Got a bag full of clothes, a bottle of wine. Only say how I feel From the back of my mind
Everest hums softly at the idea of a carpentry stall, eyes flicking to Isla as she eats a blackberry with a kind of nonchalance he could never manage around such mess-prone fruit. His gaze lingers on her mouth for half a second longer than intended before snapping back to the spread between them. "That could be useful," he says, clearing his throat. "For gathering samples. Texture. Grain. Responsiveness to tools and pressure."
Her suggestion of narrowing down the usable space in her apartment earns a contemplative silence. He taps a corner of the fig container once, then again. "That would help," he admits. "Maybe we could even practice navigating the space before the date begins." There’s a brief beat, as if he’s realized how that sounds, before he lifts his glass again. "Experiment, I mean." His tone is half-apologetic, half-wry.
Then she says it. I will be your constant for as long as you will have me.
The words hit like sunlight through water. Ever stills—completely. Even his fingers stop their quiet percussion. He looks at her, really looks, and some quiet part of him shudders beneath the weight of how easily she says it. His throat works once in a swallow before he sets his glass carefully down, and when he reaches out this time, it’s not to adjust the food or straighten a corner.
It’s to take her hand. "I never like how it sounds, to think of you being something to have, but.." he says, softly but without hesitation. "If that’s an offer—then yes. I’ll have you."
Her suggestion of narrowing down the usable space in her apartment earns a contemplative silence. He taps a corner of the fig container once, then again. "That would help," he admits. "Maybe we could even practice navigating the space before the date begins." There’s a brief beat, as if he’s realized how that sounds, before he lifts his glass again. "Experiment, I mean." His tone is half-apologetic, half-wry.
Then she says it. I will be your constant for as long as you will have me.
The words hit like sunlight through water. Ever stills—completely. Even his fingers stop their quiet percussion. He looks at her, really looks, and some quiet part of him shudders beneath the weight of how easily she says it. His throat works once in a swallow before he sets his glass carefully down, and when he reaches out this time, it’s not to adjust the food or straighten a corner.
It’s to take her hand. "I never like how it sounds, to think of you being something to have, but.." he says, softly but without hesitation. "If that’s an offer—then yes. I’ll have you."
