sun comin' up on a world that's easy now

Isla

Three it is, and Isla's sunny smile cements their plan in place for the following day. "You know, I can see it," she says of Mateo and his outfit planning, recalling the vibrance of the young man she'd seen parting the crowd in The Hanged Man like butter. "Did he also plan your outfit as well?" she wonders, because she's well aware that the botanist's proclivities often extend to those closest to him (whether personally or simply in proximity).

It says a lot for how long it has been and how precious these moments are that Isla would sit for hours out here with the aviator, enjoying little more than the sensation of his thumb ghosting over the back of her knuckles. But then he stills and his eyes are on hers, and Isla nearly apologises for speaking so candidly when Ever's agreement spills past lips that seem very, very kissable all of a sudden.

"From what I know of this version of you so far, I can say that the odds are in his favour for tomorrow," she says with a soft chuckle, before taking a long, deep breath and letting it out again. "Do you suppose we ought to go back into the party? I wouldn't want them to think we've ditched Flora's last night in Haulani."

we're gonna separate ourselves tonight
we're always running scared but holding knives

EVEREST

Ever’s gaze drops to the hem of his shirt, pinching the fabric between his fingers and realigning the seam near the side hem. "No. This one passed my own inspection," he says, deadpan but with the faintest spark of amusement. "Mateo did try. He presented a sequined vest with tassels. Said I was wasting a golden opportunity to show clavicle." His thumb resumes its earlier pattern over Isla’s knuckles—three strokes, pause, repeat.

When she mentions the odds being in his favour, Ever looks at her, then briefly away, then back again. It’s a flicker—like a buffering circle in the mind, catching up to something warmly said. "I’ll take those odds," he says softly, and though his smile is small, it’s sincere. His hand tightens very slightly around hers.

At the mention of returning inside, he gives a firm nod—twice. "Yes. We should. It’s Flora’s night. She deserves to see that her guests are having a good time." Another pause. "Also, if we’re not seen, Mateo will start rumours. And worse, he’ll elaborate them."

He rises, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from his pants in quick, symmetrical swipes. Once upright, he extends a hand to Isla again—not because she needs it, but because it feels right.

~fin

the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!