EVEREST
Ever chuckles softly, the sound brief but real, and ducks his head as Isla declines his theatrical exit. "Understandable." A small smile lingers on his lips as he settles into the shade, comfort creeping in around the edges of his frame like something long-missed and quietly rediscovered.
At her assessment, he nods once—slow and thoughtful. "It feels that way. Like I can pause before reacting instead of being shoved through a wind tunnel every time something shifts," he agrees, glancing at her. "You noticing it helps. Makes it easier to trust that it’s not just in my head."
The soft pink warming her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed—Ever’s gaze flicks to it and away again like he’s logging it for later analysis, some quiet catalogue of nonverbal data he’s already begun assembling. Her agreement draws another smile from him, this one smaller but no less sincere. "Then maybe we start tomorrow?" he offers, voice gentle with the possibility. "If that’s not too soon. I’m down in Torchline for now—Mateo asked me to bring La Verbena just like you said he would, and it made sense to stay."
When Isla’s hand settles on his knee, Ever doesn’t flinch or freeze—though his gaze does drop to it, watching the contact like it’s something both familiar and faintly new. The moment hangs in his mind, hovering just outside his comfort zone, but not in a painful way—more like something he’s still learning the shape of. After a second’s hesitation, he lifts his own hand and rests it lightly over hers. "You did what you thought was right," he says quietly, not quite looking at her. "And maybe it wasn’t perfect, but neither was the situation. I was unravelling. You made a call because you cared. I could never hold that against you."
His thumb moves—barely—a small, unconscious motion against her hand.
At her assessment, he nods once—slow and thoughtful. "It feels that way. Like I can pause before reacting instead of being shoved through a wind tunnel every time something shifts," he agrees, glancing at her. "You noticing it helps. Makes it easier to trust that it’s not just in my head."
The soft pink warming her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed—Ever’s gaze flicks to it and away again like he’s logging it for later analysis, some quiet catalogue of nonverbal data he’s already begun assembling. Her agreement draws another smile from him, this one smaller but no less sincere. "Then maybe we start tomorrow?" he offers, voice gentle with the possibility. "If that’s not too soon. I’m down in Torchline for now—Mateo asked me to bring La Verbena just like you said he would, and it made sense to stay."
When Isla’s hand settles on his knee, Ever doesn’t flinch or freeze—though his gaze does drop to it, watching the contact like it’s something both familiar and faintly new. The moment hangs in his mind, hovering just outside his comfort zone, but not in a painful way—more like something he’s still learning the shape of. After a second’s hesitation, he lifts his own hand and rests it lightly over hers. "You did what you thought was right," he says quietly, not quite looking at her. "And maybe it wasn’t perfect, but neither was the situation. I was unravelling. You made a call because you cared. I could never hold that against you."
His thumb moves—barely—a small, unconscious motion against her hand.
the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die
the leaves will still die
