i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
"Well aren't I lucky then?" He purrs back, ignoring the mountains of unsaid words to grip onto the easy, the teasing. There is a deep glimmer of appreciation, of understanding in his eyes though, locked on Sunjata as they are. Even if they day doesn't follow the tease, and it won't, it can't, not with Nate twisted up like he is, not with Sunjata injured like he is, there's still a promise that it will be spent together. Maybe long enough for words to get dragged out of him, but more than likely just long enough for him to shove everything back down as deeply and tightly as he can, so he can play at being perfectly fine for a while longer.
Nate drops his fork as the attuned nearly chokes on his coffee, the hand that had once held it lifting to cover his mouth, the laugh that coughs out of him, and the other stretching out to pat at Sunjata's shoulder, just to make sure he's okay. Breakfast has gone well so far, and while it would be unfortunately appropriate to have a fiasco like death by coffee happen to them, that doesn't mean Nate want's it to pass. He waits until steel eyes turn back to him to drop the hand at his mouth, his own grin just as crooked. "I'll make sure you do it right." A tease back, because if there's one thing Nate knows, it that he has nothing to teach Sunjata about knives, but it doesn't stop an imagine forming in his mind, standing just behind the other man, chin on his shoulder, hands on his hands, chopping something for another morning like this, another perfect slice of breakfast.
If they make it to another morning like this. Some insidious voice within him whispers. There are a dozen things on the horizon that could rip it apart, that could do anything to them, and all at once every what if threatens to crash over him like a tidal wave. Nate ignores the thoughts, the voice, as best as he can, and lets his hand drop to grab the one resting on his legs, squeezing it as he takes his own sip of coffee, as his bowl is pilfered from, just as he expected. There's a long suffering sigh, a dramatic roll of blue eyes, the mug set down so he can set his bowl in front of Sunjata instead.
His little bubble of safety, of not thinking about it is coming to an end though, and out of habit, out of a deeply ingrained defence mechanism, he casts out for another small crisis to use to ignore his big crisis, another distraction, a new bubble of just let me do this. "How's your gut been? It looks... bad, today." Comes the casual as can be cast, after another sip of coffee.
Nate drops his fork as the attuned nearly chokes on his coffee, the hand that had once held it lifting to cover his mouth, the laugh that coughs out of him, and the other stretching out to pat at Sunjata's shoulder, just to make sure he's okay. Breakfast has gone well so far, and while it would be unfortunately appropriate to have a fiasco like death by coffee happen to them, that doesn't mean Nate want's it to pass. He waits until steel eyes turn back to him to drop the hand at his mouth, his own grin just as crooked. "I'll make sure you do it right." A tease back, because if there's one thing Nate knows, it that he has nothing to teach Sunjata about knives, but it doesn't stop an imagine forming in his mind, standing just behind the other man, chin on his shoulder, hands on his hands, chopping something for another morning like this, another perfect slice of breakfast.
If they make it to another morning like this. Some insidious voice within him whispers. There are a dozen things on the horizon that could rip it apart, that could do anything to them, and all at once every what if threatens to crash over him like a tidal wave. Nate ignores the thoughts, the voice, as best as he can, and lets his hand drop to grab the one resting on his legs, squeezing it as he takes his own sip of coffee, as his bowl is pilfered from, just as he expected. There's a long suffering sigh, a dramatic roll of blue eyes, the mug set down so he can set his bowl in front of Sunjata instead.
His little bubble of safety, of not thinking about it is coming to an end though, and out of habit, out of a deeply ingrained defence mechanism, he casts out for another small crisis to use to ignore his big crisis, another distraction, a new bubble of just let me do this. "How's your gut been? It looks... bad, today." Comes the casual as can be cast, after another sip of coffee.
NATE
