NATE
No answer comes to his question, not that it matters much, Nate's own words melting away from his head as soon as he crosses into the threshold of the kitchen. His experiment tea takes longer than he expects, but it's presented to Sam with a kind of smug satisfaction, Nate's chest deflating just a touch with how long much time the other ascended spends looking it over. "Would I lie to you?" Nate rumbles, a crooked smile on his face. It's not exactly convincing, but it is the truth, a fact Sam seems to realise after his first sip.
Nate finds himself organizing while Sam sips at his drink, straightening things out in an order that only really made sense in his head. If he ever got over this, ever recovered from the sickness, he was going to lose his mind trying to find things.
He doesn't sit until Sam speaks again, drawing his cyclopean gaze up, his body moving to a chair without looking. "People don't just stay sick." Nate says, as if that settles things. He is the authority, after all. "You'll get better. Everyone will." This is softer, and almost easier to believe because of it, though Nate still refuses to include himself among the number of the ill.
Nate finds himself organizing while Sam sips at his drink, straightening things out in an order that only really made sense in his head. If he ever got over this, ever recovered from the sickness, he was going to lose his mind trying to find things.
He doesn't sit until Sam speaks again, drawing his cyclopean gaze up, his body moving to a chair without looking. "People don't just stay sick." Nate says, as if that settles things. He is the authority, after all. "You'll get better. Everyone will." This is softer, and almost easier to believe because of it, though Nate still refuses to include himself among the number of the ill.
So unscrew my head and rinse it out
Polish my thoughts, turn into doubts
Polish my thoughts, turn into doubts
