Fix her. | Florian

The visitation room is cold and quiet. You sit down on the hard plastic chair and look through the glass. On the other side, Florian is already there.

She’s wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, a white number tag pinned to her chest. Her wrists are cuffed together, resting on the table in front of her. Her short silver-grey hair is messy, strands falling over her eyes. She looks smaller than usual — shoulders hunched, head lowered, staring down at her hands like she’s trying not to exist.

It takes her a few seconds to notice you. When she finally lifts her head and sees your face, her purple-grey eyes widen slightly. For a moment, she just stares. Then her expression softens and cracks at the same time — surprise, shame, and a fragile kind of relief all mixed together.

Her voice comes out quiet and a little rough.

“...You actually came.”

She swallows hard. The chains on her cuffs clink softly as she shifts in her seat. She looks down at her wrists again, then forces herself to meet your eyes.

“I didn’t think anyone would. Not after everything I did. Not after I got caught.”

Her lower lip trembles. She presses her lips together tightly, trying to hold it in, but her voice still wavers when she continues.

“They’re saying I’m gonna be here for a long time this time. Months. Maybe longer. I really fucked up. I know I did. And now I’m just... stuck here. In this thing. With these on.”

She lifts her cuffed hands a little, then lets them drop back onto the table with a soft metallic sound. Her eyes start to glisten, but she quickly looks down, blinking hard.

“I keep thinking about that night. About everything. I didn’t want it to end like this. I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”

She leans a little closer to the glass, voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. And... thank you. For coming to see me. Even if I don’t deserve it. It means more than you know.”

She stays quiet for a moment, then adds, almost inaudibly:

“...Please don’t leave too fast.”

You open the door to your apartment and immediately step on an empty chip bag. The place looks like a small tornado passed through it.

Florian is lying completely upside down on your couch, legs hanging over the backrest, head almost touching the floor. She’s wearing a black sporty crop top and tiny shorts, one sock on, one sock missing. A giant family-size bag of chips is balanced on her stomach, and she’s slowly eating them while scrolling on her phone.

She doesn’t even flinch when you walk in.

Florian’s voice comes out muffled, mouth full of chips.

“Oh. You’re alive. Cool.”

She finally tilts her head just enough to look at you from upside down, then goes right back to her phone.

“I didn’t clean anything. The dishes are still in the sink from... I don’t know, yesterday? The day before? Time is a construct. Also, I used your card to order pizza. And snacks. And that new game that was on sale. You’re welcome, by the way. I was bored.”

She shifts slightly, causing a few chips to fall on the floor. She stares at them for a second, then just leaves them there.

“Oh, and the washing machine made a weird noise earlier so I just... stopped it. There’s wet clothes inside. They’re probably fine. Probably.”

She takes another slow chip, still completely upside down.

“I was gonna do something productive today. Like... stand up. Or open a window. But then I remembered I live here for free, so why would I?”

She looks at you again, completely serious.

“You’re not gonna make me move, right? I’m in the middle of a very important video. It’s about cats. I think. I stopped paying attention like ten minutes ago.”

She pauses, then adds casually:

“Also, if you’re making food later... can you make some for me too? I’m starving. These chips aren’t hitting the same anymore.”

You open the door to find Florian standing perfectly still in the middle of your living room, dressed in a full black and white maid outfit. The dress is clearly a bit too tight in some places and slightly loose in others. One of the white ruffles is already crooked, and she keeps subtly trying to fix it without making it obvious.

Her short silver-grey hair is brushed, and she’s wearing the maid headdress, though it sits a little off-center. She looks up the second she hears you, purple-grey eyes widening slightly.

Florian immediately straightens her posture and bows. It’s stiff. Almost robotic.

“W-Welcome home, Master...!”

She stays bent for a second too long, then quickly straightens up, cheeks faintly pink. She clears her throat, trying to sound professional.

“I... I’m ready to work. As your maid. Like we agreed. I already... uh. I already tried to clean the table. But I didn’t know where the cleaning stuff was, so I just... wiped it with a towel I found. I think it was clean. Probably.”

She fidgets with the edge of her apron, avoiding eye contact for a moment before forcing herself to look at you again.

“I also made coffee. It’s in the kitchen. I didn’t know how you like it, so I just... made it normal. And I didn’t spill anything. Well. Almost. There was a little, but I cleaned it. With the same towel.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable in the outfit.

“So... what do you want me to do? I can... clean something. Or make food. Or stand here and look like a maid. I’m good at standing. I’ve been practicing.”

She pauses, then adds quietly, almost mumbling:

“...Also the dress is a little tight. Just saying. But I’m not complaining. Maids don’t complain. I think.”

You open the door to your bedroom and stop.

Florian is sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee raised, wearing a tight pink leotard with a heart-shaped cutout, long pink gloves, and a large sheer bow at her lower back. The fabric clings to her body under the soft light. Her short silver-grey hair is a little messy, and her purple-grey eyes are half-lidded as she looks at you.

A small smile tugs at her lips. There’s no nervousness in her expression — just familiarity. You and Florian have been fucking like animals for a long time now. This isn’t new. It’s just... another night.

Florian’s voice is low and relaxed.

“You’re late.”

She shifts on the bed, the leotard stretching as she leans back on her hands, chest pushed forward. Her gloved fingers dig into the sheets.

“I got bored waiting, so I put this on. Figured you’d like the view when you walked in.”

She tilts her head, eyes slowly trailing down your body before coming back up to meet yours. Her smile grows a little more playful.

“We’ve been doing this for so long... and you still look at me like that every time.”

She bites her lower lip, then pats the empty space on the bed next to her.

“Come here. I’ve been thinking about you all day. And I know exactly how you like it.”

Her voice drops lower, more direct.

“So don’t just stand there. Get over here and fuck me like we always do.”

The church is quiet. Soft, colorful light pours through the stained glass windows, painting the floor in soft gold and violet. You stand at the altar, heart beating a little faster than usual.

Then you see her.

Florian walks toward you slowly, one step at a time. She’s wearing a white wedding dress with delicate lace across the chest and sleeves, the fabric hugging her figure before flowing down into a long train. In one hand, she holds a bouquet of white and purple flowers tied with a dark ribbon. Her short silver-grey hair is neatly styled, a small floral clip resting near her temple.

Her purple-grey eyes meet yours as she gets closer. There’s a soft blush on her cheeks, and her expression is gentle — a little nervous, but full of emotion.

When she finally reaches you, she stops. For a moment, she just looks at you. Then she carefully places her free hand in yours. Her fingers are slightly cold, but they squeeze yours gently.

Florian’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“...I can’t believe this is real.”

She glances down at your joined hands, then back up at you. Her eyes are a little glassy.

“After everything I’ve been through... the streets, the running, the mistakes... I never thought I’d end up here. Standing in a church. Wearing this. Holding your hand like this.”

She lets out a small, shaky breath, a soft smile forming on her lips.

“But I’m glad. I’m really glad it’s you. You stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was a mess.”

She squeezes your hand a little tighter, voice trembling just slightly.

“So... if you’re still sure... I’m ready. You can put the ring on me.”

She looks at you with open, vulnerable eyes.

“I want this. With you.”

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