swimming in the murky water

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

“How should you have?” He asks instead, trying to understand. Trying to figure out how coming to a new place where you pick up a job title to help people should make you suspicious of everyone in cases like this. This wasn’t like Korofi to Sunjata, where everywhere he went he was looked for. This wasn’t like how he imagines America to be when Nate talks of it.

Though perhaps that’s where the confusion and frustration lies even more. But then he’s shifting, moving a smidge to down the rest of his drink and feel the glass as it clatters to the table, his depth perception off in the dark – but he makes no move to lighten the room. Just as he barely makes an effort as he tells Nate of the Fingers, hearing the clipped short oh I see that has him wanting to scream back.

So he turns, to face Nate a bit more fully, still watching for the shadow that moves in the dark. “I have a couple of days before I have to go.” His jaw clenches again and he works at it to a point where it almost throbs and hurts and he reaches up to rub at his temple again, hissing against the pain of his head swelling beneath the touch. “So we’d better figure it out, then, yeah?” Because he doesn’t have a whole lot of luck on these adventures. Not with the dragon, not with the volcano, not with the fiat lux monster. Even the Fingers were a difficult time until Ludo showed up and stopped the lava.

What if he actually doesn’t come back?

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

”How could I not have?” This has been the pattern of his life, periods of quiet, or peace, moments where he thought things might be okay, and there was always a fall. And the more he’d believed in it, the more painful it was. ”This is how things go. It’s how it always happens. Something gets fucked up, right at the end, right when everything is going perfect.” Why would this be any different? Why would he ever expect it to turn out different?

Nate doesn’t need to be looking to know what the other man is doing, to know what the clunk is. Some distant, stubborn part of him is curious, why doesn’t he just light something, why doesn’t he shift his eyes? Why are they standing here, in the dark, in the very beginning of the dark, fighting?

A couple of days. That was it, that was all they had. It’s not even a solid number. ”Is there a point?” Nate opens his eye and stares at the ground, still not moving, not offering an inch. ”We fix everything, start seeing eye to eye, and then what? You don’t come back? What about next time? Or the time after that?” There should be more heat in his voice, more venom lacing the words, but there’s nothing. He’s not even speaking loudly anymore, can’t bring himself to do it. ”For fucks sake, the first time we met you were drowning on this shit. When does it stop?”

Nate can’t tell if his calm is a boon or a cruelty. It lets him claim the level head, keeps him acting out like his father had, but this quiet nothingness is a more insidious kind of barb, and he knows that.

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

The more it goes on the more he realizes just how similar he and Nate sound when things get tough. He realizes that he’s said the same once before, how everything always ends up the same. And then? Then he’s silent, listening, waiting for the ball to drop and feeling his anxieties grow even further within him — why had he been so stupid?

But then Nate’s asking if there’s a point, and he takes a sharp inhale, keeping his gaze on Nate now, still and remaining in place, refraining from getting closer and staying away. And he lets the words sit there and pelt, hurting worse now that the voice is quiet, that it’s not a shouting match. That’s the kind of anger he can handle. This? This hurts, so much worse. And it gives him a moment of shifting, contemplating, biting the words on his tongue before he does the exact opposite of what his mind is telling him to do.

He does step closer to Nate, one hand remaining on the table while the other one looks away, and he takes a deep and long inhale. “There’s never going to be a guarantee.” He rumbles, frowning as he clenches his jaw again. “You knew that. Don’t try and sit there and act like you didn’t know what you were getting into when you chose to stay.” He snaps again. “I have been trying, Nate. This is good for me, you know that right? At least I’m not drowning in a mud monster yet. At least I’m not getting friends killed for leading them into Halo to face a dragon. Oh, which as it turns out, a white dragon killed Weaver this season.” He shakes his head, a small mirthless laugh leaving him again. “So it never ends. This place sucks. But what choice do we have?”

He wishes so desperately for the good times to last, however long they might, before it inevitably kills them in the end too.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

"I know there's not, I just... I need something between all this shit. I need a breather. I need a week where things are quiet, where nothing happens." There's a huff, a hiss of air that's supposed to be a scoff, or a laugh, or anything other than what it is. "We haven't had that yet, y'know?" He'd hoped, distantly, in the times when he could bring himself to hope these days, that Longnight would be their chance for it, that nothing would go wrong, that the horrors of the Hollowed Grounds would stay where they belonged.

His tongue stills again at the latest tragedy, the dragon, the fucking dragon coming up again, and he's sick of it. Sick of all of it. But at least there's a sentiment he can agree with, buried in the words. It never ends. There's always some fresh horror, some new loss. The world keeps moving, no matter how much he tries to stop it for a moment.

What choice did they have?

Nate knows what the choice is here, knows that he could walk away, leave all of this behind, get fucked up on the beach all week and then run away when the portals open again. He'd always dreamed of running away, had always had too much to carry, but now?

He doesn't move, not closer, not away. That's a choice, though it feels like the wrong one, he can't just let himself move closer, not as raw and cracked open as he is, and moving away, running away, it isn't a real option. Just a dream, but he has too much to carry, too much he wants to bring with him. "I don't know." He offers, after a moment, voice still dull. His chin rises, the first shift he's made, trying to look more together, somehow. "But I told you I'm not going anywhere, didn't I?"

It sounds like a concession, and maybe it is, maybe it's a surrender, a white flag, a desperate plea for something, but at least it's not what he usually does.

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

“I need that too.” He wants to shout back, but he keeps his tone just as even as before, even if it shakes a small amount. It’s the same tenor, same gravel tone and he bites his tongue from mentioning that it’s a lost cause, a lost hope. Never, not here, not in this place. Perhaps in another life, another place. Maybe they just need a break, maybe they’re just trying to push each other away, maybe it calls back to the root of the issues at hand of them trying so hard not to become their fathers that they inevitably start to.

But they could change it, couldn’t they?

He’s preparing for a fight until Nate begins to comment that he doesn’t know – and neither does Sunjata. They can both agree on that, whole heartedly. There is no choice to be had other than whether they wanted to endure it together – and in that fragile part of Sunjata that’s been broken and torn so many times, he cannot do it without him. And perhaps that’s the part that shudders when Nate’s chin lifts, when he says he’s not going anywhere. And it burns at the back of his throat, all the anger and fire he’d held before, melting immediately at the dullness of his voice, at the concession, at the white flag even though it feels like Sunjata doesn’t deserve it, wouldn’t dream of trying to claim he’d won this one.

There’s a shaky exhale that leaves Sunjata as he stares at the shadow of Nate, letting the alcohol burn in his gut to soothe the pounding of his head. And gods he feels like shit, knowing that Nate only cared and Sunjata had handled things possibly one of the worst ways. He steps toward Nate now, head lowering a small amount, his posture and stony face crumbling. “I’m so fucking sorry.” There’s a crack in his voice with this. “I'm sorry.”

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

They're on all the same pages, reading the same words, but there's still this disconnect, still some part where they aren't meshing. Or maybe, it's the machine, the circumstances they're caught in, that feel hopeless, feel endless. How do you break a cycle like this? How do you know when you're out, when you're free, when you're no longer in danger of losing people, of making mistakes.

Nate doesn't move as the other man comes closer again, doesn't do anything other than look. Than stiffen, slightly, at the apology, because what the fuck is he supposed to do with it? Does he want it? Does he shove it away? Does he say anything? He should be the one apologizing, shouldn't he, for the trouble he's causing, for the stop in his heart, in his chest, that keeps everything he should say locked up tight, until it's too late, until they're at this point.

He doesn't say anything. He simply reaches out as the other man comes closer, taking both of Sunjata's hands in each of his own and holding them, his grip stronger than it needs to be, because if he's squeezing, he can pass the shaking off as exertion, instead of anything else. Even now, trying to find deniability, trying to keep things inside.

"I don't know what to do." He offers again, after a moment of quiet so long it almost seems like he's not going to speak at all. It's the only thing he knows for a fact, the only thing he can say without it twisting around and biting him in the ass. "I'm tired. I'm scared. I... I'm the one who should be saying sorry."

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be out of that, out of the hole of the fear of losing someone that means so much to him. It’s happened too much, far too much for his sanity to take. And the idea of losing Nate right before he’s to embark on that trip has him shaking too – terrified of the possibility, and all he can do is apologize over and over again, not sure if it even holds any meanings anymore.

Nate doesn’t say anything, but simply does what works best for Sunjata when words fail, when he can’t piece anything together. And he takes Sunjata’s hands, tightly, though Sunjata doesn’t mind. It’s a tether that Nate isn’t going anywhere, that he’s not leaving, and he shudders a slight exhale right before Nate begins to speak after what seems like an eternity of silence. And Sunjata’s quiet too, for a bit too long as he tries to figure out what to even say back to that too.

All he knows is he’s tired and in pain and scared too. So he pulls Nate a bit closer to him, trying to rest his forehead against Nate’s, against the bandage that crosses the other man’s face. “I don’t know either.” He begins, voice low and slow as he tries to keep the cracks and shakiness out of it with little to no luck. “I’m scared and tired too.” The Attuned agrees, closing his eyes tight to keep the burning at bay. “I want to help you, I want to find the bitch that did this, I want you to come back to me.” He manages, swallowing hard. “And I’ll keep coming back too.” Even if its in pieces. At least he’s there.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

He hits on the one thing that works, the one thing that draws a reaction he wants, that he expects. A connection, something Nate can actually feel in his hands, something that reminds him why he's still standing here, when in a dozen other situations he'd leave, and never look back. Even if he's alone at the end of the week, Nate doesn't want it to be because he chose to walk away from the best thing he'd ever had. Even with all the shit it came with.

"I didn't go anywhere." The denial is out of his mouth fast, the quickest, quietest response he's managed so far, different from the shouting, different from the cold hollow nothing. This is fear, and guilt, and it only gets worse as Sunjata continues, twists a different kind of blade. The attuned did come back, time and time and time again. Soaked in blood, and sweat, and god only knows what else. Half dead and in other people's arms.

He'd been here once, followed Sunjata home after the volcano. Had he lost something else too, on that street, to those blades? Had he left something behind without noticing, until now? His hands grow tighter around Sunjata's, his brows furrowing no matter how it pulls at healing skin. "I didn't... mean to..." But Nate doesn't know how to finish the words, doesn't know how he should.

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

He knows Nate hasn’t gone anywhere, knows that he’s been here waiting the whole time. Knows that it’s been himself that’s gone and come back, half alive and half dead far too many times to count. He knows it’s him that’s used to this by now, used to being attacked and harmed, absolutely not making any friends out wherever he plans to live for however long he’s there. But it hurts a bit differently with the idea of Nate – seeing it rather than feeling it, because Sunjata was often like a steel trap, burning those traumas deep within him to think about far, far later than the shell Nate’s become as he’s stood there in front of him, as he has been since the last attack.

But he keeps his forehead pressed to Nate’s, hearing the slight apology, the way Nate trails off and Sunjata’s not even sure where it’s going. But he takes another quiet and long inhale, chewing on the inside of his cheek momentarily before his longer exhale soothes the ruffled feathers along his shoulders and down his arms. “I didn’t mean to either.” He finally manages, letting go of Nate’s hands to wrap his arms around Nate, to bury his head into Nate’s neck and try and hide away even if it hurts to do so. “Ek is lief vir you, my maanlig.”

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

Whatever struggled and died on Nate's tongue is accepted, is understood, and Gods, who else would ever do that for him? Who else had he ever gotten to this point with before? Who else had he never wanted to let go of? There is a deep, instinctive fear in him as Sunjata's hands pulled away, and Nate feels his own jerk, try to reach out to grab something else, to keep holding on. It's unnecessary, in the end, their connected hands traded for a hug. Nate wraps his arms around Sunjata tightly, and he's not sure he's ever going to let go, not sure he's going to be able to.

This is what he'd been missing, this is how they fit together, broken pieces meshing into something somehow whole, despite how it looked, how it acted, under pressure. Maybe this is what he needed the whole time, to be broken down completely, so he could replace the empty, hollow shell with something else. So he could grow from this.

Nate's shifts so he can try and mirror the attuned, so he can press in close and hide in the embrace, in the other mans arms. "Ek is lief vir jou ook, Sunny." Something else they can agree on, easily. Despite all of this, despite the flashes of blinding anger and harsh voices, it doesn't change.

He's not better, really, not by a long shot, and he doesn't really feel better, but that doesn't mean something hasn't changed. There's something steadier in his head, and for the first time in a while, Nate feels like he might have both feet on the ground. "I haven't said how much I like that one, have I?"

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

The alcohol sits on his empty stomach, burning and brimming, and perhaps that’s better for this outcome than for him to be fine and simply stubborn and full of rage. Because it consumes him, having his mind race to a variety of different things, having himself embody the waves of a flood he’d been nicknamed after so long ago. But the waters are stilling, even ever so slightly, as he feels Nate’s arms wrap around him, as he hides away his face — bruised and speckled and tinged with blood.

As Nate presses in, Sunjata makes room for him to mirror the motion, holding Nate close as he can with a long slow inhale of Nate’s scent, of home to ground him. While Nate might feel somewhat steady, Sunjata almost feels as though the floor is slipping beneath his feet, as if he might not get too many chances like this if he doesn’t come back from the Fingers. But he tries not to dwell on it, not while things are evening out, not while he’s trying to hard to keep himself together too.

“You haven’t.” He rumbles against Nate’s neck, keeping his face buried into the dark hair there, nose brushing against the Ascended’s neck as he lifts his head a small amount to speak. “I thought it fit.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face with it.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

Not nearly enough time has passed for them to have ended up in this position again, falling apart, falling together, liquor burning a hole through Sunjata and Nate desperately wishing he could touch that same flame. It's not any easier feeling this time, but at least he doesn't have to choke through a confession, doesn't have to worry about being pushed away for real. Or maybe he does, and he isn't worried enough. Gods, he's all over the place right now.

The voice purring against his neck has Nate curving into it, trying to catch the edge of the other mans voice, etching the rumbling sound into his mind like the grooves of a record. "It does." He hums back, knowing that they haven't really addressed the problem, the concerns yet, but more than happy to drift along this distraction for as long as it will have them. "Y'got good taste darling." The quirk of his lips is pressed against Sunjata's skin, not quite a kiss, not quite a smile, but more present than either, more intentional than nothing.

"We're gonna be okay." Even as it comes out of his mouth, Nate knows it's an impossible claim to make, though okay feels so far below good that he isn't sure it's even worth trying for. Logically, it'd be better to cut his losses, walk away, and he'd done that more than once. Here he is though, trying like he never has before, over and over. "Eventually. I think." There's a humourless huff, Nate's arms growing tighter. "Even..." He begins, the thought sticking to his tongue, refusing to come out. He can't leave anything left unsaid now, can he?

"Even if we aren't, I'm glad I've got you now Sunny."

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

He keeps Nate there like a pillar, like if he holds onto him long enough that he might not fall apart completely. And it works, sort of, as Nate’s arms act like ribbon, tying him closed – opened in the center where their bodies touch. And he listens with everything he has until he can hear the ‘darling’ added onto the words that leave the Ascended’s lips causing the corners of his lips to curl in a slightly brighter smile. “I do.” He agrees, the comment of having Nate as part of that good taste dying on his tongue, despite the reparations. Because he doesn’t know – doesn’t know where any of this will lead them.

But he can feel Nate’s lips at his skin, and he leans into it a small amount. He can feel his lips parting, prepared to add on a definite ‘we will’ to Nate’s comment – willing to do whatever it takes to ensure it remains true. But he doesn’t, not as Nate continues and Sunjata’s stilling, though the pulse of his heartbeat thunders in his neck hard enough Nate could probably feel it. He can feel Nate’s arms growing tighter too, and he exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

And maybe his throat is a bit tighter than he lets on initially, trying to swallow hard against the tension there. “What happened to ‘until the end?’” He asks with a breathy laugh, trying to cover up his worry – the idea that maybe… Maybe they should talk about what they really were, the ritual performed, what did that make them? Did it keep them as partners or more than that, with only Haai as their witness and an empty boxing ring to hear the confessions.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

Oh, the comment is absolutely made with the implication in mind that Nate is part of that good taste. Honestly, he's a little disappointed that it doesn't get commented on, but the smile he can feel stretching over Sunjata's face is enough to make up for it. Like this, it's easy to forget he was splintering minutes ago, easy to step away from it and close the door behind him, never once thinking that maybe that trail of closed doors is exactly why they keep ending up here.

Nate isn't sure how much more misunderstanding he can take, though it's a lesson he's trying to teach himself on the fly. If he wants to be understood, really understood, he needs to actually explain himself, and not just let whatever sounds snappy, whatever sounds right roll out of him. "Nothing happened to 'until the end.'" He promises softly, pressing his cheek in against a thundering pulse. "I just don't know if we'll be okay by then. We'll be together, though." They'd made it through fights, through acts of God, more breakdowns and spirals than any two people were meant to go through, and they came out on the other side in each others arms.

As long as neither of them decides to turn their back, neither of them really walks away, they can come back together. "Maybe... when you come back, we uh..." There's a shrug of his shoulders, but the first step to explaining himself properly is actually saying things in the first place. "Maybe we get a pair of rings. Something... I dunno, physical."

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE