NATE
Warmth wraps between them, as much a blanket as the soft fuzzy wrapped around their actual bodies, and hopefully enough of a balm to soothe the rough patches of their conversation. Their fingers entwine together, Haai’s fur stuck between them, and Nate feels a part of him lift, his lips tugging into a smile. Frustration bubbles through next, something Nate tries to combat with warmth, comfort.
Theres no better time to start than right now. Nate points out with a faux cheer, his thumb rubbing against Sunjata’s hand. We have a nice big plot out there. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t actually sure he knew what a hyacinth was, but it was the thought that counted, right? The warmth between them drops to an abyssal cold, Nate left on the precipice alone, desperately trying to hold onto something, both his hands squeezing in a physical reaction that he can’t stop.
She cared too much. The words are an oxymoron. The words are a threat.
Not as much as the words echoing through Sunjata’s head, shared with him. A deep, stern voice that is not his husbands. That has Nate immediately on edge, his teeth clenching with an audible click to stop the ugly sneer spreading across his face. They match an image in his head, a fraction of a memory that isn’t his own, a ghost of a vision. Nate can’t help himself from tugging Sunjata closer, from wrapping the blanket tighter around them. He’s tripped, fallen into a spiral that isn’t his own, but that’s so familiar it aches.
An audible growl leaves him as the chamber comes up again, the horrors his mind concocts pushing him past words, if only for a moment. What comfort can he offer, what can he say, except you’re past that now, except you’re safe with me? He ends up offering a rope, sinking down deep enough into that abyss to offer out his hand and drag Sunjata back up with him, and it works.
I know bleeding hearts. He sounds just a touch too excited, but he’s not fluent in flowers like some, can’t to bring to mind any of the blooms his husband lifts except lavender, and only because of a candle his mother had set out in a sad attempt to brighten a room. My nonna had a huge bush of them in her front yard. There was always bugs in it. He laughs, the memory of pink flowers, a brilliant blue sky, and a house with worn paint behind it. It’s a roller coaster, coming back to this high, but in lieu of an artificial ease Nate simply tries to flow with things as best as he can.
Theres no better time to start than right now. Nate points out with a faux cheer, his thumb rubbing against Sunjata’s hand. We have a nice big plot out there. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t actually sure he knew what a hyacinth was, but it was the thought that counted, right? The warmth between them drops to an abyssal cold, Nate left on the precipice alone, desperately trying to hold onto something, both his hands squeezing in a physical reaction that he can’t stop.
She cared too much. The words are an oxymoron. The words are a threat.
Not as much as the words echoing through Sunjata’s head, shared with him. A deep, stern voice that is not his husbands. That has Nate immediately on edge, his teeth clenching with an audible click to stop the ugly sneer spreading across his face. They match an image in his head, a fraction of a memory that isn’t his own, a ghost of a vision. Nate can’t help himself from tugging Sunjata closer, from wrapping the blanket tighter around them. He’s tripped, fallen into a spiral that isn’t his own, but that’s so familiar it aches.
An audible growl leaves him as the chamber comes up again, the horrors his mind concocts pushing him past words, if only for a moment. What comfort can he offer, what can he say, except you’re past that now, except you’re safe with me? He ends up offering a rope, sinking down deep enough into that abyss to offer out his hand and drag Sunjata back up with him, and it works.
I know bleeding hearts. He sounds just a touch too excited, but he’s not fluent in flowers like some, can’t to bring to mind any of the blooms his husband lifts except lavender, and only because of a candle his mother had set out in a sad attempt to brighten a room. My nonna had a huge bush of them in her front yard. There was always bugs in it. He laughs, the memory of pink flowers, a brilliant blue sky, and a house with worn paint behind it. It’s a roller coaster, coming back to this high, but in lieu of an artificial ease Nate simply tries to flow with things as best as he can.
Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits
How bad I wanna call it quits
