i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
There is so much of Nate that is so grateful for everything he has in the other man. For the easy, quiet way he just moves, shifting as Nate does, their eyes still not meeting, the ascended scraped far too raw for it still, so much so that his own thoughts feel like too much, like sandpaper scraping across the surface. The pain doesn't stop them, though they're senseless, nigh incomprehensible, drops of water in a hot pan, flashing, dancing, and fading.
Realistically, there's no difference between this time and the last, except for the positions, the roles reversed. It should be easy to let tears fall, between the hand on his head, the closeness, the fact he he's the one breaking this time, but Nate can't (won't?) let them. Can't dip that much into weakness, can't slip that much. But it has been a long time since he's had someone to hold him in the dark, someone who wouldn't let go. It's been a long time since he's had someone care for him exactly as much as he cares for them. And he doesn't know, exactly, how to deal with it, except to try and make up for it, for the fact that it's him on this side of it.
There's a steel in Sunjata's voice, clipping off his teeth and sparking something in Nate (would it be bad luck to say fire?), his shaking slowing, fingers spreading wide on the other mans back. "I hear you." He replies back, after a moment spent to find his voice, something more steady in it than there had been for a while. And, more importantly, he believes Sunjata, believes that the other man will move heaven and earth if he needs to, knows that he'll be right there, along for the ride or leading the charge, or whatever is needed to keep them together.
"I... haven't been so afraid of letting go of something, someone, in..." Nate shakes his head, pulls back, his hands dragging along Sunjata's back, his shoulders, creeping up along his jaw. They settle there a moment, blue eyes still facing down, those extra few inches the attuned has on him thanked and not cursed, for maybe the first time. "Tot die einde." He whispers back, hands rising to cover stormy eyes, Nate not quite ready to face those depths, but wanting, needing, to press a kiss against the other man.
He doesn't know if anything is resolved, doesn't know if it really can be. Sunjata will get injured, he'll get injured, and they'll more than likely find themselves in this dance, again, and again. It doesn't feel resolved. But he does feel lighter, just a little bit. Enough that, if the other man tried even a little bit, Nate's hands would move, show the stress drawn long over his features, the furrow between his brows.
Realistically, there's no difference between this time and the last, except for the positions, the roles reversed. It should be easy to let tears fall, between the hand on his head, the closeness, the fact he he's the one breaking this time, but Nate can't (won't?) let them. Can't dip that much into weakness, can't slip that much. But it has been a long time since he's had someone to hold him in the dark, someone who wouldn't let go. It's been a long time since he's had someone care for him exactly as much as he cares for them. And he doesn't know, exactly, how to deal with it, except to try and make up for it, for the fact that it's him on this side of it.
There's a steel in Sunjata's voice, clipping off his teeth and sparking something in Nate (would it be bad luck to say fire?), his shaking slowing, fingers spreading wide on the other mans back. "I hear you." He replies back, after a moment spent to find his voice, something more steady in it than there had been for a while. And, more importantly, he believes Sunjata, believes that the other man will move heaven and earth if he needs to, knows that he'll be right there, along for the ride or leading the charge, or whatever is needed to keep them together.
"I... haven't been so afraid of letting go of something, someone, in..." Nate shakes his head, pulls back, his hands dragging along Sunjata's back, his shoulders, creeping up along his jaw. They settle there a moment, blue eyes still facing down, those extra few inches the attuned has on him thanked and not cursed, for maybe the first time. "Tot die einde." He whispers back, hands rising to cover stormy eyes, Nate not quite ready to face those depths, but wanting, needing, to press a kiss against the other man.
He doesn't know if anything is resolved, doesn't know if it really can be. Sunjata will get injured, he'll get injured, and they'll more than likely find themselves in this dance, again, and again. It doesn't feel resolved. But he does feel lighter, just a little bit. Enough that, if the other man tried even a little bit, Nate's hands would move, show the stress drawn long over his features, the furrow between his brows.
NATE
