the end of eras

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Isla's letter had come on the back of a hangover and a night spent doing gods knew what (and who), and so the Mateo who arrives at the Skyport is a little worse for wear, despite only having had to walk about two hundred paces from La Verbena to get there. Dressed in an oversized black shirt and with a pair of sunglasses snugly on his nose to block out the glare overhead, he waits at the dock for the ship to arrive from Torchline with a large pastry in one hand and an even larger coffee in another.

Not having known whether his best friend would be up to eating anything before promptly remembering himself and knowing he wouldn't be, Mateo had opted not to get anything for Ever. With his houseboat only a short walk away, he's sure he can arrange anything the aviator might immediately want. In the meantime, the pastry is gone long before the ship makes its appearance, but the coffee is something he'll continue to nurse until the passengers begin to disembark.

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Everest

Everest didn’t shift back until the last possible moment. The crew had let him stay curled under a bench near the cargo hold for the duration of the trip, and he’d spent it with his head resting on his paws, eyes half-lidded, the soft rumble of the engine the only thing quiet enough to focus on. It wasn’t peace. But it was stillness, and that was something.

But eventually, the time came.

The shift back into his human body brought the world crashing down again—the weight of his limbs, the seams of his clothes, the exacting knowledge of every pair of eyes in the hallway. By the time he stepped off the skyship and into the brightness of the port, Ever already felt like he was running out of air. He moved with his eyes low, ticket clenched in one hand, the satchel from Isla clutched in the other. People brushed past him—someone bumped his shoulder and muttered a half-hearted sorry—and the noise was all wrong. Too many footsteps, too many conversations layered like static, too many hands too close to his arms.

By the time he spotted Mateo—sunglasses, oversized shirt, a beacon of cool apathy amidst the chaos—Ever felt like he was going to unravel. His fingers tightened on the strap of the satchel, his mouth opened like he might try to say something. But the words caught somewhere in his throat.

Instead, he just stopped a few paces away. His posture was stiff, his breaths shallow. And he said, too quietly for anyone but Mateo to hear: "...Hi."

I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Everest is in no state to realise this, but he really doesn't draw all that much attention as he passes through the throngs of people out of the skyship and down into the port. Luckily, Mateo knows exactly what to look for, and he zones in on the aviator the moment he recognises his too-straight posture and messy curls. Tossing the remainder of his coffee away and straightening up, Ever stops a few paces short of where the botanist would prefer him to be, and the smile he gives his friend is as apologetic as it is knowing.

"Hi," he says in a voice made rough by a good night and bad sleep. "Sorry about all this." All this not just being the circumstances, of course, but the way Mateo steps forward to wrap his arms around his friend to hug him tightly. "I know," he's already saying. "It is too much, and your clothes probably feel all wrong, and there is a new stall selling food I have never heard of, and the smell is different. I know."

Stepping back just enough to squeeze Ever's shoulders, he holds his hand out expectantly for the bag. "We will go to La Verbena, and then we will go to your place once everything is not so loud. Or to your parents' place. Wherever you like," he says. "Come on." Ushering him forward, Mateo is luckily well versed in creating space where there shouldn't be any, and they will be largely unmolested as they head to his little schooner.

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Everest

Ever’s shoulders jolted at the hug, his whole frame going tight—like a wire stretched too far—but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean into it either, but instead just stood there, unsteady in his own skin, letting Mateo anchor him by proximity alone.

The words, though. Gods, the words helped.

He didn’t answer, couldn’t—not with his throat thick and his jaw tight and his mind still stuck on the tile pattern of the skyport floor—but the edges of his posture loosened just enough for his hands to unclench. The bag strap slid from his grip and into Mateo’s waiting hand with no resistance.

"Yours," Ever mumbled, barely audible. "La Verbena." Because the idea of going to his own apartment or facing his parents just yet felt like walking barefoot into a thunderstorm, and at least for all the chaos of the little skyboat, the fact that it would be chaos would be something which hadn't changed.

He didn’t look up as Mateo steered them through the port, but he followed closely, footsteps precise and quiet, eyes locked on the hem of his friend’s shirt like it might be the only thing keeping him from vanishing.

I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

"La Verbena it is. We will figure out the rest from there, even if that is just more of the same," Mateo confirms with an easy nod, carrying the bag along with them as he ushers them through the parting crowd and to the schooner moored nearby. Her lavender is in full bloom with the sunnier days, and although the cascade is not as majestic as it will be come Longheat, the scent of it shrouds the little skyboard as they climb aboard.

"Down we go," Mateo says cheerfully, insisting Ever goes first down into the cabin, the botanist on his heels. "I thought about making some tea, but then I thought you might want this instead." This happens to be a hot water bottle wrapped in one of the aviator's sweaters - one he'd left at La Verbena for long before he'd become purple and then back again, having been stored safely away in Mateo's closet.

"I would like to ask you some questions," he continues softly, offering out the weight and warmth of the hot water bottle and gesturing for Ever to make his way either towards the patchwork sofa or into Mateo's room. "But I do not expect you to have to think very hard about the answers. Would that be okay?"

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Everest

Ever stepped into the cabin like someone approaching a wild animal—slowly, deliberately, eyes darting from the woodgrain underfoot to the edge of the kitchen counter, to the soft spill of lavender light filtering through the hull like it all might suddenly snap and lunge for him. He didn’t speak, not at first. Just breathed in the familiar scent of the skyboat and let it settle somewhere behind his ribs where panic couldn’t reach quite so easily.

The hot water bottle, though, was a surprise. Not because of what it was, but because of what it was wrapped in. His sweater—he knew it by the weight, the smell, the softness in the fold of the collar. His hand hovered for a second before he took it, fingers curling around the shape like it might be the first thing he’d held all day that didn’t hurt.

"Alright" he said softly, voice still too quiet for a room this small. He moved toward the sofa, dropping down with something like relief and clutching the hot water bottle against his chest. "You can ask."

I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

"Thank you," Mateo says with a soft smile - and while Ever collects the hot water bottle and goes to situate himself on the sofa like a man in a dream, the botanise goes ahead and makes some tea for himself. Once he's got a steaming cup of it and has kicked off the threadbare boots he'd pulled on to meet the aviator from the skyship, he moves to sit himself down in the rocking chair padded with a number of cushions and quilts, close enough to hear Ever's over-quiet words but far enough away for comfort.

"It is only three questions. I am not out to interrogate you. First, I just wanted to know how you were feeling about the void now, given..." He gestures all around them, indicating Stormbreak and the city beyond. "Second, I wanted to ask whether you were angry about what happened." And if he was, rest assured that Mateo might find himself doing something about it regardless of what's right or proper.

"Lastly, I assumed it was a given, but do you want to stay here with me? For as long as you need? You do not even need to leave the boat unless you are comfortable."

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Everest

The steam from Mateo’s tea drifted lazily between them, and Ever’s eyes followed it like it might carry him somewhere easier. He was silent for a long moment, the hot water bottle pressed firm to his chest, his thumb stroking the soft hem of his sweater like it might stitch something back together.

"The void…" He hesitated, the word itself sour in his mouth now. "It was quiet and I miss that." His shoulders hitched up, then dropped in a tired little shrug. "But I think it was lying. Or… maybe I was. It’s hard to tell." He blinked down at the water bottle like it might offer clarification. "Everything seemed so clear before, but now.." He shakes his head.

To the second question, Ever exhaled slowly through his nose. "I’m not angry," he said—then, after a moment, "I think I will be, maybe, but not right now." His jaw flexed faintly. "Right now I’m just…" But there were no words for what Everst was just now, and so he merely stroked the water bottle again. "I feel like someone peeled my skin off and is waiting for me to say thank you."

The last question was the easiest. His eyes flicked up again, a little more certain this time. "Yes. Please."

I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Slipping ringed fingers around the porcelain of his teacup and softly inhaling the scent of lemon and ginger from his tea, Mateo regards Ever with gentle curiosity, giving him the time he knows he needs to form his responses and offering only small nods of understanding here and there until he's finished. "I think you might be right about the lies," he agrees with his remarks on the void. "And so I also think it would be a good idea to move La Verbena out of Stormbreak, as soon as you feel as though you are able to pilot her. Or you could write the instructions down and I could try." Mateo's wry smile suggests than he already knows Ever's preference on that matter.

"I do not expect you to say thank you, at least. I am sorry that your peace was taken from you, Ever, however good the intentions. And... I am going to try to help you get better, he says slowly. He hasn't once spoken about his long overdue quest from Frey, but given how raw and uncertain his friend is about merely existing, perhaps a sliver of hope will help.

As for him staying, the botanist smiles warmly and bobs his head in a nod, taking a slow sip of his tea. "Welcome home," he says a few moments later. "You know already that I am able to fill silence all by myself, so if you would prefer to be a different shape, be my guest."

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Everest

Ever nodded once, slow and tight, already knowing that Mateo offering to fly La Verbena had wasn't really an option, whatever state he was in. "I’ll take her," he said quietly. "Not yet. But soon." Because the thought of La Verbena in the sky, of being somewhere quieter, somewhere away, was something like a star he could steer toward.

As for peace—his peace, lost or stolen—Ever opened his mouth, then closed it again. It didn’t feel like peace had been taken. It felt like everything else had been returned, all at once. Like being handed a thousand puzzle pieces and told they used to make sense. "I think Isla—" A pause. A hitch. His jaw clenched. "I don’t know." It was the closest thing he could manage to a truth; there were thoughts, and there was Isla, and somewhere in the mess of his mind there were thoughts about Isla.

At the welcome, Ever’s eyes flicked upward, and though they didn’t linger, there was a flicker of something soft in them. "Thank you," he murmured, this one not obligatory. He breathed in deeply, as if trying to settle the weight of the words around him, and then—slowly—he exhaled, letting himself lean just slightly deeper into the couch.

I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

"I thought that might be your choice," Mateo admits with a small smile and a nod. "Whenever you are ready, then. Until that point, she can stay right here, and so shall we." Raising his teacup as if in a toast, Mateo gently sets his chair to rocking and takes another sip, relaxing back into it and trying not to feel too happy to have his best friend under his roof again, as things had been, more or less, for longer than he can remember.

Because, of course, the circumstances are still horrific, and the botanist's eyebrows furrow together at the mention of Isla, as well as Ever's honest confusion around all that was happening regarding her. "It is okay, not to know," he tells him softly. "It has not even been a day. Things will make sense a little more as time goes by, perhaps. Either way, it is not something you need to think about too much today."

No, today is for existing, however that might look. And so they sit quietly, the botanist and the aviator, until such a time where Mateo is hungry or sleepy or bored, and even then, he orbits Ever as he always has done - in quiet contentment at his presence, no matter the noise in his mind.

~FIN

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm