hold me like we're dying from the liquor that we drank

NATE

”Coke is a soda.” Again he’s surprised. It’s never a huge glaring difference that throws him, but the little ones, the day to day things. ”Like... fizzy juice. It’s good.” They will probably never have it. Nate smiles anyway, leans against his fiancé. They’re on the same wave this time, where before, at home, it seemed like they were spiralling out of sync. Now, they do nothing but rise, tugging each other up.

Though, perhaps not for long. ”Spaghetti? What do I look like to you?” Nate let’s his offense pour over his features, his head tilting back. ”Spaghetti is what you give to people you don’t like. Capellini, now that’s a good pasta. Better sauce to noodle levels.” Is this a hill he would die on in any other circumstance? Probably not. But he’s willing to bleed all the pasta he has over this in these circumstances. A spark glints in his eye, like he’s daring Sunjata to argue.

Sickness keeps the fight in him from fanning high, the flames of passion hard to maintain when the passion is forgotten. Instead, Nate fixated on bow ties, on marriage and fancy dress, and shakes his head. ”Don’t think I’ve ever worn a bow tie.” Casting his mind back is easy, the path short and foggy. ”I only ever wore a suit for funerals before.” His head lifts again, so he can look into Sunjata’s eyes. ”What do you want me to wear? I can show up in nothing.”

the last ones here on earth