NATE
sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same
these mysteries of life, that just aint my thing
these mysteries of life, that just aint my thing
The kitchen counter had been… well, not immaculate, but at least tidy the night before. Now, it’s a battleground, discarded corpses of eggshells and bacon wrappers tossed haphazardly out of Nate’s way. Bottles lay on their side, drained and spiritless, and a funeral procession of cups and mugs stand upright and solemn in the midst of it all, though on two seem to have anything in them. As soon as he notices Sunjata opening the door again, Nate grabs one of them and finishes it off, the cloudy liquid disappearing down his throat before it can be questioned.
Nate’s eyes are blown wide, strong at Sunjata as he sits himself down. He has to bite his tongue to fight a smile, his face trembling with the effort of remaining serious. “So,” he flinches as the bacon spits at him again, and steps to the side, reaching for his steaming coffee mug, “y’come here often?”
“Course I got coffee Sun… Sun.” The stumble seems unintentional, Nate’s brows furrowing before he shakes himself out of it. “S’there.” Nate waves his hand at nothing in particular before he moves to grab it all himself, finding a chipped mug in the cupboard for Sunjata and filling it with a dark, bitter smelling espresso from the banged up silver pot resting on the stove, kitty corner to the pan playing host to more bacon and eggs than two men should reasonably need.
Nate’s eyes are blown wide, strong at Sunjata as he sits himself down. He has to bite his tongue to fight a smile, his face trembling with the effort of remaining serious. “So,” he flinches as the bacon spits at him again, and steps to the side, reaching for his steaming coffee mug, “y’come here often?”
“Course I got coffee Sun… Sun.” The stumble seems unintentional, Nate’s brows furrowing before he shakes himself out of it. “S’there.” Nate waves his hand at nothing in particular before he moves to grab it all himself, finding a chipped mug in the cupboard for Sunjata and filling it with a dark, bitter smelling espresso from the banged up silver pot resting on the stove, kitty corner to the pan playing host to more bacon and eggs than two men should reasonably need.
if i told you that i knew about the sun and the moon, I'd be untrue
the only thing i know for sure, is what i wanna do
the only thing i know for sure, is what i wanna do
