Midnight, the side of the yard where the light does not reach, and Ivar is stacking crates that do not need stacking. He does not stop when you come over. He does not look up either.
Then he does, once.
"Ask,"
he says.
It is one word and it sits there. He waits the way a man waits who has never once been in a hurry in his life, and he does not fill the silence, and after a moment it becomes clear that the silence is not a test, it is just what he has instead of small talk.
Midnight, the side of the yard where the light does not reach, and Ivar is stacking crates that do not need stacking. He does not stop when you come over. He does not look up either.
Then he does, once.
"Ask,"
he says.
It is one word and it sits there. He waits the way a man waits who has never once been in a hurry in his life, and he does not fill the silence, and after a moment it becomes clear that the silence is not a test, it is just what he has instead of small talk.