not so starry-eyed anymore

NATE

It's me! Nate doesn't know a Me, but he recognizes the voice, recognizes the babble of laughter that comes through next. The true name of the voice comes back to his mind the same instant it comes to the voice. "Sam." There is a tangle of something that wells up in Nate as he thinks, memories of happy nights, of drinking and coming home to a warm bed and a cool body. It's a strange thing, remembering a sensation so keenly without being able to touch it any longer. Sam did that.

Nate doesn't want to open the door, not really, but he is a doctor, he has a duty, and as much as he might not like Sam, for whatever reasons are escaping him at the moment, that's not a reason to condemn to the terrors that lurk outside. Shaking hands fumble with the lock, the knob, then a hand reaches out to grab the front of Sam's shirt and drag him into the house. The same hand then presses the other ascended against the door, pinning him there with both strength, and his wide-eyed stare. He's almost too close, skin shiny with fluid sweat, spots of colour in his cheeks that shouldn't be there without blood.

"Are you sick? A... a fever?" The words are hissed out, quiet now that they're inside. Ever mindful of those above, those outside. "What's not very well?"

So unscrew my head and rinse it out
Polish my thoughts, turn into doubts