Shut the front door

The training with Liam had helped, but not enough. It had worked out his body, but his mind, his chest, those are moving too fast and uncertain. So, rather than risk doing something rash and dumb by staying in the main area where he might run into her, or anyone else for that matter, he buys a taxi over to one of the little islands. He tells the man to come back before nightfall, and hopes the promise of more coin will be enough to ensure he has a ride back, because no fucking way is he swimming back, and in that case he might just become a hermit on this island and befriend a volleyball or something.

Finding as fine a spot as any on the sand (note: they all suck, because it's SAND), Kaisel plops himself down. Sand immediately weasels its way between his sneakers and socks, so his meditation retreat it already starting off strong. Sighing, he yanks off his boots and socks, slapping the grains from the fabric and pouring the rest from the shoes with a shake for good measure. As clean as he can get them, he sets them neatly aside, his backpack joining them. He gathers his legs into crisscross applesauce style and rests the back of his hands on his knees, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He's supposed to just, not think. That's how it works, right? Just... experience? The roar of the ocean is behind him, a steady rhythm, while the wind sweeps in once and a while to ruffle the edges of his hair and get lost in the folds of his hoodie. It is peaceful by all accounts, but the tension remains woven in his 'brow and the corners of his mouth.

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest Hart is counting by colour again. Pale green. Frosted white. Cobalt blue (rare, rare, careful). He crouches near the edge of the tide with one hand curled protectively around a glinting shard, inspecting its edges for smoothness before tucking it into the pouch at his side. The sand here is coarse, almost coral-like, and sticks in clusters to his knees and cuffs where he's knelt a little too long—but he doesn't notice. Not really. Not when the sun keeps catching on bits of sea-glass like clues in a puzzle, like pieces left just for him to find and make into something useful.

He’s already got three greens, two clear, and one precious blue. Maybe if he finds enough he can group them into gradients, or make a layered piece. Isla likes texture, so maybe—

He doesn’t see the hoodie until he’s nearly walked into it.

"Oh—!" The sound is sharp, like a broken-off note, and Everest halts so suddenly that the glass in his pouch clinks. He stiffens, straightens, arms tight at his sides like he’s trying to disappear without shifting. "Sorry. I—sorry, I didn’t see you. I wasn’t... looking. I didn’t think anyone was here." His voice is quieter now, apology tucked between syllables, and his gaze flicks upward just once—enough to register the man’s face before retreating somewhere safer, like the horizon. Or the sand. Or his shoes.

The shift of sand near him and the sudden, abrupt sound of a voice causes Kaisel's eyes to fling open with surprise that rivals the other man's. Much like Ever, he'd been certain he'd be alone all the way out here, so the stark disturbance of that is unsettling in every way, not the least of which is how fucking close Ever got to him without him noticing. Kaisel visibly flinches back, hands darting up to block his face while his knees draw up to shield more of him, defense born out of practice, even as the apologies begin to stammer out.

What might have been a yell is purposefully swallowed back, and gradually the startling effect breaks apart into the reality of the situation. Not a threat, just a nearly blind stranger, it'd seem. Kaisel exhales a loud breath, the expenditure of the contained shout, as he reaches around for his bag and pulls out a paper and pen. He scribbles hastily onto it, then turns it around to Ever and hoists it out for him to read. He taps a finger along it, to draw attention, because he notices Ever's gaze is wandering around like spilled marbles.

No worries 

He jerks the pad back and jots down a bit more beneath it, turning it around anew.

Meditating, wanna join?

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest’s brow furrows as the other man flinches—visibly, instinctively—like he’s bracing for a blow. The sight catches in his chest like a too-sharp breath, confusion flickering briefly across his face before being shoved down, replaced by caution. He doesn’t move closer. Just stands, stock-still and blinking, as the man fumbles for something in his bag and scribbles a note with rapid efficiency.

No worries. The smiley face throws him.

Everest shifts his weight, glancing down at the paper, then up at the man, then back again. The quiet of it—the whole exchange—settles over him like a soft blanket pulled too suddenly. It takes him a beat too long to realise he’s still holding his breath, and another to exhale it as he nods, quickly, a little stiffly, and begins adjusting the pouch at his side so it won’t spill. He doesn’t answer aloud. Just kneels in the sand with exaggerated care, legs folding beneath him like a formula he’s followed a hundred times.

He sets the pouch between them like a peace offering. A few bits of rounded glass catch the sun.

When the second note appears, Everest squints at it. The word meditating feels slightly out of sync with the way the man had recoiled earlier, but Everest doesn’t say that. He just lifts one hand and points gently to his own ear, then tilts his head to the side—questioning, but not pushy. A careful kind of ask: Can you hear me? it means, though he doesn’t say a word.

And then, just in case, he offers a small, apologetic smile.

It's an instant relief when Ever chooses to sit with him, because while Kaisel had purposefully chased the silence and the emptiness out here, he can't actually stand to have it. The roar of the ocean only does so much, he needs the noise of people, of life, to feel at peace. Though Ever has gone silent, there's a certain presence that he offers that fills the need enough. So Kaisel smiles bright and broadly at him, scribbling a new note.

Hi, I'm Kaisel!

The pouch that is placed between them causes the pad to droop a bit in his hand, until he absently sets it down, some sand inevitably spilling across the page. His eyes widen a bit as they catch on the glinting sea glass, and without thought of approval, he reaches in for one, picking a greenish one rather by accident among the mix. He pulls it close to inspect it, and the smile that he wears suddenly falters and fades altogether. It's exactly like her eyes. His thumb brushes over the smooth edge while he holds it like something precious, a distance seeming to find the stare he levels on the sea glass.

He sets it back into the pouch hurriedly, a hefty sigh released as his gaze swings to the sand, fuzzy as he focuses beyond the stranger. He sweeps his hand through his hair as he leans onto his elbow, propped against his drawn knees. The motions from the stranger earn a more focused flick of attention though, and Kaisel's 'brow furrows with some hint of confusion. He reaches back for his pad, pulling a face as it upends the sand onto his lap. Fuck's sake, beach glitter everywhere.

You can't hear?

Kaisel tilts his head, wondering what such a silent world must be like, and figures it's pretty damn lonely to be trapped with just the noise of your mind. He can barely stand it for five minutes.

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest watches the reach with visible tension—not alarm, just a stiffening along his shoulders and the subtle way his hands press into the sand. He doesn’t stop Kaisel, but it’s clear he wants to. That pouch had a system. There was an order to it. And now it’s been shifted, even if only by one misplaced green. He waits, quietly, until the shard is returned—only then does he lift the pouch and wordlessly slide it to his far side, placing his hand over it in a way that isn’t exactly possessive but is very clearly protective. A boundary, politely but firmly set.

His expression stays neutral, or tries to. He doesn’t meet Kaisel’s eyes, gaze landing instead somewhere vague and inoffensive near his shoulder. Reading the new note, his frown deepens—not upset, more like a misfired equation. Something not lining up. He tilts his head just slightly, then shakes it. And because the notepad’s already in rotation, he reaches for it without asking, flipping to a clean page and angling it neatly on one knee.

The handwriting that appears is small, blocky, and so precise it looks printed rather than written. He doesn’t pause between lines, already composing as he moves: 

My name is Everest Hart. 

I used to live in Stormbreak. I’ve seen you around the Dragoons’ offices.

I thought maybe you couldn’t hear. Because of the notepad.

I can.

He hesitates after the last sentence, considering whether to explain more, but ultimately decides not to. Instead, he just taps twice near the Everest Hart line and passes the pad back with the same deliberate care he gave to placing the sea glass.

One 'brow lifts higher than the other as Ever carefully removes the peace offering, like someone who has reluctantly offered to share their candy with you expecting you to say no thanks. Fortunately for Ever, Kaisel cares a lot less about sea glass than he does candy, so other than a bemused expression he pays the exchange little more attention.

As if the mildest form of vengeance possible, Ever returns the favor, grabbing the pad of paper from between Kaisel's hands before he has the sense to hold on firmer. A quiet squeak breaks free as Kaisel's mouth hangs open in bewilderment, but he clamps his mouth shut, one hand pressing over it for good measure. As Ever writes, careful with each stroke, Kaisel can't help but lean forward with a curious press of what the fuck is he doing? He'd heard Ever speak already, so he doesn't need the notepad.

The man returns the pad with what could have been the page of a book cut out and pasted on if not for Kaisel having watched him jot it down. Damn, that's kinda scary just how neat it is. Kaisel doesn't think he could manage that even if he tried really hard, which he certainly would not be doing. Once he gets over the way the words look, he reads them, a risk of a laugh breaking in that again he chokes back. While he imagines Frey would not mind senseless noises, he's not jeopardizing it.

Kaisel glances up, a two-fingered salute in greeting given before he sets his pen back to the pad, careless with his strokes in the hurry to get them down and communicate. If this was all he could ever do, it'd be fucking exhausting, which is maybe part of the point Frey is trying to make, their one warning having gone a bit unheeded among all the chaos of his mind and, well, everything as of late. How had it been simpler when the Family had been here?

Hi Everest, that's a dope name.

I was a Stormbreak Dragoon, I've been in King's End ever since the tower.

I can hear, so you can speak. The notepad is for a quest.

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest watches the two-fingered salute like it’s a gesture from another species—not unfamiliar, just not one he knows the correct return for. His fingers twitch once at his side, then curl into the sand again, opting to let the moment pass rather than risk an incorrect reply.

He waits while Kaisel scribbles, eyes tracking the movement but not reading ahead. Only once the pad is offered back does he lean forward, glancing down, his gaze flickering over the scrawl once...then again, slower. "…Thank you," he says aloud, voice soft and careful in the space between waves. "I was named after a mountain. In one of the Outlander worlds." A pause, not long enough to be awkward, but just enough to prove he’s choosing each word on purpose. "It was one of the taller ones I believe. I don’t think it fits, but—" He lifts one shoulder slightly, cutting himself off as Kaisel hadn't asked.

"I moved to Torchline around then too," he adds, nodding to the note about King’s End. His gaze drops again, brushing over the earlier message—meditating, wanna join?—and then returns to Kaisel. This time he meets the other man’s eyes, just briefly.

"Is the meditation part of your quest?" he asks, cautious curiosity lining the edges of his tone. "If it is, and...if you want help, I could stay. I’m not very good at meditating, though I do know a little bit about it, but I can be quiet." He says the last part as if that might be an actual skill—like a contribution he can offer, rather than just absence.

Kaisel has noticed that Ever does everything slow. Which, at first, he had taken to be some wariness on the stranger's part, given they're both out here in the middle of nowhere. He had then assumed it had to do with Ever thinking he couldn't hear, causing every normal bit of movement and all the things you don't normally think about to become something you're now monitoring, unsure what makes it through or not. Maybe the first part still holds a little true, because names exchanged over paper does not a friend make, but it's still a bit peculiar.

The story about the mountain is interesting honestly, because that's an impressive thing in nature, something most people know the name of if the mountain's large enough. Sounds like in this case, it's so big it's name gets mimicked. Kaisel quickly scrawls out some more words, trying to jump in before Ever's topic swaps.

I was named after a dragon!
I like mountains. Do you ever climb?

It makes sense, to name a baby after a mountain because the child, or the family, likes to climb. As much sense as any name does, at least, because other than the fact his mother and father each have a dragon he isn't sure why he received such a name. Maybe he breathed fire once as an infant. He'll have to ask them next time he sees them.

As Ever mentions moving to Torchline, Kaisel nods, having expected little else since it was really just the Dragoons that went to King's End.

Do you like Torchline?
King's End is creepy.

The lean on his elbow straightens up a bit as Ever returns to the point of all this, a lopsided smile fitting onto Kaisel's face as he shakes his head a bit at some of Ever's question. Again he returns to the paper, sighing audibly, the restraint to keep his words back when he is capable of speech proving difficult at times, and he's positive he'll get a hand cramp if he keeps this up.

No. Meditating to help with a problem.
I'd like if you stayed. Too quiet otherwise.

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest nods politely at the dragon comment, though a small furrow tugs at his brow like he’s not quite sure how to respond to that. It’s not that he doesn’t believe him—just that he’s not sure what it’s meant to mean. He smooths the hem of his sleeve before answering, voice quiet as ever. "I’ve never climbed a mountain." There’s no apology in it. Just a statement of fact, offered plainly, as though the idea of someone doing such a thing is both fascinating and slightly absurd.

His fingers brush over the pouch of sea glass as he considers the next part of the conversation. He doesn’t answer right away when asked if he likes Torchline—just frowns slightly, gaze skimming out over the curve of shoreline before dropping to a nearby ripple in the sand. "There’s someone important to me in Torchline," he says at last, tone warming a bit, as if that’s all the explanation needed. "So it’s...better because of that." He pauses. Then adds, "I did some studying in King’s End a few years ago, but I stayed mostly at the House of Midnight and didn't do much exploring."

As for the note about meditation being for a problem, Everest nods again, slowly, not pushing for more. When Kaisel scribbles the rest and offers it over, Ever’s head tilts. "'Too quiet otherwise,’" he echoes, eyes flicking back up to the other man with a small trace of confusion. "But if we’re meditating...isn’t quiet the goal?"

He fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve, brushing grains of sand away in tidy, repetitive motions. "Do you want to meditate, then? I can be very quiet. I just wasn’t sure if we were doing that, or not doing that."

Ever's answer about the mountain is a disappointment that doesn't much change anything at all except that it would have been way cooler if he had been named after a very tall mountain, was himself a very tall man, and had a habit of scaling very impressive mountains. Kaisel himself has neither a dragon to his name or a strong affinity to them beyond the usual, so perhaps there's nothing to be gained from fancy words disguised as identity and they're ultimately as basic of bitches as a John Smith. Although Kaisel does think climbing is rather fun, and might have said as much if he didn't have to work to write it all out quick enough to keep up with the pace of the conversation and all the natural winding paths it takes, the effect of meeting someone new.

A smile spreads as Ever reveals a warmer side to him, and though it's mild, Kaisel picks up on the change, maybe paying closer attention than normal when he has to focus on more than running every thought out of his head with his mouth. There's a certain mirroring to them, each having been in Stormbreak and considering the potential of moving to Torchline for that special someone. It likely ends there though, as Kaisel's betting Ever doesn't have to watch his back around the shores, and that he's remade his home along the beach with this person, a fair bit different from cramming into a small ship that was never really made for him or selecting a house to live in just to be closer, but still not with them.

The idea of which returns him back to the problems at hand.

Different kinds of quiet.

Kaisel writes down and turns it around to Ever, shrugging his shoulders like he's not sure he can explain it any better than that, paper or otherwise. All the small habits Ever has don't seem to register much to Kaisel, the the way the man brushes the sand from his sleeves is something Kaisel finds himself doing anytime after he's visited the beach. Usually it's his shoes though.

Yeah, let's do it.

He taps the paper as he sets it down, refolding his legs and hands back as he was, pulling in a deep breath and letting it out slow. He'd been told once you're supposed to empty every thought when you exhale like that, supposed to feel them all leave, and just be left with the present while you find your ...center?

 

Kaisel

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

Everest reads the words Different kinds of quiet, and though the phrase doesn’t quite make logical sense—quiet is an absence, not a type—he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, the way he’s learned to when someone says something that might be more emotional than literal. He doesn’t understand it, exactly, but he understands that Kaisel does. That’s usually enough.

He rolls his shoulders, the motion a subtle effort to loosen the band of tension that’s always coiled between them. His hands fall to rest lightly on his knees, fingers uncurling with a little shake, and after one last glance at Kaisel to confirm he’s serious about this—he closes his eyes. The first few seconds are spent trying to decide whether he’s breathing too shallowly.

Then he starts tracking thoughts like birds: that the sand is warmer beneath his ankles now, that the salt is sticking to his lashes, that his pouch is still properly sealed, that Isla prefers blue over green but green is more common, that if he finds three more cobalt pieces, he could finish the lower ring—

He exhales, like his mother taught him to. Long. Steady. The thoughts don’t leave him, but at least they line up more quietly. And it’s working, maybe. Or at least it’s not not working. Until the ground shifts.

Everest’s eyes blink open immediately, pupils narrowing as the subtle tilt of the island reorients itself beneath them. He steadies himself with one hand, frowning slightly as the motion continues, almost imperceptible—unless you’re someone trained to notice the way something was just five degrees to the left a moment ago. "We should move," he murmurs, already reaching for the pouch as he nods toward where the sandbars are shifting. Rising carefully, Ever brushes his palms against his pants as he gets to his feet. "Thank you. For letting me join."

That part’s awkward, but sincere. A pause. Then, as he adjusts the strap across his chest: "I need a few more pieces for my windchimes. Good luck with your quest." It’s the only explanation he offers before heading off again—shoulders tight, steps careful, eyes scanning the shoreline for the next glimmer of sea glass waiting to be found.

~FIN