Everest
Ever stepped into the cabin like someone approaching a wild animal—slowly, deliberately, eyes darting from the woodgrain underfoot to the edge of the kitchen counter, to the soft spill of lavender light filtering through the hull like it all might suddenly snap and lunge for him. He didn’t speak, not at first. Just breathed in the familiar scent of the skyboat and let it settle somewhere behind his ribs where panic couldn’t reach quite so easily.
The hot water bottle, though, was a surprise. Not because of what it was, but because of what it was wrapped in. His sweater—he knew it by the weight, the smell, the softness in the fold of the collar. His hand hovered for a second before he took it, fingers curling around the shape like it might be the first thing he’d held all day that didn’t hurt.
"Alright" he said softly, voice still too quiet for a room this small. He moved toward the sofa, dropping down with something like relief and clutching the hot water bottle against his chest. "You can ask."
The hot water bottle, though, was a surprise. Not because of what it was, but because of what it was wrapped in. His sweater—he knew it by the weight, the smell, the softness in the fold of the collar. His hand hovered for a second before he took it, fingers curling around the shape like it might be the first thing he’d held all day that didn’t hurt.
"Alright" he said softly, voice still too quiet for a room this small. He moved toward the sofa, dropping down with something like relief and clutching the hot water bottle against his chest. "You can ask."
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
