Everest
The words daughter and father land together, and Isla will feel the way Everest tightens around her, not in fear but in sheer, unsteady awe, as if the ground has shifted beneath his feet and he’s holding on so he doesn’t tip over entirely. He keeps her close, one arm firm at her back, smiling down at her with an expression that is almost disbelieving in its tenderness. "She’s going to be so lucky," he says quietly, voice warm and certain, [asy]"to have you as her mother."
When Isla rises onto her toes, Everest bends without thinking, meeting her halfway so the kiss is easy and unhurried, his lips soft against hers. One hand lifts to comb gently through her hair near her ear, fingers lingering there as if memorising the feel of her. When they part, he stays close, forehead nearly brushing hers, and he murmurs a soft, earnest thank you into the small space between them. A faint shake of his head follows, wonder still written across his face. "I wouldn’t...have any of this if it wasn’t for you."
At her question, his brows lift, thoughtful now, and he glances over his shoulder at the planks scattered across the floor. His gaze tracks them automatically, cataloguing weight, grain, colour. "I have a few ideas," he says, the hint of a smile returning. "Cedar’s light and resists pests, but it’s softer. Birch is strong and flexible, good for joints, though heavier. Driftwood’s beautiful, but it’s unpredictable unless it’s reinforced properly." He pauses, considering. "If there was ever fire, denser wood would char instead of collapse, but too much weight isn’t ideal either."
When Isla rises onto her toes, Everest bends without thinking, meeting her halfway so the kiss is easy and unhurried, his lips soft against hers. One hand lifts to comb gently through her hair near her ear, fingers lingering there as if memorising the feel of her. When they part, he stays close, forehead nearly brushing hers, and he murmurs a soft, earnest thank you into the small space between them. A faint shake of his head follows, wonder still written across his face. "I wouldn’t...have any of this if it wasn’t for you."
At her question, his brows lift, thoughtful now, and he glances over his shoulder at the planks scattered across the floor. His gaze tracks them automatically, cataloguing weight, grain, colour. "I have a few ideas," he says, the hint of a smile returning. "Cedar’s light and resists pests, but it’s softer. Birch is strong and flexible, good for joints, though heavier. Driftwood’s beautiful, but it’s unpredictable unless it’s reinforced properly." He pauses, considering. "If there was ever fire, denser wood would char instead of collapse, but too much weight isn’t ideal either."
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
