- NATE -
but who am I to say?
let's all just run away
let's all just run away
The sharpness of Nate's words only seems to reach the other man momentarily, a realization that neither of them seem to really want to face for any longer than the moment. Then it's back to the glass, back to the spiral, back to Nate not know what to do. And that scares him, which only starts a loop, a cycle in his mind because he wants to help, wants to be able to comfort his friend, wants to be able to help shoulder some of the burden, but there's nothing he can do. Except get scared, and angry, and sad, and no one of those is going to help him, help them, help Sunjata.
It's so much easier to throw himself into a righteous anger, leave behind the loop, and it seems to be more effective than anything else he's done as well. "She has no fucking right." It's a growl, a snarl, and all Nate can do is hope it doesn't come across as anger at the other man. "It's not your fault Sunjata. It's... it's so fucked up that she... that anyone would try to... who fucking gets to decide how you grieve? Who is she to fucking hold it up? And..." Another pause, where Nate all but chews his tongue, to try and control his volume, reaching out instead to hover his hand over the attuned's jaw, his fingertips barely ghosting against ash stained skin. He wants to say he'd do something, because fuck, but all he can do is work his jaw and stare, get the other man to try to look at him. How is he supposed to soothe in the face of a violation as deep as that? It brings the sadness back suddenly.
The sadness is so much harder to bite back than the anger, so much harder to swallow, and the question doesn't help. Feels almost like an accusation. What are you trying to take from me? What else is there to take from me? "I don't need anything from you. I just... Need you. And I'm a selfish fuck." More selfish than he's willing to admit, more selfish than he can put to words, than he's willing to put to words. "You're... like a brother to me. I want to fucking deal with your stupid bullshit life with you. And I want you in mine. I..." Nate stops, nostrils flaring, as he realizes suddenly he's making this too personal, taking it too personally. He's forgotten to keep up that distance, that guard of humour.
It's so much easier to throw himself into a righteous anger, leave behind the loop, and it seems to be more effective than anything else he's done as well. "She has no fucking right." It's a growl, a snarl, and all Nate can do is hope it doesn't come across as anger at the other man. "It's not your fault Sunjata. It's... it's so fucked up that she... that anyone would try to... who fucking gets to decide how you grieve? Who is she to fucking hold it up? And..." Another pause, where Nate all but chews his tongue, to try and control his volume, reaching out instead to hover his hand over the attuned's jaw, his fingertips barely ghosting against ash stained skin. He wants to say he'd do something, because fuck, but all he can do is work his jaw and stare, get the other man to try to look at him. How is he supposed to soothe in the face of a violation as deep as that? It brings the sadness back suddenly.
The sadness is so much harder to bite back than the anger, so much harder to swallow, and the question doesn't help. Feels almost like an accusation. What are you trying to take from me? What else is there to take from me? "I don't need anything from you. I just... Need you. And I'm a selfish fuck." More selfish than he's willing to admit, more selfish than he can put to words, than he's willing to put to words. "You're... like a brother to me. I want to fucking deal with your stupid bullshit life with you. And I want you in mine. I..." Nate stops, nostrils flaring, as he realizes suddenly he's making this too personal, taking it too personally. He's forgotten to keep up that distance, that guard of humour.
grab your saints and pray
and we'll burn this world today
and we'll burn this world today
