EVEREST
Everest blinks once, twice—as if double-checking that Isla is, in fact, walking toward him and not just a trick of the light, a heat-haloed mirage conjured by the lanterns and the throb of music. She’s smiling. She’s waving. She’s standing in front of him.
"Hi," he echoes, voice soft but steady. His hands twitch slightly at his sides, fingers flexing and releasing in the space between them, like he's trying to find the right way to hold something invisible. "This wasn’t the plan," he admits, glancing around the bar like it might corroborate the obvious. His gaze skips over the dancing bodies, the spinning lights, the bright fringe of Flora’s curls across the room. "I was going to write you a letter. Or maybe show up at your door. Something...more contained than this." A small breath leaves him, not quite a laugh, but close. "But it's nice to see you, just the same."
His gaze returns to her, more direct this time. Still flickering, still precise, but present. "Mateo completed his quest. The one he started before I was infected. He brought me something. A...glass acorn, infused with Frey’s magic. It holds all of my social anxiety now. All of it." He raises his hand, thumb brushing along his fingertips once, twice, as if evidence of something "I'm still...me, though. Not like I was before. I still count ceiling tiles and am inclined to avoid eye contact and get distracted by texture. But it feels like I can breathe again."
He hesitates only a second longer before asking, "Would you like to go somewhere quieter to talk? Outside, maybe?" He tilts his head faintly, hands folding neatly in front of him as he waits—not rushing her, just giving her the space he always tries to give, even now. "Unless...I apologize, it looks like maybe you were going to sit down with your friends."
"Hi," he echoes, voice soft but steady. His hands twitch slightly at his sides, fingers flexing and releasing in the space between them, like he's trying to find the right way to hold something invisible. "This wasn’t the plan," he admits, glancing around the bar like it might corroborate the obvious. His gaze skips over the dancing bodies, the spinning lights, the bright fringe of Flora’s curls across the room. "I was going to write you a letter. Or maybe show up at your door. Something...more contained than this." A small breath leaves him, not quite a laugh, but close. "But it's nice to see you, just the same."
His gaze returns to her, more direct this time. Still flickering, still precise, but present. "Mateo completed his quest. The one he started before I was infected. He brought me something. A...glass acorn, infused with Frey’s magic. It holds all of my social anxiety now. All of it." He raises his hand, thumb brushing along his fingertips once, twice, as if evidence of something "I'm still...me, though. Not like I was before. I still count ceiling tiles and am inclined to avoid eye contact and get distracted by texture. But it feels like I can breathe again."
He hesitates only a second longer before asking, "Would you like to go somewhere quieter to talk? Outside, maybe?" He tilts his head faintly, hands folding neatly in front of him as he waits—not rushing her, just giving her the space he always tries to give, even now. "Unless...I apologize, it looks like maybe you were going to sit down with your friends."
the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die
the leaves will still die
