i can recall somethin' that's gone from me

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

It's dark when Mateo bursts into the Pacifist Plaza and marches his way towards his friend's apartment, and all but those stalls selling sweet iced wine and street food have shut up shop for the night. Late - much later than he'd ever dream of encroaching his presence on Ever unless he's fucked up somehow - the botanist nevertheless bustles up the steps to his door, reaching out to thump on it a few insistent times.

Having come straight from the Celestine, his clothes barely buttoned properly and his gift from Frey wrapped in a silk handkerchief and cradled in his palm like something precious, something delicate (because it is, gods), he clears his throat and calls out for good measure, in case the aviator thinks it's something more nefarious than Mateo on his stoop.

"Ever!" he trills, stepping back a bit to peer up at the windows and squint, trying to see if there is light shining behind the shutters and curtains. "Ever, it is Mateo! Can I come in? This is quite important. In a good way!"

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Everest had been in the middle of his nightly routine—records squared, tea leaves measured for morning, locks checked (top, bottom, middle, top again)—when the sharp knock rattled the sequence apart. A jolt of adrenaline skittered up his spine: three rapid thumps, late hour, unfamiliar pattern.

But the voice was familiar. Mateo. Important, allegedly in a good way.

Ever counted to four—one‑two‑three‑four—to steady his breathing, then began the door ritual in reverse. Top bolt, bottom, middle. He unlatched the final lock and opened the door just wide enough to see Mateo’s flushed face, shirt half‑buttoned, eyes bright.

"Mateo," he said, a note of quiet surprise slipping through his usual careful monotone. "It’s late." Then—because stating facts only went so far—he stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in."

The apartment interior was lit by a single low lamp near the bookshelf, everything else hushed and orderly. Ever gestured toward the small sitting area, then noticed the silk‑wrapped bundle in Mateo’s hand. His gaze lingered on it, curiosity flickering behind caution. "You said it’s good?" he asked, closing the door with one precise click. He re‑secured only the middle latch—enough for now—then moved to switch on a second lamp, soft and indirect, so the room wouldn’t feel quite so shadowed.

"Do you need water? A place to sit?" The questions came automatically, but his eyes kept darting back to the handkerchief. Something precious, delicate. Frey’s work, by the look on Mateo’s face.

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"It is," Mateo gushes, still smiling widely enough to dimple his cheeks as Everest opens the door to his apartment. (He had been listening to the steady click of the locks with some impatience, granted, but it had been enough to know that he'd been heard). "Sorry," he adds, of the late hour, already nodding his gratitude and bustling past the aviator, still smelling faintly of cherries and honey and the gauzy floral scent of the Celestine shrine.

"It is good," he repeats. "At least, I think it is good. And I hope that you do as well." Not bothering to so much as step towards the sitting area, shaking his head at the offer of a chair or of water, Mateo is still lingering inside the doorway as he carefully - ever so carefully - unwraps the silk bundle in his hands, revealing a beautiful if not delicate and innocuous glass acorn in his palm. "I finished my quest from Frey," he breathes.

"This will take away all of your anxiety, if you accept it as a gift. It will give you back the things you lost, without you being infected by the void. But it cannot break, or the magic will be lost. So please suspend it in resin or amber and put it in a lock box." Still beaming, he glances back up to his friend. "It is yours, if you want it." Please take it, is what he doesn't say, of course.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever watched the little acorn emerge from the folds of silk, glass catching the lamplight in soft greens and golds. Something in his chest tightened—habit, preparation for disappointment—but Mateo’s words filtered through, precise, unmistakable: Takes away all your anxiety.

He drew in a slow, deliberate breath. The air felt sharp at the top of his lungs, but he didn’t flinch. Carefully—thumb and forefinger exactly opposite—he lifted the acorn from Mateo’s palm. The glass was cool, smooth; there was a faint hum beneath it, like static just before a storm.

The effect was immediate and astonishingly gentle.

The constant, invisible weight behind his sternum—that low‑grade pressure he’d carried for as long as he could remember—eased back. It was not erased, but siphoned away, as though a valve had opened and let the air hiss out of a sealed chamber. His shoulders settled a fraction lower. The buzz at the base of his skull dimmed to a tolerable thrum.

He became aware of the lamp’s glow on Mateo’s cheek, the faint sweetness of cherries and honey in the air—details, not threats. For the first time in months he realized he was breathing through his nose and not counting.

Slowly, Ever lifted his gaze. It reached Mateo’s eyes—didn’t skitter away—held there. "Mateo," he said, voice steadier than he expected. "It’s… quieter." He flexed his free hand, testing. No tremor. The familiar compulsion to check the door latch, straighten a picture frame—still there, a structural part of him—but no longer driven by panic. Simply there.

He exhaled, a soft, almost disbelieving sound. "Thank you." The words came easily, without the usual choke of uncertainty. His thumb traced the acorn’s curve once before he stepped to the small desk against the wall, retrieving a velvet‑lined box. "I’ll suspend it in resin in the morning," he promised, already tucking the delicate charm inside its temporary cradle.

Closing the lid, he turned back, allowing himself another brief, direct look at Mateo—dimples mirrored faintly in his own tentative smile. "Stay awhile? Now that I can actually make conversation again?" A beat of wry humour slipped through, genuine, light. "There’s tea, or—" his brows lifted in something like mischief—"we could open the good Torchline rum you hid in my cabinet last Longheat and pretend it’s not the middle of the night."

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Mateo thinks he holds his breath right up until the time where Everest meets his eyes, when the botanist lets it all out in a shuddering sigh, unsure what he'd expected but feeling thrilled with anything. The fact that his friend had accepted the gift alone is enough - more than enough - but then Ever speaks and sounds the way he had before the void had been scraped out of his veins, he smiles and Mateo can see the light and the life in the expression. Feeling his eyes sting and blinking quickly, he at least has the foresight to wait until the aviator has tucked away the precious charm before he's rushing forward to catch the other man in a tight hug.

"Prego," he trills, voice muffled in Ever's shirt, his smile something he can't wipe away even if you paid him to do it. "Of course I will stay. As long as you like." Stepping back to grin at him, as if his friend has been lost somewhere for a long time and has just found his way back home, he tilts his head mischievously right back at him. "If ever there was a time to toast with the good Torchline rum - in the middle of the night - it is right now. You get the glasses, I will get the rum."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever is startled at the sudden embrace, but only for a heartbeat; then his arms came around Mateo in return—brief, firm, unhurried. The contact felt...manageable. Pleasant, even. No spike of static in his nerves, no urge to count the seconds until release. When they stepped apart he found he was still smiling, small but sure.

"I’ll get the glasses," he confirmed, turning toward the cabinet with a surety he hadn’t felt since that day on the beach. He opened the door once—no compulsion to check again—selected two crystal tumblers (the ones with the etched flowers Mateo liked) and set them on the table, perfectly aligned but without the edge of desperation.

The rum appeared a moment later in Mateo’s hand, and Ever fetched a small dish of candied ginger from the pantry—impulse, not ritual. "Bit of Torchline to go with the Torchline," he said, the faint humour sitting comfortably now.

He poured a careful finger of amber in each glass, then lifted his. The light caught the liquid and scattered warm reflections across the ceiling. "To friends who don’t give up," he offered, meeting Mateo’s eyes without hesitation. And to quieter minds.

The rum was sharp, sweet, and filling. Ever let the warmth settle, felt his shoulders drop another notch. He drew a slow breath and found no gale waiting behind it. "So," he said, leaning back against the counter, curiosity bright but calm, "What was it like seeing Frey?"

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Pottering about Ever's kitchen with an ease he hasn't realised he'd missed as well - whilst he's always made himself comfortable in his friend's presence, he's definitely been more careful since his return to Stormbreak - Mateo indeed passes the rum and snags a piece of candied ginger to chew on as they chat, leaning casually against the side of the counter. "Speaking of the Torchline," he quips, since it's on his mind, "Would you be so kind as to take La Verbena down into Haulani when that barrier goes up, please? I have been told it may be in my best interests to stay behind it - and I think that might go for you too."

Widening his eyes obviously as if to remind Everest who might be waiting down on those sunny isles, he raises his glass and clinks it easily against his friend's. "To brighter days," he trills back, taking a grateful sip of the liquor and relishing the spice and the burn in his chest and throat. "I forgot how much of a punch that packed," he admits, coughing behind his hand before taking a second sip and snagging another piece of the fiery ginger.

Mention of Frey has his cheeks flushing pink, the botanist sagging further against the counter. "They are amazing," he almost whispers, shaking his head - and now he has seen the results of what they can do, perhaps he is feeling a bit more friendly towards the gods in general. "And kind, and beautiful. They called me darling boy." He grins, the memory of the words still filling him to the brim with warmth. "I recommend you going to see them, if you ever get a chance."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever took a slow sip of the rum, letting the warmth settle, and felt the decision form almost before Mateo finished speaking. Without the constant buzz of anxiety, choosing was...simpler. "I can pilot her down," he agreed at once, setting his glass on the counter with deliberate care. "If the barrier is the one meant to keep The Family out, it makes logical sense for both of us."

He tilted his head, reading Mateo’s expression. "Do you really think you're at risk? Because of the things your family might do?" The question wasn’t sharp—more a gentle check, the kind of verification he used to run through a pre‑flight list. "Either way, if they want you behind the line, I’ll ensure La Verbena is there."

Mateo’s breathless praise of Frey drew a small, wry smile from Ever. He raised one hand, palm out—a polite shield against further erotic detail. "I’m glad it was...positive," he said, the understatement deliberate. "But kneeling before a sex deity is above my current clearance level, acorn or no."

The moment of levity faded as Isla’s name flickered across his thoughts. He winced—subtle, but there—and traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "I saw Isla a few days ago. She still—" his brows knit, searching for the right shape of words, "—feels responsible. Like she stole something from me. I wanted to explain it wasn't her fault but..well, finding the words was difficult." He met Mateo’s eyes briefly, steady.

Ever exhaled, loosening his shoulders. "One variable at a time. First, we get the ship south. Then I suppose I need to try and find someway of letting Isla know that things are alright." Pausing, he looks at his friend with a sigh. "I'm open to suggestions, if you have any."

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"The very one," Mateo agrees with a nod, gesturing with his glass in a toast of thanks to the other man for agreeing to bring his ship down to the islands. Having flown her himself more than he ever has done before, he could likely do it himself, but... well, he also knows his friend might have good reason for finding himself in Torchline. As for whether he's at risk, he gives a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "I have been spending a lot of time with Flora, and she has been working hard on this. The least I can do is use it. And whilst I do not know how at risk I might be, I suppose it is always possible."

Possible enough that he doesn't want to be the one knocking on the fire-exit of Mort's realm to ask his father to find him and bring him back to life, put it that way.

Scrunching his nose - at first in resignation and then in playful spite that Ever doesn't want to hear all the juicy details - Mateo sighs out his acceptance and spreads his hands. "Well if you ever change your mind, I would be happy to make introductions." Is that flirting? Maybe? Mateo doesn't care, as long as the conversation keeps being this easy.

Falling quiet and a little more solemn to hear Ever mention Isla, he'd almost expected the aviator to be giddy with the idea of flying down to Torchline to see her, but his reticence is understandable th emore he explains. "Well," he says softly, "the easiest way to explain would be via a letter. But if you wanted to show her rather than tell her, showing up at her door like this would probably do the trick." Like this, of course, being at ease and able to drink rum and eat candied fruit in the middle of the night.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever nodded slowly at Mateo’s mention of Flora, his gaze skimming the rim of his glass before flicking briefly toward the window. "She’s staying in the city, then? Inside the barrier too?" He didn’t know the deeper mechanics behind how or why it would work, only that it was being erected to protect the heart of Torchline which seemed like a logical place for its queen to be. "Is that the plan—for everyone to stay in Haulani now? Or just to know it’s there when needed?" He didn’t sound worried by the answer, only methodical, running through contingencies like checking fuel levels and wind direction.

Mateo’s offer to play matchmaker with Frey earned a dry huff of laughter—amused, even if his gaze didn’t lift. "I’ll keep that in mind," Ever murmured, and it sounded like he meant it. "If I need divine intervention... or a more robust education."

He pushed away from the countertop to refill their glasses. Each pour was carefully even, right down to the liquid line, and he held Mateo’s glass out before tilting his head toward the couch—a silent invitation that he didn’t realize was a little awkward until it was already offered.

Heading to the living room with a quiet exhale, Ever eased back into the corner of the couch. He turned the glass in his hands once, then twice. "Showing up at her door might be the sort of thing people would label romantic," he said at last, tone even. "But given everything that’s happened, a surprise like that might not be welcome. Or... it might be hard for her to believe what’s changed without seeing it." His brow furrowed faintly, as if trying to calculate the probability of success with insufficient variables. "Words on a page might not carry it." He couldn't simply say I'm how I was before, because that wasn't quite right. He felt better to be sure, but he was still him at the end of the day, with all of his strange ticks and needs; with no violet sea to swallow away the worst of himself, there are notable difference he was sure Isla would pick up on.

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"...No," Mateo says slowly of his sister, shaking his head and not trying to hide the concern on his face - concern he's been able to pass of as breezy nonchalance in her presence, at least. "She is worried about part of a deal she made to get what was necessary to make the barrier. If she uses it, she is worried The Family will come for everyone she cares about." His expression alone tells that he's not so sure that their purple interlopers will play fair regardless, but it isn't his barrier and it isn't his decision. "I think a lot of people will stay at Haulani just because it is safer. But there has not been any official call for people to come there, I do not think."

Lifting his empty glass in a semi-toast to say he would absolutely be there should Ever want an introduction to Frey's more salacious side, he surrenders said glass for it to be refilled and easily swans into the living room at the invitation. Slouching comfortably on the sofa and taking another sip of rum, he hears the aviator out with a warm smile that suggests he is all too used to the examination of variables and the development of several trains of thought. But it's nice to hear Ever sound quietly interested, rather than almost fanatically concerned.

"Ever," he says gently, something twinkling in his blue eyes. "Do you want to get back together with Isla? Because if the answer to that is yes, then you'll figure it out. You know her - not what's conventionally romantic, what she would consider appropriate. And you'll do what feels best."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever stilled, the rim of his glass just below his mouth, though he didn’t drink. Mateo’s question landed with quiet precision—neither invasive nor rushed, just neatly placed. Like a compass needle finally allowed to settle.

His gaze slid to the corner of the room, to the half-shadowed shelf where his books were aligned by height and topic. " don’t know," he said, honest and soft. "I think... I want to want to." His thumb rubbed against the glass again, slow and steady. "But I don’t know if I can give her what she deserves. I think what you've allowed me to be is the closest to who I actually am, whereas with the infection.." The aviator pauses, frowning. "I was more. More than I know I can be, even now." There wasn’t bitterness in it—just recognition, maybe even a touch of regret. For all the things he was now capable of, he certainly wasn't the sort of man to go on a sex-sebatacle to try and please someone. "I don’t want to hurt her again by not being enough. Not in the way she needs."

Ever finally looked back at Mateo, steady but uncertain. "But I’m also tired of measuring the potential damage of every decision like it’s some kind of crash report." There was a small, ironic twitch at the corner of his mouth."Maybe I should just try."

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Slipping off his shoes and tucking his feet up beneath him, Mateo gives Ever all the time in the world to think about his question. Even were they not who they were, it's the sort of topic that deserves to be considered properly, and when the aviator does finally speak up, he finds himself with a smile so crooked that it only dimples one of his cheeks. "It is good to hear you talk about yourself like this," he admits, even if the topic of conversation is, ultimately, what to do about the Isla of it all. "I feel like this is you as well, for what it is worth. A balance between two extremes."

And in his opinion, why wouldn't anyone love that? Still, Mateo's biased. He already loves Everest, if not in exactly the same way that Isla does. (Did? Does.)

Hearing him reason out the pros and cons and coming up with the all important try, the botanist grins properly now, reaching out with his glass again to gently clink it against Ever's. "Here is to trying, then," he says, his agreement warm and immediate. "If nothing else, you will have your answer - and perhaps a lot more besides that - and will be able to stop wondering. And so will she."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EVEREST

Ever clinked his glass softly against Mateo’s, the gesture precise but not perfunctory—done with care, not just completion. "To trying," he echoed, the words unfamiliar on his tongue in this context, but not unwelcome. He took a sip, exhaled slowly, and let the warmth settle deeper in his chest than the rum could reach.

Mateo’s comment lingered in the air, though—the one about this version of him, the balance. Ever didn’t respond right away. He just glanced at his friend, and something in his expression flickered—not surprise exactly, but maybe a quiet note of relief that someone else had noticed it too. That someone saw this as something worth preserving.

"It’s strange," he said finally, "to feel like myself and still be different. But I think I can live in that space now." His fingers tapped once, lightly, against the side of the glass before stifling a yawn behind the rim of his glass, blinking once—slow and deliberate. "I’m going to bed," he announced, not dramatically, just plainly, the way someone might state the time.

He rose, smoothing the front of his shirt out of habit rather than necessity. "If you want to stay over, you can. I’ve got clean blankets, and you already know where everything is." His tone didn’t press—it was just the extension of something quiet and familiar. A rhythm they’d fallen into more than once before.

Oh I'm just a house of stones
Somebody hold me steady

Code stolen from Queen Sky