NATE
As long as he can summon a smile to Sunjata’s eyes, Nate can keep moving forward, can ignore the writhing inside of him and put that grin on his face. He can even start to believe it. He presses the mental equivalent of a kiss; a firm, trembling warmth; through the bond and shifts, pressing them closer together in a dozen different imperceptibly minute ways.
He’s not even the one on drugs, and the joke still manages to catch Nate off guard, his brows pulling together like he’s not entirely sure what Sunjata means. A bubble of laughter hits him out of nowhere, uncontrollable for a single moment of pure reaction. Gods, he can’t even muster a response. And there’s a snap, a shift back in Sunjata, his voice, all at once familiar again, all at once back in this moment fully with him. I’m not going to stop you if you want to. Nate’s trying to be supportive, encouraging. Trying to not let his voice shake with the enormity of the gesture, the soft edges of it crashing into him more effectively than any sharp implement could ever.
It swirls together into a storm, pressing and pounding against the inside of his skull, his ribs. His own inadequacies, his regrets and shame, growing into something that threatens to blow him away completely. That he would let blow him away, as if he had no other options.
At the eye of the storm, he has a chance, an opportunity. Nate feels it, knows he has to make a choice. Knows he can sink deeper, that the option is always there, that it’s just so much more apparent, more tempting right now. Or... he can cling to something, to the hand offered out.
He’s left enough bruises on Sunjata for one day, but it doesn’t stop his hands from twisting into his husbands clothes so hard shake, doesn’t stop him from becoming a desperate, fervent thing, no matter the pin he knows it causes. He’s selfish, and cracked, and Sunjata is offering him a hand, a step up into something better.
Nate’s eyes are wide and staring when the attuned pulls back, desperately focused. He doesn’t react to the words, but the hand slipping out of his hair has him swallowing, eyes dipping in an almost blink. The other one, that lifts to wipe away a thin trail of fluid, manages to pull a soft huff of breath from him. It is a sentiment that’s been shared before, but this time, it’s the one that breaks him, his teeth clenching and his chest heaving breathlessly.
How is he supposed to respond? By trying to pull Sunjata close again, trying to press his face in along the uninjured side? By letting his mind fall away, distant and confused and elated and terrified, without any order? Nate does both, overwhelmed and panicked and trying to keep a hold of himself, of the situation. The first words that leave him, that he musters are a joke, or at least an attempt at one. I was supposed to be making you feel better.
It’s ironic really, that out of everything love is what broke his back, that cracked him into this state. Nate would laugh about it, if he could think about it at all right now.
He’s not even the one on drugs, and the joke still manages to catch Nate off guard, his brows pulling together like he’s not entirely sure what Sunjata means. A bubble of laughter hits him out of nowhere, uncontrollable for a single moment of pure reaction. Gods, he can’t even muster a response. And there’s a snap, a shift back in Sunjata, his voice, all at once familiar again, all at once back in this moment fully with him. I’m not going to stop you if you want to. Nate’s trying to be supportive, encouraging. Trying to not let his voice shake with the enormity of the gesture, the soft edges of it crashing into him more effectively than any sharp implement could ever.
It swirls together into a storm, pressing and pounding against the inside of his skull, his ribs. His own inadequacies, his regrets and shame, growing into something that threatens to blow him away completely. That he would let blow him away, as if he had no other options.
At the eye of the storm, he has a chance, an opportunity. Nate feels it, knows he has to make a choice. Knows he can sink deeper, that the option is always there, that it’s just so much more apparent, more tempting right now. Or... he can cling to something, to the hand offered out.
He’s left enough bruises on Sunjata for one day, but it doesn’t stop his hands from twisting into his husbands clothes so hard shake, doesn’t stop him from becoming a desperate, fervent thing, no matter the pin he knows it causes. He’s selfish, and cracked, and Sunjata is offering him a hand, a step up into something better.
Nate’s eyes are wide and staring when the attuned pulls back, desperately focused. He doesn’t react to the words, but the hand slipping out of his hair has him swallowing, eyes dipping in an almost blink. The other one, that lifts to wipe away a thin trail of fluid, manages to pull a soft huff of breath from him. It is a sentiment that’s been shared before, but this time, it’s the one that breaks him, his teeth clenching and his chest heaving breathlessly.
How is he supposed to respond? By trying to pull Sunjata close again, trying to press his face in along the uninjured side? By letting his mind fall away, distant and confused and elated and terrified, without any order? Nate does both, overwhelmed and panicked and trying to keep a hold of himself, of the situation. The first words that leave him, that he musters are a joke, or at least an attempt at one. I was supposed to be making you feel better.
It’s ironic really, that out of everything love is what broke his back, that cracked him into this state. Nate would laugh about it, if he could think about it at all right now.
Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits
How bad I wanna call it quits
