you're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling
Words are so distant. The apology is so small, so fast, zipping by Nate before he can even really parse it. Sunjata is there, and then he isn’t, dancing in the peripherals of a gaze that isn’t really seeing anything. He feels the shirt draped over his chest though, let’s it guide him back into something physical, Nate’s fist clenching at his side.
More apologies drop against him like the rain, the ascendeds hand lifting to tangle in the empty shirt, drawing it up towards his face. He turns, painfully slowly, to the curled up shape of his husband, and he wishes he could fix this. Wishes he could not care. Wishes it wasn’t such a big deal. He curls up on his side, wishing it hurt, wishing it would distract him, and hides his face in the fabric.
Gods only know how long they sit like that. Curled up and aching and soaked in mud and rain both. Whatever preparations they’d been working on are long forgotten by the time Nate shifts again, a hand grasping blindly at his chest trying to find the ring, trying to slip it onto a finger. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he knows what he’s feeling. And without a sense of touch, this has to be the next best thing.
Except, Nate isn’t sure what he’s even feeling. There’s simply a yawning chasm in him, but he’s there. He’s reaching out, in the only way he can right now. Sunjata?
More apologies drop against him like the rain, the ascendeds hand lifting to tangle in the empty shirt, drawing it up towards his face. He turns, painfully slowly, to the curled up shape of his husband, and he wishes he could fix this. Wishes he could not care. Wishes it wasn’t such a big deal. He curls up on his side, wishing it hurt, wishing it would distract him, and hides his face in the fabric.
Gods only know how long they sit like that. Curled up and aching and soaked in mud and rain both. Whatever preparations they’d been working on are long forgotten by the time Nate shifts again, a hand grasping blindly at his chest trying to find the ring, trying to slip it onto a finger. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he knows what he’s feeling. And without a sense of touch, this has to be the next best thing.
Except, Nate isn’t sure what he’s even feeling. There’s simply a yawning chasm in him, but he’s there. He’s reaching out, in the only way he can right now. Sunjata?
& you're trembling and he reaches over
and touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist
NATE
