i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
Theres something nostalgic about the strangely domestic setting they’re in, if it’s possible to be nostalgic for something you’ve never had. It only adds to the strange, off balance feeling he’s in, though it’s a tip towards the good. A soft smile is thrown towards the other man, fond, warm, despite the shadows in his eyes.
For every tip though, there is a tip back, and this is one he does to himself.
Obviously, his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. And he’s normally so good at dripping honey through the smoke, wrapping the thorns in velvet, but he can’t even manage that. Honestly, Nate isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. It feels like some kind of failure right now. The struggle is echoed in Sunjata’s voice, and that feel like even more of one. ”Thank you.” There’s something a little softer in Nate’s voice, not necessarily easier, but maybe it’ll feel better to let it be flat than fake a jovial tone he doesn’t feel.
Hands come to rest on him again, around his hips, and Nate pauses, leaning back into the touch. His own hands keep moving, stirring the food in the pan, pushing it to one side so there’s to crack eggs into. The question though, still somehow soft despite the rough edges of Korofi, has his shoulders dropping, has him pulling the pan out of the burner and setting it on top of the stove so he can turn, and reach out to wrap his arms around Sunjata. There’s so much he tries to press into the tight embrace, but it’s not quite enough, doesn’t make up for actual words. ”No, I...” He sighs, and tries the rougher edges of a language that isn’t is, the extra separation helping a little. ”Laat my dit net klaarmaak.” Just a moment that he can force into feeling normal, coffee and breakfast and a comfortable quiet.
Whatever else is settled in his gut, in his throat, can slither out afterwards.
For every tip though, there is a tip back, and this is one he does to himself.
Obviously, his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. And he’s normally so good at dripping honey through the smoke, wrapping the thorns in velvet, but he can’t even manage that. Honestly, Nate isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. It feels like some kind of failure right now. The struggle is echoed in Sunjata’s voice, and that feel like even more of one. ”Thank you.” There’s something a little softer in Nate’s voice, not necessarily easier, but maybe it’ll feel better to let it be flat than fake a jovial tone he doesn’t feel.
Hands come to rest on him again, around his hips, and Nate pauses, leaning back into the touch. His own hands keep moving, stirring the food in the pan, pushing it to one side so there’s to crack eggs into. The question though, still somehow soft despite the rough edges of Korofi, has his shoulders dropping, has him pulling the pan out of the burner and setting it on top of the stove so he can turn, and reach out to wrap his arms around Sunjata. There’s so much he tries to press into the tight embrace, but it’s not quite enough, doesn’t make up for actual words. ”No, I...” He sighs, and tries the rougher edges of a language that isn’t is, the extra separation helping a little. ”Laat my dit net klaarmaak.” Just a moment that he can force into feeling normal, coffee and breakfast and a comfortable quiet.
Whatever else is settled in his gut, in his throat, can slither out afterwards.
NATE
