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 //

Well, so much for their smooth sailing Flowerbirth. It had almost gone well, almost, until the fog rolled in and a creature from the deep arose to drag them all back out to a watery grave. It had only taken a day, and already Sunjata’s changed from the man he was when he left to run errands. Now, all those errands forgotten, a dreary and groggy walk home with scars and a shirt that’s completely missing now – not like it matters, it had been singed and burned up in places anyway. But what has changed are the multitude of new scars forming on his skin.

The biggest notable one, certainly, the swipes along his left side and his hip – healed enough to show the fresh pink of an underskin layer forming. But then, traveling to his other side, his right hand still swollen and puffy, laced with branching scars that follow each and every vein, disappearing beneath the tattoos on his arm and shoulder, only to reappear crossing over his heart in a flurry of purples and orange blossoming bruises – pink and red scars showing through them. There’s almost the distinct bruise form of a few of his ribs, as well, and if it weren’t for Zuriel, he wonders if he’d be dead.

He’s glad he’s not, but his steps are heavier as he makes it to the door – slipping through and making his way up to the bedroom – imagining Nate’s sitting there waiting for him to come home, likely wondering how long it’s taken, probably worrying as he should have been this whole time. He pads up the stairs, wanting nothing more than a shower and sleep, ducking below the edge of the roof with the stairs as he walks up the last few steps. “Nate?” He asks or calls, he’s not sure – his mind still trying to wrap around everything that’d happened. Haai approaches on weary feet, exhaustion weighing heavily on her as well – the smell of smoke clinging to her fur as she finds a space to splay out on the floor.

At least the nausea was gone.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

It's not uncommon for Nate to come home after a night out, and find the house empty, quiet. It doesn't worry him, not too much, though the roiling fog outside gives him a moment of pause. If he's lucky, there won't be too much time to worry, and he fills some of it with a shower, washing off his own adventures in the stream of water, and retiring to the bed once he's done, certain it's where Sunjata would be headed once he came home. The sound of the door has him perking up, sooner than he expected, and Nate is on his feet quickly, Pemota following him as he head towards the stairs, when the call rings out from downstairs.

"Ek is hier, sonskyn." Though there is something in the shakiness of Sunjata's voice that has him moving, still heart sinking in his chest, reaching it's nadir as he rounds the corner of the stairs, and sees the bruised and beaten body of his love. He is by the attuned's side in an instant, fast even considering his ascended abilities, a gentle eye looking over new injuries, gentler hands ghosting along bruises, along the lichtenberg pattern tracing up from a swollen hand. "What happened?" It's barely a whisper, words said entirely without breath, arms already reaching out to support to lead Sunjata towards a chair.

Ordinarily, Nate loses himself in moments like these, shifts entirely into a being focused, driven along certain steps. That switch does not overcome him this time, overruled by naked concern, by worry. A first aid kit that has seen far too much use in the short since it's been placed into the kitchen is pulled out, though Nate truly isn't sure what he can actually do, when the wounds already seem taken care of. A hand comes to rest on Sunjata's neck, closeness given the excuse of checking a pulse, the other hand spreading over the worst of the bruising, ascended skin cool enough to mimic a cold compress, in a pinch. Pemota settles just above the attuned's head, radiating calm and warmth, trying to ease the frantic state Sunjata was in.

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 //

Nate’s quick to meet him, both a blessing and a curse. He hears that Nate’s there, but it isn’t until he sees his fiancé that the emotions hit, that the pain in his rib cage grows and all down his arm. He focuses the best he can on Nate, pupils struggling to both dilate and shrink with the light within the home. Nate’s hands are cold, a blessing, and his jaw clenches as he inhales, closes his eyes to ensure he doesn’t spark up that nausea again.

“I was coming home when the fog rolled in. There was… A sea panther I think it was, in the fog luring people to their deaths.” It’s a low rumble, a shift as he moves forward to wrap his arms around Nate, to bury his head into Nate’s neck — craving the closeness and the strength of the Ascended. But then he parts, reluctantly, when Nate guides him to a chair. And he sits, unsure if he can stand for too much longer, leaning forward in the chair as he runs a hand through his hair. “Deimos, Zeph, Raza, and I got it.” But it hadn’t saved so many people, and there's regret that coats that part of him too.

He holds out his right hand though, where the blast had hit, the spiderwebbing of scars crossing his hand. “I got electrocuted. And… Swiped at.” He gestures to the pink scars that cross his left side now, the ones peeking up from a fresh pair of pants. “Zeph took me to the clinic after.” another clench to his jaw, gaze lifting and opening to try and get his jumbled mind to focus on Nate — finding it hard with his vision as blurry as it is right now, still reeling from everything that has happened.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

Every time this happens, every time Sunjata comes home hurt, fractured, beaten, it gets a little bit harder, a little more unbearable. It's worse this time than it ever has been before, and Nate doesn't know why, even as he wraps his arms around his fiance, even as he holds the other man close, tries to be what he needs. "A sea panther?" The words sound strange in Nate's ears, his voice sounds strange, and he realizes there's a quiver in his jaw, his throat, something he tries to swallow down. Sunjata is moved easily, kept close, until he's sat down, and Nate can kneel in front of him, can follow the attuned's hand with his own, running far more gently through the short crop of hair.

"You fuckin' trouble magnet." There's a softness in Nate's voice, in his gaze, in the pinch of his brows when he meets unfocused steel eyes. Both hands rise to cup Sunjata's face, somehow kept steady, somehow spared the trembling that Nate knows lurks somewhere in his chest, cowed for the moment by the need to be steady, to be solid. "What am I ever gonna do with you?" A rhetorical question, though it's not exactly a bad idea to give the other man things to respond to, to keep him talking. Electricity is a new kind of injury for Nate, something he hasn't had to deal with yet, but he has enough common sense to not make anything worse.

He hopes.

"Vai was at the clinic, right?" They'd worked out something like a schedule, that gave them each a few free days, a few days together to share their knowledge. If he couldn't be the first person to treat Sunjata, at least it was someone he could trust. "Is there anything she missed? Anything you still need looked at?"

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 //

Nate kneels before him, the Ascended’s hand moving up to run through his hair too, and Sunjata finds himself trying to search Nate’s gaze. “I compelled encantados to bring down a storm.” He pauses to take a heavy breath. “Asked Deimos to make a lightning rod and throw it at it but… He didn’t hear me, handed it back to me right when I called the storm down.” He explains wearily, teaching out with his hand to reach for Nate and pull him closer.

He is a trouble magnet. He doesn’t know what Nate should do with him, he just hopes Nate stays. But he can’t muster any of those thoughts, already as fragile as he is. “Vai was there.” He confirms, a small quiet sigh slipping from his nose. He knows how Nate feels of magical healing, and yet he’d been healed so much by it today. It had kept him alive when he’s sure his heart should’ve exploded where he stood.

“I’m okay… Just, not all there. My head is fuzzy. There’s a ringing in my ears.” He explains, swallowing hard. “I’m… Tired.” He admits, voice growing quieter as he closes his bloodshot eyes again. “I’m sorry.” For constantly coming home like this. But for the first time, Sunjata feels as fragile as glass.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

Explanation is a blessing and a curse, the words just vivid enough to paint a picture in Nate's mind, just vivid enough that he can feel the mistake, his own hand clenching against the imagined burst of heat and electricity. "Fuck." It's said softly, with feeling he can't even begin to understand. "Vai took care of you though, huh?" He moves, leaning in closer when he's pulled. There's nothing Nate wouldn't do for Sunjata at this moment, and if all he wants is closeness, he will get it easily.

Nate rises again, slowly, as Sunjata explains what he's feeling still, the lingering effects of going through what would kill a lesser man. Hell, what would kill a dozen lesser men. He leans in to press his lips against the top of an aching head, the crack in him yawning wider with the admission, with how small the voice seems. And it shatters completely with the apology. Nate glad he's already risen, glad he's close enough to pull Sunjata in close against his chest, holding him tight, hands stretched wide to try and keep everything together.

"You don't need to be sorry." His voice is thick, his throat feels like it's closing up, but he just needs to stay together enough to get a little bit more out. "You still came home." Nate breaks on the last word, voice cracking and tears beginning to leak from his eyes, glad again that he can't be seen, with the way he's holding the attuned. "I've got you now."

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 //

“She did.” He says softly, though there’s a brief second that a smile tries to edge its way onto his lips. “She healed my heart. I cried. Zeph was there.” There’s something about his tone that seems to suggest that the smuggler had gone soft while Sunjata writhed in pain. But then Nate’s rising and Sunjatas leaning into his fiancé’s chest, pressing the side of his face into him and wrapping heavy, scarred arms around him to keep him close.

Of course all thoughts of that die off with the shift in Nate’s tone, the fear that settles in that Sunjata had seen in Vai’s eyes, in Zeph’s even, too. But Nate holds him regardless, and Sunjata swallows hard, a small amount of a residual tremor in his arm as he applies pressure into the hug, squeezing him as much as his broken and pieced together body can.

“I told you.” He mumbles into Nate’s chest. “I’ll always come home to you.” He attempts to cover it up, the trembling and the tremors, the worry that coats every inch of him. This is the worst he’s been, more of an internal battle as the electricity sparked through his veins, jumbling thoughts and almost putting him in cardiac arrest.

But he’s alive. He’s here. “You’ve got me.” He says a bit quieter, shifting his head so he might let his blurry gaze focus on Nate’s face, his good hand lifting to brush his thumb along Nate’s jaw.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

Going from so much detail to so little is a whiplash Nate doesn’t quite expect, but it’s one he’s grateful for. A little mercy, that he’s not sure Sunjata really knows the weight of. It’s already almost too much to hear the worry in the attuned’s own voice, the little shift that suggests the same fear had been in Vai, in Zeph. ”Does it still hurt?” Nate asks, because no matter how much he wants it, the past is a place he cannot touch, cannot offer comfort in.

It takes everything in him to not flinch away when Sunjata looks up, to meet the unfocused steel eyes again, mouth open like he’s going to say something, like he’s going to sob before it slowly closes again, and he nods instead. Lips curl up the slightest as Nate leans into the hand on his jaw, not a smile, not really even close to one, but somehow better than what it was before. He’d have to move a hand to wipe away the fluid slowly rolling down his face, so he doesn’t bother, instead mumbling again, ”I’ve got you.”

The nature of his ascension means that Nate doesn’t need to move again, that he can be solid and strong physically, even while he slowly crumbles apart emotionally. ”Do you-“ His voice nearly doesn’t come out, Nate pausing to clear his breath and try again. ”Do you want anything? A drink, or... anything?”

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 //

Does it still hurt? The question gives him pause – unsure if it’s pain at this point or just pure exhaustion, running off of fumes. “I’m not sure.” He says quietly, a low hum vibrating through his throat as his gaze meets Nate’s. And he’s thankful, so incredibly thankful, that the Ascended meets his gaze. His thumb rubs against Nate’s jaw softly, a soft exhale leaving him as Nate once again confirms that he has him.

His eyes close, cheek pressing in against Nate’s chest again as the next question meets him. And it’s another one that he has to get his vibrating, numb mind to focus on. It takes a bit of time, the silence pouring in as he flits over the options available, before deciding on something. “I…” He doesn’t know which should come first, food or a shower (would a bath be easier if he can hardly stand?), but both are absolutely what he wants, before curling up with Nate for the night while he tries to forget what happened today.

“Food and a shower.” He mumbles, moving to bury his face into the fabric of Nate’s shirt, arms tightening again, briefly, arm trembling. And then he pulls away, letting his hand drift from Nate’s jaw to his shoulder, the other – the lightning scarred hand slipping to try and grasp Nate’s own hand. “And then you.” His gaze flits up again, scanning Nate’s face the best he can.

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

There are few answers Sunjata could give that would strike more fear in Nate than ‘I’m not sure.’ but he has to work work with what he’s given. ”Okay.” There is still a terrible gentleness in his voice, but it’s better than that cracking, better than him stumbling. ”That’s alright.” He leans into the fingers against his jaw, swallows against it, against the comfort he takes from it, the inexplicable guilt that comes from needing to be comforted still.

A hand rises to cradles the attuned’s head as he presses in against Nate’s chest again, refusing to let go. Suggestions run through his head, almost touch his lips, but asking the question is something of a test, a check for exactly how worried he should be. Cool fingers rub against temples, as if Nate could feel the hurt within, could soothe it just with this simple gesture. An answer is pressed into his chest, softer than anything he expects, but sensible enough that a channel of worry drains out of him.

”Food and a shower. We can do that.” Yet Nate doesn’t move, not right away. He can’t, really, not when arms tighten around him, when a hand snakes out to wrap around his. ”Do you want to wait here, or come to the kitchen with me?” He keeps the options simple, while he cycles through what they have, what he can make that’s fast. The blue eye drops again, brighter, clearer now, the dark clouds clearing as an actual plan begins to form.

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 //

This time, it’s scarier. This time, Sunjata has next to no confidence that had Zeph not dragged him to Vai, had Zuriel not been there to heal him, that he wouldn’t be coming home. Much like the first time Nate and Sunjata met, he’d gotten in too deep, got lingering effects from a battle just as this. The first time, a mud monster, swallowing him up. This time, a sea panther and wrong placed lightning supercharging his heart.

His hand finds Nate’s once the cool presses to his temples are soothed, taking a slow and long inhale while he focuses on what he can place around himself. Nate. The chair. Haai off on the side. Pemota still hovering above him, calming his fears. As for waiting? His head immediately begins to shake before a bit of nausea comes roaring back and he stills. “I want to go with you.” Comes the quiet rumble as he settles himself again.

Mostly, he doesn’t want to be alone longer than he has to be.

After a few moments of regaining his senses, he finally lets Nate go, lacing his fingers in with Nate’s as he moves to stand, swaying a bit as dizziness takes over from the quick change. He stands still, recovering where he can, moving to go and follow Nate into the kitchen to promptly sit at the table at the closest chair to him. “My visions a bit blurry. Do you think that'll change?” He questions once he’s settled, his scarred hand flat against the top of the table, unfocused eyes trying to follow the lightning scars through his hand and his arm. Had the lightning fucked up his vision?

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

"Of course Sunny." Whatever he wants, especially right now. It feels empty, a platitude made only in his own head, so small, but Nate would go to the ends of the world if it was asked of him right now. He's willing to keep still until his fiance is ready to move though, and when he is, Nate is there, offering support, trying to stop the swaying and shaking. There are only a few steps to the kitchen, but it still feels like an eon before they're settled again, time moving slower, when it isn't racing.

Answers flow from him easier when he's moving, grabbing a pot and a few dried things that will cook quickly. "I think it'll change, but..." While he doesn't slow, there's almost a hiccup to Nate's movement, a bubble of hesitation as he weighs the pro's and con's of actually finishing his thought. It's not something he really wants to share, his own pride standing in his way, but he wants to offer his beloved everything he can, keep him informed about what he's going through. "I don't... actually know too much about electrocution." Really, the only thing he knows about it is that a lightning strike is usually more than enough to kill a person, especially since he can follow the path of the shock through the burns, branching and tracing under ink, directly towards Sunjata's heart.

It's only when he has something actually on the stove, heating up as quickly as he can manage, that Nate turns back to Sunjata, comes close enough to lace their fingers again. "I'm going to treat it like a concussion. Kind of." Gods, this is sounding worse the more he speaks, but he can't really stop himself now. "I'll keep an eye on you. And make sure things are getting better." This at least manages to sound like a promise, Nate bending almost in half to press his lips gently against Sunjata's hand, then his forehead, lingering in the closeness until he can hear his pot bubbling away behind him, and he has to step away once again.

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 //

It’s easier – to focus on his hand rather than Nate moving around the kitchen. It helps keep the nausea down, rather than following him back and forth as well. But he wants to focus on his fiancé, to prove that he’s okay when he knows he’s anything but. This is more somber than his usual trips home bloodied and fucked up, the fragility of what’s happened hitting him hard. So he listens instead, his other hand coming up to rub along the slightly raised scarring beneath the starry tattoos to his arms that shift and flicker – sparkle and glimmer – as if charged by the lightning. “I don’t either.” He concedes with a quiet sigh.

But then Nate’s there – fingers lacing into his, a kiss pressed to the scarred hand and then to his forehead – Sunjata’s eyes closing as he leans into the touch, letting it soothe the worries and anxieties in his heart. “Feels kind of like one.” He mulls it over quietly, tongue racing along his lower lip. But then Nate’s moving again, far too soon, but food is on its way and Sunjata’s quietly thankful for that as well as he tries to focus through his memory of what happened.

“I don’t know how far I was thrown when it hit. I think I blacked out, came to when Zeph dragged me back and Zuriel was healing me.” He recollects, chewing on the inside of his cheek, thumb rubbing against a raised scar inside by his elbow. “I remember… Glass.” He remembers the sound of glass forming, of it shattering, and then nothing. If anything, it’s an indication of the power of the storm he’d called down, how badly it had backfired. “My ears were ringing. My pulse… Was too high. I could feel it everywhere.”

SUNJATA

'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse

and this fast lane living, it's a curse

There's some small amount of comfort that comes with the fact that they're both fumbling, both trying to feel their way through the dark of this and come out in the light on the other side. There is a much larger amount of panic that tries to rise up with the fact that they're both fumbling. God, what if he fucks this up? What if they get this second chance, just for Nate to miss something, to lose his beloved regardless? "We'll figure it out." Another sentence that comes out hollow, stripped of his confidence, of his surety. At least it almost feels like they're on the right track when Sunjata says it feels like a concussion, because of course, he knows.

That yawning chasm of worry and panic only grows wider, deeper, as the other man describes more, paints a more vivid picture that Nate doesn't want to see. The stupidest things stand out though, shreds of sensible thought in between everything else. He wonders what lightning glass looks like. Figures whatever lingering resentment he'd had aimed towards the smuggler can be forgiven. Wishes he'd been better, somehow, to Deimos, when they'd met. "You're lucky." It's a sentence that could be ended a dozen different ways, that he simply cuts off and let's stand on its own. And again, Nate feels the need to repeat himself, to hammer in a point so they can both cling to it. "You're home now."

Maybe the soup is a little undercooked, watery broth and barely soft vegetables, a too generous touch of ginger, ladled into a bowl and presented to Sunjata, but it's warm, and it should help ease any lingering nausea. Nate can't imagine the taste is going to matter too much right now anyway, but he still lingers over the other man, while trying to make it seem like that isn't what he's doing. He'd sit, but it won't be close enough, not by a long shot, not right now. "We'll get you a bath down here. It'll be easier than a shower." Talking out the steps of a plan is Nate's own coping mechanism, one that serves him handily here, when he has to keep the other man focused as well.

better tell me what's your life worth

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