[o] [SE] longneck, ice cold beer never broke my heart

Iskra

BREATHE IT IN, IT'S JUST SNOW, WE'RE JUST FALLING
WE WON'T ALWAYS FREE FALL BACK TO NOTHING

Her answer lands like a feather when he was braced for an arrow. A flicker of disappointment cannot help but strain his gaze and he hauls it away from her, sliding back to slump against the contours of his seat. The secret air between them scattered like startled fireflies, and the shape of her lips lost all interest for him. It wasn't disillusionment of her, just, he wished the answer could be something so simple or readily available to pluck from the cosmos and make things certain. He wanted to understand why his heart jumped into his throat when he was near her, why it had since the moment he first beheld her. Why he would stare into a fire and imagine her hair was dancing there, alive in the wind, likely from her running barefoot down a beach with salt and laughter and gulls overhead. What he knew of love? It had never felt like that. He just thought, maybe he finally felt happy with her, which seemed something rarer.

"Hmm," he murmured, unconvinced. "That's hard to know, when love feels different for everyone. Like any experience, it's unique, isn't it? The blue of your sky might be different from the blue of mine, but we call it blue because we have been told it's blue. All the while mine might actually be what I know of as purple." A laugh then, at himself. "...I sound like a fool pretending to be smarter than I am." He sighed heavily, resigned to the fate of never knowing. "It just...seems like something too important to feel right away." So then what did he feel, with [her? "It feels like making up names for colors before learning them...I don't know, I'm talking nonsense." He shook his head and laughed freely at his ramblings. He reached down for a distraction in Goose's fur, ever his support.

Earlier, she was not wrong, but it's one of those situations that wasn't exactly black and white. For starters, she was assuming he wasn't a mess of a man who had long ago broken and attempted to put himself back together with the help of a dog and only one hand that was deeply inebriated. You weren't supposed to be left with extra pieces when you were done, but he had, and chucked them into Torchline's sea until the waves rounded it out and sprinkled it back on the shore.

Change was precisely what Iskra needed.

"What you said earlier—what makes us who we really are?" The tilt of her curious head had echoed Goose's inquiries whenever he had cheese on hand. He'd felt her assessment, but he'd been too eager to lean in and whisper about nothing, so he'd stayed quiet and let her speak. "I'd think it's all the silly little things we do, many of which we learn. It starts with family, extends to friends, is shaped with school and work and every little experience along the way, wouldn't you say?" He might not be so well read as her, not even an iota as sophisticated, but Iskra had spent long nights wondering why he is the way he is. Analyzing others, he did not much bother. Picking apart himself? Until he bled.

"I don't think you can help but change. Especially because of someone else." A smile, frail but strong enough to remain there on his lips as something sad tried to pull it away. "Isn't that what love is, being changed by someone?"

I'M JUST STARTING TO LEARN
I'VE ALWAYS BEEN CHASING GHOSTS