Everest
Everest’s fingers curl more fully around Isla’s hand as she speaks, warmth answering warmth, his thumb resting where her pulse moves beneath the skin. He blinks once, then again, slow and patient, eyes fixed on her face as if that alone might keep the words from slipping sideways in his mind.
Stormbreak. Structural failure. Fall into the sea.
He doesn’t move. Not because he is calm, but because something inside him has already dropped away, a long, silent descent that pulls memory and sensation down with it. His chest tightens, breath shallow but steady, the room around them going oddly distant at the edges. "Mateo...mentioned the quakes," he says, and his voice sounds far off even to himself, like it has travelled a long way to reach his mouth. "He was worried about the shop. About the—" He trails off, the sentence losing its shape as it fails to find a useful end.
It’s only when Isla mentions his parents that the fall stops short. Everest’s focus snaps back with almost painful clarity, blue eyes widening as he looks at her properly, really sees her standing there in front of him, solid and real and holding his hand. His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor himself to the present. "My parents," he repeats, softer now, as if saying it carefully might keep something terrible from happening. His thoughts scatter, trying to line themselves up into something actionable and failing, the information too large, too many variables at once. He swallows, shoulders drawing in slightly. "I—" He pauses, breath catching, then forces it out slowly through his nose, deliberate, measured. Panic would help no one, least of all Isla. Not like this.
"I don’t...know what I’m supposed to do," he admits quietly, honesty winning out over any pretense of certainty. His thumb rubs a small, repetitive circle against the side of her hand as he tries to sort through it all, clinging to the contact while his mind works to find firmer ground. "What do we do?"
Stormbreak. Structural failure. Fall into the sea.
He doesn’t move. Not because he is calm, but because something inside him has already dropped away, a long, silent descent that pulls memory and sensation down with it. His chest tightens, breath shallow but steady, the room around them going oddly distant at the edges. "Mateo...mentioned the quakes," he says, and his voice sounds far off even to himself, like it has travelled a long way to reach his mouth. "He was worried about the shop. About the—" He trails off, the sentence losing its shape as it fails to find a useful end.
It’s only when Isla mentions his parents that the fall stops short. Everest’s focus snaps back with almost painful clarity, blue eyes widening as he looks at her properly, really sees her standing there in front of him, solid and real and holding his hand. His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor himself to the present. "My parents," he repeats, softer now, as if saying it carefully might keep something terrible from happening. His thoughts scatter, trying to line themselves up into something actionable and failing, the information too large, too many variables at once. He swallows, shoulders drawing in slightly. "I—" He pauses, breath catching, then forces it out slowly through his nose, deliberate, measured. Panic would help no one, least of all Isla. Not like this.
"I don’t...know what I’m supposed to do," he admits quietly, honesty winning out over any pretense of certainty. His thumb rubs a small, repetitive circle against the side of her hand as he tries to sort through it all, clinging to the contact while his mind works to find firmer ground. "What do we do?"
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
