Everest
Everest is sitting on the floor when the door opens, knees drawn in close so the angles of him take up as little space as possible amid the careful sprawl of materials. There are narrow planks laid side by side, each one labelled in his small, precise handwriting—cedar, driftwood, pale birch salvaged from the coast—along with a notebook opened to a page dense with measurements, grain patterns, and notes about weight and flexibility. The apartment smells faintly of salt and sawdust, a comforting combination he’s been quietly cataloguing as he works on finding the optimal wood to build a crib from.
At the sound of Isla’s voice, he looks up immediately. The notebook is set aside without ceremony, pencil tucked neatly between its pages, and he is on his feet in one smooth motion, already reaching for her bag before he has quite thought about it. Helping is instinctive, grounding, a way to put his hands somewhere useful. "I’ve got it," he says softly, warmth flickering across his face at the sight of her even before he fully registers the tension riding her voice. The way she says his name makes him pause, though, and his movements slow by a fraction as he takes the bag from her with care, setting it down where it won’t tip or slide.
He tilts his head to the side, the familiar angle that means he is listening harder than usual, processing not just the words but the weight behind them. "No," he says after a moment, shaking his head. "I haven't make it into town today." His brow creases, attention narrowing, the room and the city beyond it momentarily receding, his focus entirely on Isla. "What about the Notice Board?"
At the sound of Isla’s voice, he looks up immediately. The notebook is set aside without ceremony, pencil tucked neatly between its pages, and he is on his feet in one smooth motion, already reaching for her bag before he has quite thought about it. Helping is instinctive, grounding, a way to put his hands somewhere useful. "I’ve got it," he says softly, warmth flickering across his face at the sight of her even before he fully registers the tension riding her voice. The way she says his name makes him pause, though, and his movements slow by a fraction as he takes the bag from her with care, setting it down where it won’t tip or slide.
He tilts his head to the side, the familiar angle that means he is listening harder than usual, processing not just the words but the weight behind them. "No," he says after a moment, shaking his head. "I haven't make it into town today." His brow creases, attention narrowing, the room and the city beyond it momentarily receding, his focus entirely on Isla. "What about the Notice Board?"
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
