you're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling
Nate doesn’t say a word as Sunjata moves around him, looking and acting busy, normal. As close as they can brush against it at the moment. His unblinking, distant gaze trails after the attuned though, waiting for something, some gasp of breath, some stumble that will just pop this tension once and for all.
They can’t heal like this. They might have to.
Sunjata steps past him, so close that Nate could reach out and grab him. That he could hold him, just for a moment, selfishly clinging onto comfort that he cannot offer back. He steps back instead, pressing harder against the counter to open more space between them. It becomes a show of grabbing at dirty dishes, at the invisible mess on the counter so there’s something else to think about. Some light noise of affirmation leaves him, a soft ”Meet you outside.”
It’s only when Sunjata disappears down the hall that Nate moves, his fist crashing down on the counter with a dull thud. Something cracks, and it’s irritating how he knows it without feeling it. He really wants to feel it. With a grumble, and a soft apology to Haai and Pemota both, Nate steps outside, squinting up at the clouds, the threat of rain and the far more irritating threat of sun.
There are sandbags out already, a barrier that Nate steps over on his way to windows, stepping carelessly through the trampled mess that had once been a garden.
They can’t heal like this. They might have to.
Sunjata steps past him, so close that Nate could reach out and grab him. That he could hold him, just for a moment, selfishly clinging onto comfort that he cannot offer back. He steps back instead, pressing harder against the counter to open more space between them. It becomes a show of grabbing at dirty dishes, at the invisible mess on the counter so there’s something else to think about. Some light noise of affirmation leaves him, a soft ”Meet you outside.”
It’s only when Sunjata disappears down the hall that Nate moves, his fist crashing down on the counter with a dull thud. Something cracks, and it’s irritating how he knows it without feeling it. He really wants to feel it. With a grumble, and a soft apology to Haai and Pemota both, Nate steps outside, squinting up at the clouds, the threat of rain and the far more irritating threat of sun.
There are sandbags out already, a barrier that Nate steps over on his way to windows, stepping carelessly through the trampled mess that had once been a garden.
& you're trembling and he reaches over
and touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist
NATE
