EVEREST
Ever is startled at the sudden embrace, but only for a heartbeat; then his arms came around Mateo in return—brief, firm, unhurried. The contact felt...manageable. Pleasant, even. No spike of static in his nerves, no urge to count the seconds until release. When they stepped apart he found he was still smiling, small but sure.
"I’ll get the glasses," he confirmed, turning toward the cabinet with a surety he hadn’t felt since that day on the beach. He opened the door once—no compulsion to check again—selected two crystal tumblers (the ones with the etched flowers Mateo liked) and set them on the table, perfectly aligned but without the edge of desperation.
The rum appeared a moment later in Mateo’s hand, and Ever fetched a small dish of candied ginger from the pantry—impulse, not ritual. "Bit of Torchline to go with the Torchline," he said, the faint humour sitting comfortably now.
He poured a careful finger of amber in each glass, then lifted his. The light caught the liquid and scattered warm reflections across the ceiling. "To friends who don’t give up," he offered, meeting Mateo’s eyes without hesitation. And to quieter minds.
The rum was sharp, sweet, and filling. Ever let the warmth settle, felt his shoulders drop another notch. He drew a slow breath and found no gale waiting behind it. "So," he said, leaning back against the counter, curiosity bright but calm, "What was it like seeing Frey?"
"I’ll get the glasses," he confirmed, turning toward the cabinet with a surety he hadn’t felt since that day on the beach. He opened the door once—no compulsion to check again—selected two crystal tumblers (the ones with the etched flowers Mateo liked) and set them on the table, perfectly aligned but without the edge of desperation.
The rum appeared a moment later in Mateo’s hand, and Ever fetched a small dish of candied ginger from the pantry—impulse, not ritual. "Bit of Torchline to go with the Torchline," he said, the faint humour sitting comfortably now.
He poured a careful finger of amber in each glass, then lifted his. The light caught the liquid and scattered warm reflections across the ceiling. "To friends who don’t give up," he offered, meeting Mateo’s eyes without hesitation. And to quieter minds.
The rum was sharp, sweet, and filling. Ever let the warmth settle, felt his shoulders drop another notch. He drew a slow breath and found no gale waiting behind it. "So," he said, leaning back against the counter, curiosity bright but calm, "What was it like seeing Frey?"
Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady
Somebody hold me steady
Code stolen from Queen Sky
