NATE
A snort, both mental and physical, leaves Nate as he shifts to be more comfortable, to cradle around the other as much as he himself is cradled. He doesn’t think about why it comes, doesn’t feel anything about it, though if he paused he might realize what the reaction means, might wonder why he scoffs at the idea that he could be loved more. It already feels like Sunjata loves him more than anyone ever has. It’s greedy to think about more.
There had been a more lecherous slant to Nate’s suggestion, something that gets lost in the waves of warmth and security lapping at the banks of his mind now. Honestly, it feels more intimate to talk than it does to be sexual, and he’s willing to try and lean in to it. To try and break down the last few walls he holds in place. To try and let go.
I don’t remember what I’ve already told you. The admission is oil slicked, not quite true, not quite a lie. Some things burn bright in his mind, and some are washed away in the haze of day after day without distinction, and these conversations are memories he’s more or less sacrificed in the hopes of remembering something better. Its strange, telling things to you too. He doesn’t have the words to describe strange how but he can share the feeling, the discomfort of comparing scars, when he can clearly see who’s are worse, who’s lived through more heartache. There’s guilt too, unexplained, though the reason is clear to Nate. Clear as any of this can be.
Even with the decision made to try and open up, a silence opens between them, a hesitation, a chip in Nate’s armour. You know I’ve never had anything like this before. He shifts down, squishing Sunjata tighter for a breath. Someone like you. When I was younger, I always thought... I might end up like my old man. Better looking, and fucking smarter, but... doing the same kind of shit. I thought it was... kinda cool. There’s a lot of things flowing through Nate while he speaks, a distant kind of buzzing discomfort underplaying everything, disgust, giddy hilarity, and shame. He’s not sure if he’s waiting for some kind of response, or waiting for his next words to appear in his head, but the silence begins to grow again, the blue eye still closed tight.
There had been a more lecherous slant to Nate’s suggestion, something that gets lost in the waves of warmth and security lapping at the banks of his mind now. Honestly, it feels more intimate to talk than it does to be sexual, and he’s willing to try and lean in to it. To try and break down the last few walls he holds in place. To try and let go.
I don’t remember what I’ve already told you. The admission is oil slicked, not quite true, not quite a lie. Some things burn bright in his mind, and some are washed away in the haze of day after day without distinction, and these conversations are memories he’s more or less sacrificed in the hopes of remembering something better. Its strange, telling things to you too. He doesn’t have the words to describe strange how but he can share the feeling, the discomfort of comparing scars, when he can clearly see who’s are worse, who’s lived through more heartache. There’s guilt too, unexplained, though the reason is clear to Nate. Clear as any of this can be.
Even with the decision made to try and open up, a silence opens between them, a hesitation, a chip in Nate’s armour. You know I’ve never had anything like this before. He shifts down, squishing Sunjata tighter for a breath. Someone like you. When I was younger, I always thought... I might end up like my old man. Better looking, and fucking smarter, but... doing the same kind of shit. I thought it was... kinda cool. There’s a lot of things flowing through Nate while he speaks, a distant kind of buzzing discomfort underplaying everything, disgust, giddy hilarity, and shame. He’s not sure if he’s waiting for some kind of response, or waiting for his next words to appear in his head, but the silence begins to grow again, the blue eye still closed tight.
Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other
what we do to each other
