i'll turn myself into a gun, because it's all i have, because i'm hungry and hollow
There are only a handful of people brave or stupid enough to come near him when he’s like this, and fewer still who Nate would let stay so close. Bart slips into his space like a raindrop, like he fucking belongs there in the burgeoning storm, and its so easy, so casual, that Nate shifts, turning towards his brother with a kind of openness he offers no one else.
“M’fuckin’ angry.” Nate replies, not bothering to lower the heat in his voice. If there is one person who understands, who really and truly does, it’s Bart. He’ll be able to see the way Nate’s hands don’t actually stop moving, even if they do stop working. The way his jaw works and his grow just a touch distant, before snapping over to Bart for a breath. “Fuck off ‘bout my head, yers is bigger.” It’s sloppy, the attempt to shift focus, but it’s not really supposed to be anything more than an attempt. A plea to save this for a little later, to let him wallow and stew in this bright anger just a little longer.
A plea he knows Bart is going to resolutely ignore.
Licking his lips, Nate shifts, and finally drives the nail he’s playing with into the wood, not caring about the marks he leaves behind. “S’all fucked up.” He offers without prompting, chest heaving for all the good it does him. His eye finds his brother again, brows furrowed. “Miss fuckin’ blackin’ out t’deal with shit.”
“M’fuckin’ angry.” Nate replies, not bothering to lower the heat in his voice. If there is one person who understands, who really and truly does, it’s Bart. He’ll be able to see the way Nate’s hands don’t actually stop moving, even if they do stop working. The way his jaw works and his grow just a touch distant, before snapping over to Bart for a breath. “Fuck off ‘bout my head, yers is bigger.” It’s sloppy, the attempt to shift focus, but it’s not really supposed to be anything more than an attempt. A plea to save this for a little later, to let him wallow and stew in this bright anger just a little longer.
A plea he knows Bart is going to resolutely ignore.
Licking his lips, Nate shifts, and finally drives the nail he’s playing with into the wood, not caring about the marks he leaves behind. “S’all fucked up.” He offers without prompting, chest heaving for all the good it does him. His eye finds his brother again, brows furrowed. “Miss fuckin’ blackin’ out t’deal with shit.”
and just want something to call my own
NATE
