The nights have lost their minds
Warmth swims in Nate’s eyes like a diamond sheen, his jaw trembling around a silent swallow. He watches his husbands hand push through one sons hair, then the other, and his lips twitch in and out of a smile. “Yeah.” The single word breaks his voice, and he has to bite his tongue hard to keep steady. “You angling for my job, sonskyn?” This comes out more even, Nate’s tongue dipping out to wet his lips.
Whatever fragility has bloomed on his face hardens again as he thinks on the Herald, the hand not cradled by Sunjata’s lifting to caress his jaw. “It’s what bad people do.” Nate says. “They twist everything so they’re never on the bottom, so it’s always your fault.” Another hand appears to poke Sunjata’s chest before crackling back into nothing, something serious simmering on the ascended’s face. Something that makes his nose wrinkle and his lips pull up like someone just served him a plate of shit, and he’s trying to be polite about it. That’s a fair evaluation of his opinion of Safrin anyway, but just when he thought she couldn’t be any worse, just when he was sure she was at the bottom, something else comes up.
It really was amazing what divinity could do.
The simmering finally boils over into rage, Nate careful to keep his voice quiet, to let every ounce of hostility free not in volume but in tone, in the twist of her face. “So that’s it huh? We move away from everyone, some place where the house isn’t going to get burned down every season, and that’s just selfishness?” Nate’s hand tightens on Sunjata’s face, and his fingers frighten in around Sunjata’s hand, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. “So it’s better to run off with the man who’s already had one kid die under him? The one who couldn’t keep his husband from fucking other children into the world behind his back?” Nate scoffs, and throws his head back, pulling the twins onto his lap when he does, as if that’s all it will take to keep them safe and close.
“Guess the only thing that matters to her is that he’s got her hand so far up his ass you can see her fingers when he talks, huh?” Nate leans in suddenly, bumping their foreheads together with more force than he means, but it should be enough to get Sunjata to focus back on him. “Its not your fault, Sunny. Believe me.”
Whatever fragility has bloomed on his face hardens again as he thinks on the Herald, the hand not cradled by Sunjata’s lifting to caress his jaw. “It’s what bad people do.” Nate says. “They twist everything so they’re never on the bottom, so it’s always your fault.” Another hand appears to poke Sunjata’s chest before crackling back into nothing, something serious simmering on the ascended’s face. Something that makes his nose wrinkle and his lips pull up like someone just served him a plate of shit, and he’s trying to be polite about it. That’s a fair evaluation of his opinion of Safrin anyway, but just when he thought she couldn’t be any worse, just when he was sure she was at the bottom, something else comes up.
It really was amazing what divinity could do.
The simmering finally boils over into rage, Nate careful to keep his voice quiet, to let every ounce of hostility free not in volume but in tone, in the twist of her face. “So that’s it huh? We move away from everyone, some place where the house isn’t going to get burned down every season, and that’s just selfishness?” Nate’s hand tightens on Sunjata’s face, and his fingers frighten in around Sunjata’s hand, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. “So it’s better to run off with the man who’s already had one kid die under him? The one who couldn’t keep his husband from fucking other children into the world behind his back?” Nate scoffs, and throws his head back, pulling the twins onto his lap when he does, as if that’s all it will take to keep them safe and close.
“Guess the only thing that matters to her is that he’s got her hand so far up his ass you can see her fingers when he talks, huh?” Nate leans in suddenly, bumping their foreheads together with more force than he means, but it should be enough to get Sunjata to focus back on him. “Its not your fault, Sunny. Believe me.”
And the mornings are unkind
NATE
