i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
Nate takes in a deep breath that he absolutely doesn't need, then nods against the other man's shoulders, squeezing a little bit harder than he really needs to, lingering a moment longer than he really needs to. And there's something a little more genuinely clear in his face when he pulls back, lips quirked up in something that is not a smile, but that is grateful. Sunjata goes to tend to the coffee, and he turns back to the pan, cursing a little bit when he realizes the eggs are harder than what he'd wanted. Another tip towards bad, small as it might be. He sighs, then cracks two more, keeping a closer eye these ones than the first ones.
Now that he's communicated something, even a postponement, Nate lightens, just a bit, able to shut out everything but the task at hand. He turns to start cutting the meat down into slices, setting those in the pan around the eggs and wiping his hand on a towel. He turns as a mug is offered towards him, the smell of coffee obvious, dull as it is. Before he even takes the first sip, he knows there's sugar in it, but he waits until he's sipped it to smile. A good tip, just as small, but filled with more meaning than it should be able to hold.
The offer to help is almost more appreciated than the coffee is, and Nate immediately hums, setting his mug down to point at the water leftover. "Butter in that." Comes the request, his help me cook voice eerily similar to his doctor's orders voice. As Sunjata (hopefully) moves to do as he'd said, Nate grabs the last little bit of onion and garlic he'd had and throws it into the pot. "When that's boiling, add," he hums, wrinkles his nose as he considers, "about a mug? Of the cornmeal. Don't stop stirring it."
As soon as he's done dishing out instructions, Nate reaches out to take the cigarette from between Sunjata's lips and put it in his own mouth smiling mutely around it as he returned to his own pan. If he was standing maybe a little closer to Sunjata than he really needed to, then he wasn't going to point it out. But his own pan is done quicker than what he's directed the other man to do, and pulled away from heat so Nate can lean more fully against the attuned. "This is gonna be good." He promises softly.
Now that he's communicated something, even a postponement, Nate lightens, just a bit, able to shut out everything but the task at hand. He turns to start cutting the meat down into slices, setting those in the pan around the eggs and wiping his hand on a towel. He turns as a mug is offered towards him, the smell of coffee obvious, dull as it is. Before he even takes the first sip, he knows there's sugar in it, but he waits until he's sipped it to smile. A good tip, just as small, but filled with more meaning than it should be able to hold.
The offer to help is almost more appreciated than the coffee is, and Nate immediately hums, setting his mug down to point at the water leftover. "Butter in that." Comes the request, his help me cook voice eerily similar to his doctor's orders voice. As Sunjata (hopefully) moves to do as he'd said, Nate grabs the last little bit of onion and garlic he'd had and throws it into the pot. "When that's boiling, add," he hums, wrinkles his nose as he considers, "about a mug? Of the cornmeal. Don't stop stirring it."
As soon as he's done dishing out instructions, Nate reaches out to take the cigarette from between Sunjata's lips and put it in his own mouth smiling mutely around it as he returned to his own pan. If he was standing maybe a little closer to Sunjata than he really needed to, then he wasn't going to point it out. But his own pan is done quicker than what he's directed the other man to do, and pulled away from heat so Nate can lean more fully against the attuned. "This is gonna be good." He promises softly.
NATE
