EVEREST
The stairwell up to the apartment is warmer than the street below, the heat clinging in the narrow spaces between stilts and stone, and Everest habitually counts the steps, adjusting the grip on the paper bags hooked carefully over his fingers so they don’t tip and crush the cartons inside. The door clicks open and shut behind him with deliberate care. He pauses just long enough to toe off his shoes and line them neatly against the wall, nudging one into parallel with the other before he lifts his voice toward the wash of salt air drifting through the apartment.
"Hello? I’m back." He steps further inside, already loosening the tension in his shoulders, and adds, "Sorry I’m late." A small exhale, half sheepish, half logistical. "I had to go to three different shops. The first two were out of the lychee smoothie mix you like. The third had it, but only in the larger tins." He pauses, then more softly adds, "so I bought two."
He crosses to the counter and sets the bags down carefully, unpacking them with quiet efficiency—chilled fruit first, yoghurt, the ice packs he’d insisted on carrying despite the distance—because perishables cannot wait, and he will not risk anything spoiling in this heat. "How has your day been so far?" He asks, opening the fridge door. The cool rush against his face is brief but welcome. Items are placed inside in an order that makes sense to him, labels facing forward.
"Hello? I’m back." He steps further inside, already loosening the tension in his shoulders, and adds, "Sorry I’m late." A small exhale, half sheepish, half logistical. "I had to go to three different shops. The first two were out of the lychee smoothie mix you like. The third had it, but only in the larger tins." He pauses, then more softly adds, "so I bought two."
He crosses to the counter and sets the bags down carefully, unpacking them with quiet efficiency—chilled fruit first, yoghurt, the ice packs he’d insisted on carrying despite the distance—because perishables cannot wait, and he will not risk anything spoiling in this heat. "How has your day been so far?" He asks, opening the fridge door. The cool rush against his face is brief but welcome. Items are placed inside in an order that makes sense to him, labels facing forward.
the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die
the leaves will still die
