap of teeth, utterly harmless with intent.

Where her leg slides against him, his body instinctly curves in, melting into a dip against her for a moment. The effect of her body ghosting just beneath his, warm and familiar, continues the movement down his torso, and he leans in with intent now to deliver a boyish kiss to her cheek, shoving it into place before he keels over onto the open side of the bed with the dramatic flare of an onstage death. It bounces him against the mattress faintly, flopping onto his back as her assumptions slinking through the dark and the returning quiet with an unmistakable fondness and an utter lack of helpfulness for his new problem. Perhaps he can ask when he visits Asta about her birthday gift.

He hums in audible thought, tilting his gaze up to the ceiling for a moment, absently reaching to draw her back into the gap he placed between them with his manuevering. "What sort of proposal do you want?" he wonders, voice kept low, as if this is a secret too.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora half-expects Kai to press his tongue between her fingers—it’s exactly what she would have done—and when he doesn’t, when he only snaps playfully at the retreat she pretends to flick his nose instead, she grins up at him with unmistakable mischief, eyes bright even through the low light.

The moment he slides back over her, her hands come up automatically, palms finding his sides and tracing upward along the familiar lines of him, delighting rather girlishly in the feel of him. As he performs his dramatic demise, she tucks her arm back before it can be crushed, laughing softly as the bed jostles beneath them with his death throws, already moving toward him even as he reaches out. She crawls across the sheets and drapes herself over his chest, settling there with a sigh.

When he asks the question, though, quiet and conspiratorial, she stills just a fraction. In the dark, he'll probably feel it more than see it, but her aqua eyes widen slightly as she blinks down at him, surprised into honesty. One hand rests on his chest, fingers absently tracing the muscle there, following the rise and fall of his breathing as she lets out a small, incredulous laugh. "Believe it or not,"she says softly, "I’ve honestly never thought about it."

She shifts closer, fitting herself more comfortably against him, shrugging. "All the things I thought I always wanted kind of...went out the window when I met you." The admission isn’t dramatic, just true, offered with the same ease she gives him everything else that matters. "None of it really feels like it matters, so long as we're together at the end of it, you know?" Her smile blooms then, radiant even in the dim, warm with love and certainty as she settles fully against him. "Just you and me and a hairtie would be enough."

I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust

The disruption of everything in their room has drowned out the reminder of the party, leaving nothing but moonlight and her laughter for the time being. He breathes it in like it's as necessary as air, grateful that for this moment, at least, her tears have dried and fears have been buried beneath something as hopeful as their future. Not to erase the worry she's carrying, but to put it to bed, much better than they'd done for themselves, until morning at least, when they could work around the true weight of Hotaru's disappearance.

A smile flutters into place as she rejoins him in the same moment her tugs her in. He grabs one of her legs beneath his, and reaches over with an arm to secure her against his side, tangling up with intention. Her sigh eases past, echoing the peace he feels whenever they've come together, especially whenever he's let doubt worm in somehow.

Everything pauses behind his words, and he stills too, his gaze the only thing that dares move. It finds her through the dark, stares connecting, wonder colliding like colors destined to mix into something new. A faint laugh shakes free from him now, because not, he does not believe it. His quip fizzles out on his tongue when she explains, the admission sparking something much more moving.

The arm that's beneath her curls up, fingertips brushing away her curls from her face with slow strokes. "I'd give you a hairtie right now," he whispers after a beat. This moment isn't meant to be one of the loud ones, even if the force of his love for her feels utterly deafening now, a wave that keeps breaking over him with relentless force. It's meant to stay hushed into just the world between these sheets, just theirs. "You deserve so much more than that, though. Even if that's all you need, I want to give you what you want. A moment that will be special, no matter how often you look back on it after all the years later." He shifts his head more, trying to keep hold of her, fingers humming against her skin, tracing out the shape of his affection.

Kaisel

I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough

and all that we intend is scrawled in sand

Flora looks down at Kaisel and, for a moment, the world narrows to the quiet gravity of his face beneath hers. It isn’t just what he looks like—though the moonlight sketches him handsomely, catching on the line of his jaw, the softness of his mouth when he isn’t guarding it with humour, the familiar strength of him laid open and unarmoured—it’s the way he feels to her. The way his presence steadies something restless inside her, the way her chest loosens simply because he is here, because he is looking at her like this, because loving him has never felt like falling so much as finally landing somewhere solid.

His fingers move through her curls with that slow, careful tenderness of his, and she smiles into it, eyes half-lidded, letting herself be held there. For just a heartbeat, doubt flickers in, sharp and unwanted. Not because she doubts him, but because he has said it before, said he would marry her easily, said it like a certainty rather than a dream. And now he says again that he would do it with nothing more than a hairtie, when there are half a dozen within reach, when the option is right there, and yet he doesn’t. Which, of course he doesn't, not on a night like this, but a thought slips in sideways anyway, quiet and insidious: that maybe you deserve more is another way of saying not yet, that maybe he wants her but isn’t ready for the rest of it.

Flora doesn’t let the thought stay long enough to settle. She knows how dangerous it is to let fear dress itself up as reason, especially on a night already bruised and raw. Her hand rises to his cheek, thumb warm against his skin, anchoring herself in the truth of him instead of the spiral of what-ifs. "What I want," she says quietly, firmly, "is to spend the rest of my life with you."

She shakes her head a little, as if clearing away the noise, her curls slipping free again beneath his touch. "I’ve never been engaged before, so maybe I’m supposed to care about the perfect story," she admits, a small, self-aware smile curving her mouth. "But right now it just feels like..." Her thumb traces his cheekbone, her gaze unwavering. "Being able to tell people how wonderful you are, or how stupidly, madly in love with you I am is what I'm really going to want to tell them." Her smile softens into something achingly sincere, her weight settling more comfortably against him. "Besides, how could the moment you actually ask not be special?"