consume me through the night

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

They would figure it out. And unlike Sunjata in most of his other relationships, he’s willing to tell Nate when something is off, when something is broken, when he doesn’t feel as strong as has been drilled into his head since he was just a boy. ”Show no weakness” though Sunjata’d made shifts to that, expressing the weakness to those he trusts. And he trusts no one more than Nate and Hotaru. It’s what makes it easier to recollect the bits and pieces that he can, even if Nate doesn’t want to know. It helps him get a feel for the events that happened.

He is lucky. In more ways than one. But he continues to idly let his hand trace along the scars on the inside of his elbow, the inside of his bicep, unfocused gaze remaining on the table in front of him, watching Nate from his peripheral vision. He is home. He is safe for now. And that’s all that matters as Nate arrives with the bowl of soup – Sunjata’s arms slipping back from the top of the table to focus on the bowl – his right hand reaching to rest at the edge of the bowl, a pinky twitching with the residuals of his night. His left hand grabs the spoon, idly stirring as Nate lists out the plan.

The last time he’d had a bath had been after Peter and Adam were killed, when Maea had helped him get rid of the blood of that cannibal, when his mind had begun to fracture for the second time. And now, this time, he knows Nate’s got him. “I wouldn’t mind not having to stand.” He comments quietly, an attempt at humor but it falls flat as humanly possible. He begins to take a bite of the soup – working his way slowly as to not bother his stomach too much with the sudden amount of food where there otherwise sat a pit of anxiety and regret. “Dankie.” He murmurs once a few bites are down, pausing to let it settle. The hand around the bowl that trembles slips out to reach for Nate – his stone pillar.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

Moments of quiet are somehow worse than anything else, but Nate isn't sure how to really fill it, isn't sure how much he can chatter, silver tongue heavy and leaden in his mouth. The same things want to drop out, again and again, until he really believes it.

Inhuman stillness settles over Nate as the meal is laid out, is pondered. Gods, it doesn't feel like enough. Nothing he does right now would feel like enough though, short of going back and trading places with the other man, though that wouldn't help anyone. "That's the idea." They really are mirrors of each other, Nate's humour failing in the same way, too flat, too strained. It's not ruined by the blue-eyed stare, but it certainly isn't helped either. He can't help it, any moment spent focused on something other than the attuned seems like a waste, seems like a moment where he might miss something minuscule and important. He's not usually so frantic, not usually so useless feeling.

As the hand reaches out for him, Nate leans into it, sinks and bends in what would be an awkward, uncomfortable pose for someone who could feel it. His cheek presses against Sunjata's shoulder, drags down as he continues to lower, until he's kneeling, selfishly pressed as close as he can. "Natuurlik. Enigiets vir jou sonskyn." His hand wraps around the one that's reached for him, while the other one wraps around the attuned, between his back and the chair.

better tell me what's your life worth

i think it's time for a change, 'cause the drugs don't work

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

Sunjata focuses on the meal before him, taking his time as he works to fill his stomach just enough that his body might not hate him so much later. And the longer it takes, the easier it gets – the food settling eventually until the nausea doesn’t feel like an echo that might return should he move too much. It settles, his bones feeling as though they’re made of lead the more exhaustion lingers in deeper, the more his body can focus on the rest of his healing and less on starvation.

Despite his attempts to finish the bowl, he pauses as Nate moves to kneel and press against him. Sunjata keeps him close too – and while Nate bears that unnatural stillness, it’s broken up by the slight tremble of Sunjata’s hand, a residual in the way his veins want to constrict and open and constrict again.

Eventually, the bowl is finished – as much as Sunjata can – and he slides it forward, leaning back a small amount in the chair, into Nate’s touch, a heavy sigh slipping from him as he lets the heaviness take over for a moment. His eyes are still unfocused, but he tilts his head to look back at the shape of Nate. “Bath, then bed?” He knows he doesn’t have to ask if Nate would help him with any of it – already he knows his fiancé will, but there’s that tender, almost glassy tone to his voice that shows just how much he doesn’t want to be alone, paired with the slight tremoring squeeze of Nate’s hand.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

While Nate might be perfectly comfortable anywhere, the normal aches and pains of his body numb to him, there is something extra gratifying about holding Sunjata right now, about being close to him while he eats. It's normal, it feels normal, even if everything else is so far away from normal that it's difficult to parse. If he still drew breath, he would feel the thick lump of worry, of panic, stuck in his throat and threatening to choke him. If he still drew breath, he would be having a much harder time clinging to his cloak of calm.

Silence grows while the attuned eats, Nate's head shifting so his ear is pressed against his fiance's chest, the unsteady thump of his heart a reminder. Still beating, still kicking, even if it struggles, stumbles. By the time Sunjata is finished, the blue eye staring up at him is a touch distant, Nate starting once steel eyes look down at him, and trying to force a smile to his lips. It's more successful than his jokes at least, though that's not saying much.

"Sounds good to me, darling." The movement might be slow, but it's deliberate. Nate rises, his arms still wrapped around the other man, pulling them both up at the same time and letting the taller man lean against him, lean into his support however is needed. The only draw the bath has over the shower is being on the ground floor, the obstacle of stairs able to be pushed off for a little bit longer, as they slowly move through the house to the bathroom.

Care and tenderness the likes of which he will never be able to put words to drip off Nate's hands, off every little touch to make things easier. Getting the attuned into the tub, easing him out of pants that Nate isn't sure he's seen before, getting the water running, not too hot, not too cold. While the tub fills, Nate leans in, pressing his forehead against his beloved's, cupping his face in reverent hands and looking, searching for something in unfocused eyes. There's no indication of whether Nate finds it or not, but it doesn't stop him from leaning in, pressing an endlessly tender kiss to Sunjata's lips.

better tell me what's your life worth

i think it's time for a change, 'cause the drugs don't work

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

His heart does stutter occasionally, a pulse that varies and shifts with the motions Sunjata goes through to finish his meal. But when it’s done, his heart calms just enough for him to feel okay enough to stand. Nate’s arms remain around him, though, a soft smile of encouragement it feels like, granted from his lover. And he finally does stand, leaning a bit heavier on Nate as the exhaustion starts to weigh so heavily in his bones, in his mind, in everything.

Before he realizes it, they’re in the bathroom – water drawing and he’s shrugging out of his clothes with Nate’s help. A sluggish thought occurs to him, to tell Nate that there’s a bag in the front pocket of the pants, of the medicine Vai had given him and specifically instructed him to bring home so Nate would know what he’d had taken aside from the magical healing she’d given so his heart wouldn’t burst.

It disappears as Nate’s hands help soothe any rush of anxiety, of forgetfulness, a tenderness and care shown to him as if he is glass and he might break should Nate push too hard. He’s not sure if it helps or hurts to be held and cared for like this – always expecting to be strong, never expecting to be like this. But, the attuned leans back in the tub, hissing against the cold of the porcelain and relishing the warmth of the water – dipping his hands and arms below the surface to warm him up and hopefully temper any tremors.

Nate takes his head into his hands, and Sunjata tries to focus on Nate’s blue eye, to focus on the scar, on anything, but it’s shaky at best. He’s thankful when Nate leans in for the kiss, pressing back into it as if he might be able to shift another apology through the action, without having to say it again, eyes shutting tight. And when Sunjata breaks the kiss, he keeps his forehead against Nate’s, keeps his eyes closed, takes a deep inhale to breathe in and steady himself. “In the front pocket of the pants are what Vai gave me.” He murmurs. “She told me to bring it to you so you’d know.” So Nate would know what it was, how she’d treated him, what steps had already been taken.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

Not that he’s necessarily thinking it himself, but the comparison to glass is apt, even if it doesn’t seem to fully encompass the tenderness in Nate’s hands. There has been something extra lingering in his touches since they’d spent a lazy afternoon shifted and napping, communicating in feelings and not words. The water warms his hands just a touch before they’re moving, roaming up over Sunjata’s shoulders, before moving to cup the attuned’s face. Before Nate leans in to kiss his fiancé.

It’s only when the kiss is broken that it seems to really hit Nate, just how close he had come to losing the man before him. And he hadn’t even known. Hadn’t even thought about it. All kinds of worries spark, rational and not, swallowed down so he can focus on the words that slip from Sunjata.

The bag is retrieved without a word, Nate peering at it, the tucking it into his pocket, close enough to be grabbed later. ”I’m glad she was there to help.” He sighs again, leaning in to press another kiss to Sunjata’s forehead, as if he can alleviate some of the pain, the confusion, with the simple affection. Then, gentle hands continue their initial work, washing away any last bits of blood or dirt.

Then, Nate helps Sunjata again, the tub drained and a towel wrapped around the attuned. The walk up the stairs is more difficult than he expects, not the lighthearted horsing around they’d done in the Slagveld, but something more somber. Relief grips Nate as they step into the bedroom, as he eases the other man into the bed and tucks him in. ”Sleep darling. You’ll feel better after. And I’ll be right here.” If there is one promise he can keep, it is this one. Easily.

Done~

better tell me what's your life worth

i think it's time for a change, 'cause the drugs don't work