Got a bag full of clothes, a bottle of wine. Only say how I feel From the back of my mind
Everest hums low in his throat, a soft, pleased sound that vibrates faintly where her lips find the inside of his wrist. His fingers curl gently, instinctively, as if trying to catch the kiss and keep it there. She’s his type, too—every version of her, every shift in tone or touch, every microexpression he catalogues without meaning to. And for once, the flood of input doesn’t overwhelm. It just is.
"I’ve never been particularly good at accounting for emotional bias," he murmurs, his hand slipping down from her jaw to rest lightly against her collarbone, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath it. "You skew the results. Every time."
Still, the idea that they’ve landed somewhere so familiar so fast seems to settle into him like gravity, pulling him deeper into the moment, into her. "I can feel the similarities to how it felt before," he admits, gaze locked to hers. "But it's better now, I think. There's nothing..purple to interfere."
"I’ve never been particularly good at accounting for emotional bias," he murmurs, his hand slipping down from her jaw to rest lightly against her collarbone, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath it. "You skew the results. Every time."
Still, the idea that they’ve landed somewhere so familiar so fast seems to settle into him like gravity, pulling him deeper into the moment, into her. "I can feel the similarities to how it felt before," he admits, gaze locked to hers. "But it's better now, I think. There's nothing..purple to interfere."
