all i can do is stand on the curb and say sorry about the blood in your mouth
Somewhere between the last few scrapes of the blade, and the reassurances that tremble out of the other man, something in Nate breaks, properly. Guilt, and fear, and panic, and all it does is make him babble more, make him even more incomprehensible. "Can' see," and mumbles of "Don'... don't," the clearest, in the mess of words and cries. And he knows it's not helping, knows it's only making things worse, making them harder, but he doesn't know what else to do, except make noise, and cling, until the promise silences him, cuts him off.
Maybe before, when he was numb and distant, it would have been better, but now a single blue eye finds the attuned's face, the stormy gaze that crosses him, and Nate is no longer distant, no longer far away. How much better would this be, if he was still in a place of hazy misunderstanding? Instead, the singular gaze is blown wide by everything he has suffered in the span of a handful of moments, everything he's put Sunjata through now, too much to have words for, even as it pours into his stare clearly, obviously. The eye contact only lasts a moment, before he's pulled in, briefly, tightly.
When his face, what's left of it, what's ruined on it, is covered again, when he's pulled in again there's a hiccup of noise, almost like a sob, almost like a laugh. Nate's arms wrap around the attuned, almost slow, almost hesitant to start, but he leans into it quickly, seeking every scrap of comfort he can.
There's a soft noise pressed into Sunjata's neck, an acknowledgement that they're not moving, not really, the thought comforting, just a little. He doesn't want to move, not even the few flights upstairs, where he knows they're going. Words stick in his throat, the request to be carried dying as the unbidden memory of carrying Sunjata up those same stairs surfaces. "Walk. Ll'walk." He doesn't want any memories associated with this, doesn't want them tainted.
A long moment passes between the words and the action though, a moment where he needs to be held, needs to sap some of the safety that comes from being held close, and protected. How long had it been since he felt unsafe? Not since he was a child, really, and like this? Never. Never. He's helpless, and ruined, and he has no idea what to do beyond this, where to go, or--
Nate rises to his feet, the motion so quick that he sways with it, that he feels his stomach lurching, though there's no nausea, and he feels like there should be. Maybe all of this would be easier if it felt the way he thought it should, if it wasn't numbed and highlighted by the ascension. But he steadies in a moment, and leans against Sunjata, not needing to be carried, but still needing the support to make it anywhere.
Maybe before, when he was numb and distant, it would have been better, but now a single blue eye finds the attuned's face, the stormy gaze that crosses him, and Nate is no longer distant, no longer far away. How much better would this be, if he was still in a place of hazy misunderstanding? Instead, the singular gaze is blown wide by everything he has suffered in the span of a handful of moments, everything he's put Sunjata through now, too much to have words for, even as it pours into his stare clearly, obviously. The eye contact only lasts a moment, before he's pulled in, briefly, tightly.
When his face, what's left of it, what's ruined on it, is covered again, when he's pulled in again there's a hiccup of noise, almost like a sob, almost like a laugh. Nate's arms wrap around the attuned, almost slow, almost hesitant to start, but he leans into it quickly, seeking every scrap of comfort he can.
There's a soft noise pressed into Sunjata's neck, an acknowledgement that they're not moving, not really, the thought comforting, just a little. He doesn't want to move, not even the few flights upstairs, where he knows they're going. Words stick in his throat, the request to be carried dying as the unbidden memory of carrying Sunjata up those same stairs surfaces. "Walk. Ll'walk." He doesn't want any memories associated with this, doesn't want them tainted.
A long moment passes between the words and the action though, a moment where he needs to be held, needs to sap some of the safety that comes from being held close, and protected. How long had it been since he felt unsafe? Not since he was a child, really, and like this? Never. Never. He's helpless, and ruined, and he has no idea what to do beyond this, where to go, or--
Nate rises to his feet, the motion so quick that he sways with it, that he feels his stomach lurching, though there's no nausea, and he feels like there should be. Maybe all of this would be easier if it felt the way he thought it should, if it wasn't numbed and highlighted by the ascension. But he steadies in a moment, and leans against Sunjata, not needing to be carried, but still needing the support to make it anywhere.
i wish it was mine
NATE
