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."
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
