if you really don't mind, take me as i am, take me as i am, when you get a chance
take your time, i understand, believe me when i say i carry all my sins
take your time, i understand, believe me when i say i carry all my sins
Some part of Nate is still surprised, a spark of soft wonder flashing in him just long enough to shine through the bond, but it's snuffed by an exhaustion that he keeps a much tighter grip on. You get something new every week, don't you? Somehow, his voice is still light, his grin wide, even if it isn't exactly easy. He can joke, act like this doesn't take it's toll on him. Everything still fits in that bottle in his chest, ignoring the pressure, so he's fine.
Brows pinch and a bi-toned gaze follow the folding of the good wing, Nate trying to get a sense of where everything is supposed to go, how it's supposed to move. He doesn't have quite enough presence of mind to do much more than hum at the explanation; it sounds strange, but so is everywhere in this place. Torchline was strange, the fucking ocean glowed at night. "I haven't actually gone into the jungle yet." Nate says it more so he's saying something, though there's something disapproving in his tone anyway. Like he has any room at all to be judgemental about stupid decisions. Can you... lay down maybe? A mistake to let the instruction come silently, his own misgivings sinking into what are supposed to be calming words.
There's really no way to be all the way prepared for something like this, Nate knows, but he does snatch himself a few more moments by removing his belt, offering it down to his husband with a You're going to need to bite down on something. Where does he go from there though? "I... need you to move with me. It's going to be shitty, but... I'm going to put it back in place, and hold it there. I need you to fold it in like the other one. And I'll wrap it like that." Simple, right? Easy.
And just to make sure neither of them get the chance to think about it too much, he starts to move almost immediately, his hands steadier than they have any real right to be.
Despite his best intentions, Nate's mind drifts, for a moment, to how it feels like this is happening more and more often. There are still bruises from last time he'd patched Sunjata up, and it's all explainable, all understandable; even this is an accident. But none of the justification in the world really makes it easier to swallow, to shove down. There have been things sitting in the back of his throat for too long now, and he has to be careful to not choke.
Brows pinch and a bi-toned gaze follow the folding of the good wing, Nate trying to get a sense of where everything is supposed to go, how it's supposed to move. He doesn't have quite enough presence of mind to do much more than hum at the explanation; it sounds strange, but so is everywhere in this place. Torchline was strange, the fucking ocean glowed at night. "I haven't actually gone into the jungle yet." Nate says it more so he's saying something, though there's something disapproving in his tone anyway. Like he has any room at all to be judgemental about stupid decisions. Can you... lay down maybe? A mistake to let the instruction come silently, his own misgivings sinking into what are supposed to be calming words.
There's really no way to be all the way prepared for something like this, Nate knows, but he does snatch himself a few more moments by removing his belt, offering it down to his husband with a You're going to need to bite down on something. Where does he go from there though? "I... need you to move with me. It's going to be shitty, but... I'm going to put it back in place, and hold it there. I need you to fold it in like the other one. And I'll wrap it like that." Simple, right? Easy.
And just to make sure neither of them get the chance to think about it too much, he starts to move almost immediately, his hands steadier than they have any real right to be.
Despite his best intentions, Nate's mind drifts, for a moment, to how it feels like this is happening more and more often. There are still bruises from last time he'd patched Sunjata up, and it's all explainable, all understandable; even this is an accident. But none of the justification in the world really makes it easier to swallow, to shove down. There have been things sitting in the back of his throat for too long now, and he has to be careful to not choke.
NATE
