I laugh not to cry

Nate

Nate had been having what could generously be called a trying night (not that he was even sure it had been a night, he had slept once, and not well) and he was beginning to reach the end of his rope. Between worry over Sam, and the sick twisting feeling in his chest that was also inexplicably tied to Sam, and the general, overarching miasma of fear and worry that hung in the guild, he was starting to get touchy. In the worst possible situation one could be touchy in.

Thankfully, he had a man on the inside who could give him something to take the edge off.

There was still enough sense in him to wait until Sam had drifted off, as much as he could, before he crept out of the room, seeking a tall dark someone with a bag full of the good stuff. Nothing too strong, and nothing that smoked, but something to keep him fucking calm in the face of everything. Or at least the facade of calm.

”Hey bud. S’been a while, huh?” Was the overly casual greeting he offered when he found the man of the hour, a hand clapping on Adams shoulder and a desperation he knew had to be familiar in his eyes.

So let's face it this was never what you wanted
But I know it's fun to pretend

Now blank stares and empty threats
Are all I have, they're all I have