Don't make me a liar, 'cause I swear to god When I said it I thought it was true
There is more in the gaze Melita throws out to the sea than Nate thinks he'd be able to understand in a lifetime, even if they were closer. What he wouldn't give for just a glimpse into it, for the chance to see what she saw and avoid all the awkward, uncomfortable chatter instead. He manages to tempt her gaze away from the surf though, back towards himself, a bright grin crossing his face as her nose wrinkles. It's a touch of normal, at least he hopes it is, before he drags the focus back onto her.
It doesn't take a practiced eye to see her struggle, to see the war between evading the reason she was out here again and revealing it. Nate is quiet the whole time, unblinking eyes watching her as she turns back towards the surf. He can't imagine the kind of weight a memory must have to be willing to give it away, can't imagine choosing to give away any of his own. They made him who he was, as far as he was concerned. But a stubborn, prideful pain is not something he'd wish one someone else, so instead he just hums softly. "Coming back as a bad dream?" Comes the soft question, his hand coming up to stroke at his chin.
There wasn't really any comfort he could offer, for either bad memories or bad dreams, but Nate moved another step closer, reaching out to actually press his hand to her shoulder this time, to offer that scrap of comfort. "Maybe this is just part of it. Some kind of last fuck you before you actually get what you need." He suggests, ill equipped to help with God matters, but still willing to try.
It doesn't take a practiced eye to see her struggle, to see the war between evading the reason she was out here again and revealing it. Nate is quiet the whole time, unblinking eyes watching her as she turns back towards the surf. He can't imagine the kind of weight a memory must have to be willing to give it away, can't imagine choosing to give away any of his own. They made him who he was, as far as he was concerned. But a stubborn, prideful pain is not something he'd wish one someone else, so instead he just hums softly. "Coming back as a bad dream?" Comes the soft question, his hand coming up to stroke at his chin.
There wasn't really any comfort he could offer, for either bad memories or bad dreams, but Nate moved another step closer, reaching out to actually press his hand to her shoulder this time, to offer that scrap of comfort. "Maybe this is just part of it. Some kind of last fuck you before you actually get what you need." He suggests, ill equipped to help with God matters, but still willing to try.
NATE
