I know that Most feelings are fleeting, but I could make a home from this one
Scoffing again, Nate shakes his head. "You are. Acting like things are just... normal. Like... Like I'm the problem." There's a bitter streak a mile wide in Nate's voice, his nose wrinkling as he speaks, as he works himself up inside his head, a storm churning and swirling. It only grows darker at the offer of help, shining behind Nate's eye, threatening to break. "Why now? Why... why not before?" He did need help, but not the kind he knew how to ask for, not the kind he was willing to speak into reality, if the woman across from him proved to be what he thought.
Talk of recipes is far easier, a gentler sea to rock upon, though even now the dinghy is taking on water. "That's... a good idea." Transcribing barely remembered recipes into a book would at least fill a few lonely nights, and give him something tangible, something to add to the feeling of home. "I guess you don't, um... don't have your copy's here, do you?" He'd brought very little into Caido, it only made sense that others had the same limitations. As if suddenly blown by a gentle breeze, Nate's head tips, away from the kitchen, towards the opposite wall, the window, then, just as carelessly, he looks up, as if he could see through the floors from where they sit to where his lovers slumber the day away.
"No. We can't bother them. She's... they're both in a bad way." Even he can tell his voice is too sharp, his denial too immediate. It's suspicious, and that's the last thing he wants to be at the moment. "The door, it should stay closed. It's a um," Waving his hand, Nate tries to bring the word to mind, so close to the tip of his tongue, "a clementine? No, fuck." His chin drops against his chest hard, his lap catching the mumbles that dribble from his lips as he struggles for a word that just seems to drift further and further away.
Talk of recipes is far easier, a gentler sea to rock upon, though even now the dinghy is taking on water. "That's... a good idea." Transcribing barely remembered recipes into a book would at least fill a few lonely nights, and give him something tangible, something to add to the feeling of home. "I guess you don't, um... don't have your copy's here, do you?" He'd brought very little into Caido, it only made sense that others had the same limitations. As if suddenly blown by a gentle breeze, Nate's head tips, away from the kitchen, towards the opposite wall, the window, then, just as carelessly, he looks up, as if he could see through the floors from where they sit to where his lovers slumber the day away.
"No. We can't bother them. She's... they're both in a bad way." Even he can tell his voice is too sharp, his denial too immediate. It's suspicious, and that's the last thing he wants to be at the moment. "The door, it should stay closed. It's a um," Waving his hand, Nate tries to bring the word to mind, so close to the tip of his tongue, "a clementine? No, fuck." His chin drops against his chest hard, his lap catching the mumbles that dribble from his lips as he struggles for a word that just seems to drift further and further away.
NATE
