all i can do is stand on the curb and say sorry about the blood in your mouth
Just as slowly as it had opened, his hand curls around the fingers stroking at his palm, at the scar there. Not enough to stop them, but enough to feel closer, somehow. "I'unno." It's mumbled, too much effort to enunciate the words, to speak them as more than a breath, a whisper. And he wishes there was something more to offer, some actual suggestion he had, because he recognizes the need behind the question, to be doing something, to be helping, to keep the spiral from settling in. Nate shifts, pressing in against the attuned, leaning into the lips, squeezing just a little tighter while he did.
There has to be something he can offer out though, something he can say, and it sends him back to that mumbling, rambling place, clearer now that his voice isn't competing with sobs, though it somehow manages to be utterly emotionless. "I wanna sleep. Wanna... not be here, awake, for... for a while." That's not something the other man can give him though, is it? Not something helpful. But there's nothing he needs, not now that the pain is gone, that his throat is recovered enough to let him speak with some kind of clarity. "Don't want you t'go."
There has to be something he can offer out though, something he can say, and it sends him back to that mumbling, rambling place, clearer now that his voice isn't competing with sobs, though it somehow manages to be utterly emotionless. "I wanna sleep. Wanna... not be here, awake, for... for a while." That's not something the other man can give him though, is it? Not something helpful. But there's nothing he needs, not now that the pain is gone, that his throat is recovered enough to let him speak with some kind of clarity. "Don't want you t'go."
i wish it was mine
NATE
