Everest
Everest certainly hadn’t formed any picture in his mind of what Nova might look like as a person; it simply hadn’t occurred to him to connect the vivid dreambird in the air with a girl in a sunhat and a green dress stitched with pineapples. The shift between the two catches him off guard in the quiet way most things do—no outward flinch, just a small pause as his mind catches up. Speaking to her as a bird had been easy, the conversation buffered by feathers and flight, and now it takes a moment to find the same rhythm on two legs. He offers a polite smile, the corners of his mouth tilting up just enough to show it’s genuine, though his gaze drifts to a spot just over her shoulder rather than meeting her eyes for long. "Nice to meet you," he says, the words carrying that faintly careful precision that comes when he’s watching them in his head before he lets them out. "And no—your dreambird shift definitely doesn’t seem broken."
The thanks, mom rolls past without him chasing after it, not out of disinterest but because prying isn’t something he’s good at. There’s a lot he might not understand, but he knows the weight of being asked about something you’re not ready to talk about, so he simply dips his head in quiet acknowledgement. His hands press further into his pockets, shoulders settling into the loose posture of someone easing the edges of a social interaction toward its natural end.
"I should probably be going," he says, tone still mild, though the soft nod he gives her isn’t abrupt so much as it is a gentle step back from the moment. The wind catches at his hair and shirt, and for a second he glances skyward again, as if already picturing the quiet of open air before turning back toward wherever his feet will take him next.
The thanks, mom rolls past without him chasing after it, not out of disinterest but because prying isn’t something he’s good at. There’s a lot he might not understand, but he knows the weight of being asked about something you’re not ready to talk about, so he simply dips his head in quiet acknowledgement. His hands press further into his pockets, shoulders settling into the loose posture of someone easing the edges of a social interaction toward its natural end.
"I should probably be going," he says, tone still mild, though the soft nod he gives her isn’t abrupt so much as it is a gentle step back from the moment. The wind catches at his hair and shirt, and for a second he glances skyward again, as if already picturing the quiet of open air before turning back toward wherever his feet will take him next.
even if i had to lose you to know you,
i'd still be that temporary phase that you grow through
i'd still be that temporary phase that you grow through
