'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse
and this fast lane living, it's a curse
There are few answers Sunjata could give that would strike more fear in Nate than ‘I’m not sure.’ but he has to work work with what he’s given. ”Okay.” There is still a terrible gentleness in his voice, but it’s better than that cracking, better than him stumbling. ”That’s alright.” He leans into the fingers against his jaw, swallows against it, against the comfort he takes from it, the inexplicable guilt that comes from needing to be comforted still.
A hand rises to cradles the attuned’s head as he presses in against Nate’s chest again, refusing to let go. Suggestions run through his head, almost touch his lips, but asking the question is something of a test, a check for exactly how worried he should be. Cool fingers rub against temples, as if Nate could feel the hurt within, could soothe it just with this simple gesture. An answer is pressed into his chest, softer than anything he expects, but sensible enough that a channel of worry drains out of him.
”Food and a shower. We can do that.” Yet Nate doesn’t move, not right away. He can’t, really, not when arms tighten around him, when a hand snakes out to wrap around his. ”Do you want to wait here, or come to the kitchen with me?” He keeps the options simple, while he cycles through what they have, what he can make that’s fast. The blue eye drops again, brighter, clearer now, the dark clouds clearing as an actual plan begins to form.
A hand rises to cradles the attuned’s head as he presses in against Nate’s chest again, refusing to let go. Suggestions run through his head, almost touch his lips, but asking the question is something of a test, a check for exactly how worried he should be. Cool fingers rub against temples, as if Nate could feel the hurt within, could soothe it just with this simple gesture. An answer is pressed into his chest, softer than anything he expects, but sensible enough that a channel of worry drains out of him.
”Food and a shower. We can do that.” Yet Nate doesn’t move, not right away. He can’t, really, not when arms tighten around him, when a hand snakes out to wrap around his. ”Do you want to wait here, or come to the kitchen with me?” He keeps the options simple, while he cycles through what they have, what he can make that’s fast. The blue eye drops again, brighter, clearer now, the dark clouds clearing as an actual plan begins to form.
better tell me what's your life worth
i think it's time for a change, 'cause the drugs don't work
