flew me to places I've never been
Everest nodded—twice, deliberate and small—at Isla’s interpretation of his comfort with La Verbena. His thumb pressed against the side of his index finger now, a repetitive pressure he didn’t seem conscious of. "That makes sense," he murmured. "It’s easier when the variables change slowly. When they announce themselves over time."
He folded his hands neatly atop the table when she declined the tea, taking a mental note to pour out the cooling water later.
The word uneven caught on him like a snagged thread, and when Isla echoed it, he flinched inwardly in the subtlest way—a hitch of breath, a too-tight swallow. "Yes. Uneven," he said again, more quietly. "If someone changes their life path because of you without natural progression, it creates imbalance. An obligation you can’t repay." His gaze skittered briefly over her hands, her braid, the steady way she breathed, before dropping again.
At her suggestion that Mateo might bring it up independently, Everest gave another clipped nod, though it didn’t seem to reassure him much. "Maybe," he said, and after a pause, corrected himself: Probably." A careful recalibration, as if saying maybe out loud had made it feel too loose, too unsafe.
He shifted minutely in his seat, realigning the seams of his pants along his thighs. "If he does, I’ll stay on La Verbena," he added, voice even but the effort showing in the tightness of his hands. "If he doesn’t, I’ll stay here." A logical fork in the road. Something he could manage.
He folded his hands neatly atop the table when she declined the tea, taking a mental note to pour out the cooling water later.
The word uneven caught on him like a snagged thread, and when Isla echoed it, he flinched inwardly in the subtlest way—a hitch of breath, a too-tight swallow. "Yes. Uneven," he said again, more quietly. "If someone changes their life path because of you without natural progression, it creates imbalance. An obligation you can’t repay." His gaze skittered briefly over her hands, her braid, the steady way she breathed, before dropping again.
At her suggestion that Mateo might bring it up independently, Everest gave another clipped nod, though it didn’t seem to reassure him much. "Maybe," he said, and after a pause, corrected himself: Probably." A careful recalibration, as if saying maybe out loud had made it feel too loose, too unsafe.
He shifted minutely in his seat, realigning the seams of his pants along his thighs. "If he does, I’ll stay on La Verbena," he added, voice even but the effort showing in the tightness of his hands. "If he doesn’t, I’ll stay here." A logical fork in the road. Something he could manage.
but now I'm laying on the cold hard ground
