you're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling
It’s hard work, trying to step in sync again, but it’s worth it. At least in times like this, on conversations like this. If only they could have started here, could have talked like this before Safrin stuck her fingers in between them. Maybe things would be better, maybe it would be easier to swallow.
They make it inside just in time, the sky opening up once more in a torrential downpour, rain beating against every surface of the house and filling it with a calming buzz of sound. Whatever latent agression still lingers in Nate’s bones is worked out with the way he kicks his boots off, the way his sodden shirt is ripped off and left hanging by the doors puddle forming beneath it almost immediately.
Pushing rain slicked hair back and out of his face as he steps into the kitchen, Nate is already grinding the coffee when his husband joins him, the smell of smoke clinging to him so obviously the ascended notices it. He hadn’t noticed the house was cold, hadn’t noticed the rain was cold. Hadn’t bothered to think about it. ”Yeah. I’ll have one.” Setting a kettle on the stove first, Nate drifts over and grabs himself a smoke, lighting it with one of the matches instead of searching for the lighter that never seems to be where he remembers it.
Leaning over the island, Nate let’s his gaze move slowly over his husband, taking everything in. Committing it to memory, not for the first time. Not talking, as if that’s surprising. Nate sighs through his nose, and pulls on the smoke until the entire thing burns up in one long breath, the trick feeling less impressive than it had so so long ago, in the VlamVloed. ”I still love you.” He breathes around a mouthful of smoke, like it’s useful. Like it’s productive.
He drops the butt into the ever present ashtray on the counter and steps back, moving to fuss over the stove and the kettle as it begins to sing. It’s not a lengthy endeavour, but it seems to take a lifetime. Eventually though, Nate returns to the island, two steaming mugs of black coffee in his hand, both lightly sweetened, both heavily spiked.
They make it inside just in time, the sky opening up once more in a torrential downpour, rain beating against every surface of the house and filling it with a calming buzz of sound. Whatever latent agression still lingers in Nate’s bones is worked out with the way he kicks his boots off, the way his sodden shirt is ripped off and left hanging by the doors puddle forming beneath it almost immediately.
Pushing rain slicked hair back and out of his face as he steps into the kitchen, Nate is already grinding the coffee when his husband joins him, the smell of smoke clinging to him so obviously the ascended notices it. He hadn’t noticed the house was cold, hadn’t noticed the rain was cold. Hadn’t bothered to think about it. ”Yeah. I’ll have one.” Setting a kettle on the stove first, Nate drifts over and grabs himself a smoke, lighting it with one of the matches instead of searching for the lighter that never seems to be where he remembers it.
Leaning over the island, Nate let’s his gaze move slowly over his husband, taking everything in. Committing it to memory, not for the first time. Not talking, as if that’s surprising. Nate sighs through his nose, and pulls on the smoke until the entire thing burns up in one long breath, the trick feeling less impressive than it had so so long ago, in the VlamVloed. ”I still love you.” He breathes around a mouthful of smoke, like it’s useful. Like it’s productive.
He drops the butt into the ever present ashtray on the counter and steps back, moving to fuss over the stove and the kettle as it begins to sing. It’s not a lengthy endeavour, but it seems to take a lifetime. Eventually though, Nate returns to the island, two steaming mugs of black coffee in his hand, both lightly sweetened, both heavily spiked.
& you're trembling and he reaches over
and touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist
NATE
