don't you know i'm no good for you?
He hasn’t noticed if and when Nate has descended the stairs throughout the night. He hasn’t noticed that it’s to check on him and ensure that he stays. He doesn’t know where he’d go if he didn’t, though, and so with the suffocating tension of the house, Sunjata is almost happy to curl up in the nest that his companion provides, to share her warmth downstairs. It still doesn’t stop the nightmares, though, regardless of how much he works to tire himself out before it, no matter how much he tries to think of other things.
Haai, however, as Nate approaches and scratches her head, leans into the touch — leaving a small lick in response when he goes to pull his hand away, emerald eyes peering up at the demigod with exhaustion. Sunjata doesn’t stir, though, too wrapped up in what occurs in his dreams to fully come to when Haai pulses with affection for Nate. Sunjata’s ears are still pinned, lips in a sleepy version of a snarl, pulled back loosely to show pale teeth.
It’s a good thing Nate isn’t wearing the blood ring, in all honesty. Because when the coffee is being made, the beans ground and the sound distracts Haai from the nest to trot over and inspect anything for dropped snacks, Sunjata’s left alone in the makeshift bed, a low rumble of a growl that slips from his throat as if he doesn’t entirely know that the sound he hears isn’t a part of his nightmare. In an instant, the growling dog whines, sleepily yelps, before he’s shifting back into himself, awake finally, and surging upward with a hand to his throat as he pants for air and squeezes his eyes shut.
He’s hardly wearing anything in this moment, a pair of shorts with no shirt or anything else, peeling his hand from his throat, from the scar along his neck to rub at the tattoos to his arm, to applying pressure to his collarbones as if it might rouse him more awake. He hasn’t noticed Nate yet, not as he tries to push aside the nightmare and pull himself out of it. The scent of the coffee brewing when Nate gets there certainly does, though, and his hand drops from his face and chest to look over into the kitchen, to spy his husband working there and he swallows hard through a dry mouth. What does he even say?
Probably the same thing he says every morning since. “Oh... Morning.” It’s said with exhaustion and awkwardness, tearing his head away from the kitchen to try and pull himself together out of sight.
Haai, however, as Nate approaches and scratches her head, leans into the touch — leaving a small lick in response when he goes to pull his hand away, emerald eyes peering up at the demigod with exhaustion. Sunjata doesn’t stir, though, too wrapped up in what occurs in his dreams to fully come to when Haai pulses with affection for Nate. Sunjata’s ears are still pinned, lips in a sleepy version of a snarl, pulled back loosely to show pale teeth.
It’s a good thing Nate isn’t wearing the blood ring, in all honesty. Because when the coffee is being made, the beans ground and the sound distracts Haai from the nest to trot over and inspect anything for dropped snacks, Sunjata’s left alone in the makeshift bed, a low rumble of a growl that slips from his throat as if he doesn’t entirely know that the sound he hears isn’t a part of his nightmare. In an instant, the growling dog whines, sleepily yelps, before he’s shifting back into himself, awake finally, and surging upward with a hand to his throat as he pants for air and squeezes his eyes shut.
He’s hardly wearing anything in this moment, a pair of shorts with no shirt or anything else, peeling his hand from his throat, from the scar along his neck to rub at the tattoos to his arm, to applying pressure to his collarbones as if it might rouse him more awake. He hasn’t noticed Nate yet, not as he tries to push aside the nightmare and pull himself out of it. The scent of the coffee brewing when Nate gets there certainly does, though, and his hand drops from his face and chest to look over into the kitchen, to spy his husband working there and he swallows hard through a dry mouth. What does he even say?
Probably the same thing he says every morning since. “Oh... Morning.” It’s said with exhaustion and awkwardness, tearing his head away from the kitchen to try and pull himself together out of sight.
i've learned to lose, you can't afford to
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
