BART
Whatever it is Nate does, it's fucking weird, and Bart admittedly jumps out of his skin when an extra electric hand unbuttons the shirt his brother's wearing. Of course it's immediately schooled away off his face, as reluctant to show unease now as he had been as a child watching his first horror flick. It's a matter of pride you see. Helps to be distracted by the tattoo that's fully revealed, unable to help the twitch of his lips at the explanation given. "I dunno, he fit the imagery of a snake jus'as well as a rat," he huffs, hands instinctively seeking to pinch at the loose skin of Nate's side before recalling far too late that his twin can't feel it the same way anymore. It's a realization that has him lingering with their foreheads pressed together, needing to soak up his brother's presence a moment more. Appreciating anew Nate's unshakeable nature - forced it may be for Bart's benefit.
"Missed you more," he chokes, vulnerability like alcohol in his throat, burning and caustic with disuse. Where Nate has had years to meet and bond with others who love and support him, Bart has been adrift in an ocean of enforced solitude, and only now is he remembering anew what it's like to open up. It helps that Nate was always that person standing on the same side of the barricade; never locked out in the first place. Nate isn't the only one thumbing away tears by time they part to say the least.
Being reminded of his brother's godlike status makes his stomach go through a topsy-turvy sort of motion that threatens to sweep the ground out from under him again, but all words are stolen from both it seems with the plainness of his own inked arm outstretched between them. How he doesn't know, because logically godhood should be more staggering. Emotionally, well. There's this.
Nate's touch is like a balm to an open wound that never healed, like the needles that had imparted the ink had scored a line too grievous to scab over. Bart's fingers tremble as he stares at his own skin and the way Nate's hand conceals the writing. Replacing an epitaph with a living contradiction. When he manages to wrench his gaze back up, his darker eyes are thick with clouded tears, and his lips tremble with emotion even as they wrench into a sideways grin. "Me too, you ass. Registered nurse." The cheapest, easiest course he'd been able to do for certification so that the hospital couldn't realistically kick him out of the terminal ward he'd haunted ever since Nate's death. Like neither of them had ever climbed back out of that particular hole after watching their other half wither away inside cold, halogen-lit rooms. It's a thought he doesn't want to entertain, but the alternative of considering what his twin had to barter and forsake after Bart's own death is just as bad.
Like a chain cut loose, Nate's last words free him from his frozen state, and Bart tips forward like a felled tree back into his brother's gravity. Free hand reaching for that head of dark hair that matches his own, and pressing his wet eyes to Nate's collarbone this time to erase even more space from between them. "You've got me. I found ya, we're here. Together." Against all odds and human logic. "I love ya," he whispers, strained and hurt as it comes out against Nate's shoulder. Words he'd made sure to say every single day Nate lay in that bed, and yet it had never made up for the days he hadn't. The times taken for granted. Bart won't make the same mistake again, sappiness be damned.
"Missed you more," he chokes, vulnerability like alcohol in his throat, burning and caustic with disuse. Where Nate has had years to meet and bond with others who love and support him, Bart has been adrift in an ocean of enforced solitude, and only now is he remembering anew what it's like to open up. It helps that Nate was always that person standing on the same side of the barricade; never locked out in the first place. Nate isn't the only one thumbing away tears by time they part to say the least.
Being reminded of his brother's godlike status makes his stomach go through a topsy-turvy sort of motion that threatens to sweep the ground out from under him again, but all words are stolen from both it seems with the plainness of his own inked arm outstretched between them. How he doesn't know, because logically godhood should be more staggering. Emotionally, well. There's this.
Nate's touch is like a balm to an open wound that never healed, like the needles that had imparted the ink had scored a line too grievous to scab over. Bart's fingers tremble as he stares at his own skin and the way Nate's hand conceals the writing. Replacing an epitaph with a living contradiction. When he manages to wrench his gaze back up, his darker eyes are thick with clouded tears, and his lips tremble with emotion even as they wrench into a sideways grin. "Me too, you ass. Registered nurse." The cheapest, easiest course he'd been able to do for certification so that the hospital couldn't realistically kick him out of the terminal ward he'd haunted ever since Nate's death. Like neither of them had ever climbed back out of that particular hole after watching their other half wither away inside cold, halogen-lit rooms. It's a thought he doesn't want to entertain, but the alternative of considering what his twin had to barter and forsake after Bart's own death is just as bad.
Like a chain cut loose, Nate's last words free him from his frozen state, and Bart tips forward like a felled tree back into his brother's gravity. Free hand reaching for that head of dark hair that matches his own, and pressing his wet eyes to Nate's collarbone this time to erase even more space from between them. "You've got me. I found ya, we're here. Together." Against all odds and human logic. "I love ya," he whispers, strained and hurt as it comes out against Nate's shoulder. Words he'd made sure to say every single day Nate lay in that bed, and yet it had never made up for the days he hadn't. The times taken for granted. Bart won't make the same mistake again, sappiness be damned.
Even if I do a little just to get me through the night
Always getting me in trouble, smoking like I wanna die
Always getting me in trouble, smoking like I wanna die
