Wrong Kind of Thirst

NATE

The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.

Nate had overheard heard some gossip about a rescue mission into the woods not too long ago, and had been smart enough to piece together the news together with the recent disappearance of his new best friend. Now though, he was hearing that the group had returned, and it had spurred him into action. Nate walked with a purpose, some might say an eagerness, looking through town to try and find Adam.

Disappointment followed him, Nate’s search turning up nothing, until he realized he had skipped the most obvious place. He slipped in through the temple, making a beeline for the bar, when Nate noticed a familiar lanky form sitting alone in one of the pews. On near silent feet, Nate came up behind the bench, then leaned over it in one smooth motion, smiling at Adam as he did. ”You look awfully lonely here. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nate hopped onto the other side of the pew and say beside Adam, his legs splayed out just enough the their knees bumped together. ”Heard some stories about where you’ve been.” Nate said casually, doing his best to keep the undercurrent of actual concern out of his voice. ”Any of ‘em true?”