I think I can manage being collateral damage
Ever kept his gaze steady on the path ahead, absorbing Mateo’s words with the kind of careful quiet that had become second nature. He didn’t nod this time, but the slight shift of his shoulders spoke of hearing—of letting it filter in, even if he didn’t have the proper drawers to store it in yet. "I know you don’t," he said softly, the words almost lost to the sound of their shoes on the gravel. "That’s why it’s easier with you." There was no resentment in it—just a fact stated plainly, like naming a colour.
Under the steady motion, Ever couldn’t help but consider the contrast that pressed against the inside of his mind like a stone in a shoe. Mateo, who had known him from the start—through all the stuttering, silent years—and never once tried to fix him. Who made space without making demands. And Isla. Isla, who had only known the untroubled version of him for real—who had once promised no expectations, and yet whose every gentle, loving word now seemed to search for the version of him she missed. He didn’t blame her. Gods, how could he? She deserved someone who could meet her with hands open and heart unburdened. Someone who could choose love easily, rather than have to build a ramp and a map just to find the start of it.
He didn’t judge her. But some part of him—fragile, trembling—wished it could have been easier for both of them.
Glancing sideways, Ever cleared his throat quietly. "You said exercise helps," he murmured. "Would you mind if I... experimented a little?" His fingers twitched briefly by his side, his version of a gesture. "If I shift. Try running properly. Just for a little while." He knew Mateo would understand what he meant without the need for a full explanation: that sometimes it was easier, faster, clearer when he wasn’t fighting the shape of his own body so much.
Under the steady motion, Ever couldn’t help but consider the contrast that pressed against the inside of his mind like a stone in a shoe. Mateo, who had known him from the start—through all the stuttering, silent years—and never once tried to fix him. Who made space without making demands. And Isla. Isla, who had only known the untroubled version of him for real—who had once promised no expectations, and yet whose every gentle, loving word now seemed to search for the version of him she missed. He didn’t blame her. Gods, how could he? She deserved someone who could meet her with hands open and heart unburdened. Someone who could choose love easily, rather than have to build a ramp and a map just to find the start of it.
He didn’t judge her. But some part of him—fragile, trembling—wished it could have been easier for both of them.
Glancing sideways, Ever cleared his throat quietly. "You said exercise helps," he murmured. "Would you mind if I... experimented a little?" His fingers twitched briefly by his side, his version of a gesture. "If I shift. Try running properly. Just for a little while." He knew Mateo would understand what he meant without the need for a full explanation: that sometimes it was easier, faster, clearer when he wasn’t fighting the shape of his own body so much.
Even if I had to lose you to know you I'd still be that temporary phase that you grow through
