EVEREST
Everest hums in answer to her gentle scolding, a soft, agreeable sound that means he has heard her and catalogued the sentiment without feeling the need to untangle it aloud. He has learned that you didn’t have to is often less about obligation and more about affection, and he does not need to correct the premise in order to honour it. "Of course," he replies easily when she asks him to come to her when he was done, the fridge door closing with a quiet seal.
He finishes what he has started; the smoothie tins are stacked together in the cupboard, aligned by label and height. The reusable bags are folded and set aside, the counter is wiped where condensation has pooled, because it will bother him later if it is not. Only when the space is restored to its prior order does he turn fully toward her.
He leans down first, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin and the faint, familiar scent of her hair. "Hello," he murmurs more quietly, as though greeting her properly now, before lowering himself carefully to his knees beside her, one hand settling against her leg, steady and grounding, the other sliding over her hand where it rests upon the curve of her belly. His thumb brushes lightly there, instinctive and reverent all at once. "You look lovely," he tells her, meaning not only the visible things but the steadiness beneath them, the quiet strength that has carried them here.
He finishes what he has started; the smoothie tins are stacked together in the cupboard, aligned by label and height. The reusable bags are folded and set aside, the counter is wiped where condensation has pooled, because it will bother him later if it is not. Only when the space is restored to its prior order does he turn fully toward her.
He leans down first, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin and the faint, familiar scent of her hair. "Hello," he murmurs more quietly, as though greeting her properly now, before lowering himself carefully to his knees beside her, one hand settling against her leg, steady and grounding, the other sliding over her hand where it rests upon the curve of her belly. His thumb brushes lightly there, instinctive and reverent all at once. "You look lovely," he tells her, meaning not only the visible things but the steadiness beneath them, the quiet strength that has carried them here.
the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die
the leaves will still die
