[ The sky, then the trees, and Ian already knows where this is going -- or the loose direction, anyway. The understanding filters across his expression, lips parted, voiceless for a moment.
He's thinking of course he fell. Jesus, considering what he does all the time recreationally, screwing around on that crane, scaling up Ian's building to his window. He feels something rising up that sounds like I told you that shit's not safe-- but he presses it right back down again. It isn't even an I told you so, it's another brand of that same angry concern he felt earlier with Kyna.
Way too late to feel that for him, here.
An irrational, absurd voice in his mind murmurs that it's one of the most painless ways to go, at least. If it's fast enough, hard enough, the brain doesn't even have time to register pain.
That's not the right thing to say either. Mostly he just wants to know-- ]
This is gonna sound... really stupid when I ask it, but-- are you okay?
[ Not physically, obviously, but emotionally. ]
Are you- how long ago was it? Have you actually processed it yet?
He's thinking of course he fell. Jesus, considering what he does all the time recreationally, screwing around on that crane, scaling up Ian's building to his window. He feels something rising up that sounds like I told you that shit's not safe-- but he presses it right back down again. It isn't even an I told you so, it's another brand of that same angry concern he felt earlier with Kyna.
Way too late to feel that for him, here.
An irrational, absurd voice in his mind murmurs that it's one of the most painless ways to go, at least. If it's fast enough, hard enough, the brain doesn't even have time to register pain.
That's not the right thing to say either. Mostly he just wants to know-- ]
This is gonna sound... really stupid when I ask it, but-- are you okay?
[ Not physically, obviously, but emotionally. ]
Are you- how long ago was it? Have you actually processed it yet?
she'll probably need one. thanks, little brother.
think about the tattoo.
think about the tattoo.
[ A small breath escapes his lips at six-ish months ago. No, there's no way Nate's processed his own death in six months. Not unless he's some unbelievably high level of in tune with the universe and psychology and like got a personal reaffirmation from one of the angels running around here. Even then it's a lot to swallow. It took Ian way longer than six months to processes his mother's death, he'd think his own would be... More. In some weird and indefinable way it would be more.
Lance is a smart guy. What he says feels true inherently, and Ian takes his time trying to think through his words with equivalent care. Hell, trying to think all of it through with equivalent care, because no combination of words is really gonna fix it and--
Fuck if it doesn't throw him back to a dream he'd done a good job pushing down. Searching out the right thing to say, falling short, wanting to somehow help or fix something he's not even a part of.
He knows what he'd be doing right now, if it were him.
Those two things combined is what ultimately has him reaching out to settle a careful hand on Nate's thigh. He'd go for arm, he'd prefer arm, but they're angled oddly, Nate's got an elbow on the couch backing, it would take precarious and deliberate shifting to pull it off. This is easier, more natural, it seems less like a huge... thing... to do. He's trying not to overthink it.
It just feels like he should. Like he should be offering something here that he's not sure either of them really know how to navigate. ]
I think... if you have to stay busy enough that you don't think about it, that answers your question.
[ Six months in he accepted he couldn't change what happened with his mom, sure, but he spent the rest of grad school adamantly blocking the rest out and working himself ragged. ]
Lance is a smart guy. What he says feels true inherently, and Ian takes his time trying to think through his words with equivalent care. Hell, trying to think all of it through with equivalent care, because no combination of words is really gonna fix it and--
Fuck if it doesn't throw him back to a dream he'd done a good job pushing down. Searching out the right thing to say, falling short, wanting to somehow help or fix something he's not even a part of.
He knows what he'd be doing right now, if it were him.
Those two things combined is what ultimately has him reaching out to settle a careful hand on Nate's thigh. He'd go for arm, he'd prefer arm, but they're angled oddly, Nate's got an elbow on the couch backing, it would take precarious and deliberate shifting to pull it off. This is easier, more natural, it seems less like a huge... thing... to do. He's trying not to overthink it.
It just feels like he should. Like he should be offering something here that he's not sure either of them really know how to navigate. ]
I think... if you have to stay busy enough that you don't think about it, that answers your question.
[ Six months in he accepted he couldn't change what happened with his mom, sure, but he spent the rest of grad school adamantly blocking the rest out and working himself ragged. ]
[ Frankly, it's hard to say he's ever felt anything quite as strange as mourning the loss of a guy which happened before you got to know him. There's an absolute ton of uncertainty surrounding this whole thing — death, and how it works in an already chaotic system like this one. People get sent home often enough — Kyna left and came back, Will just flat out left. What happens if Nate goes? Will it happen if there's nothing back there for him?
The longer it sits the more questions start to flood in. He wants to answer them with logic, or find a pattern that might paint a clearer picture, but there isn't a single speck of anything that would let him start to puzzle it out.
And it's not even him. ]
Jesus, I can't believe--
[ He catches himself, stops there. Can't believe you've sat with it this long. Months without talking about it — except with Lance, and thank god for him, but still. That's a lot to carry around and ignore.
Except it'd be hypocritical of him to say that, and it wouldn't actually help anything.
The touch against the back of his hand leaves him twisting a little more tightly inside. A pervasive and unrelenting urge to solve, to demonstrate his value by finding a solution where there isn't one. Can't go back and stop it, can't give him anything to make it easier, all he can really do is sit here and empathize.
Well. He could-
He licks his lips, and while it isn't quite accurate to say he speaks falteringly, there's definitely a deliberate slowness to his words - feeling out the ice before he settles his weight on it each step. ]
Would it help-- I don't know, maybe not, but would it help to... show somebody?
[ The memory of dying, the last little bit? Seems like knowing somebody understands might... do something. What the fuck does he know? He took two psych classes a decade and a half ago and retained like 7% of them. ]
The longer it sits the more questions start to flood in. He wants to answer them with logic, or find a pattern that might paint a clearer picture, but there isn't a single speck of anything that would let him start to puzzle it out.
And it's not even him. ]
Jesus, I can't believe--
[ He catches himself, stops there. Can't believe you've sat with it this long. Months without talking about it — except with Lance, and thank god for him, but still. That's a lot to carry around and ignore.
Except it'd be hypocritical of him to say that, and it wouldn't actually help anything.
The touch against the back of his hand leaves him twisting a little more tightly inside. A pervasive and unrelenting urge to solve, to demonstrate his value by finding a solution where there isn't one. Can't go back and stop it, can't give him anything to make it easier, all he can really do is sit here and empathize.
Well. He could-
He licks his lips, and while it isn't quite accurate to say he speaks falteringly, there's definitely a deliberate slowness to his words - feeling out the ice before he settles his weight on it each step. ]
Would it help-- I don't know, maybe not, but would it help to... show somebody?
[ The memory of dying, the last little bit? Seems like knowing somebody understands might... do something. What the fuck does he know? He took two psych classes a decade and a half ago and retained like 7% of them. ]
[ He's expecting a refusal, to be honest — he'd have banked more on a no than a yes just because it's a big thing. The thought of sharing those last few minutes watching his mom go would give him a knee-jerk aversion response before he even really processed the request. Logically, he admits it might help — rather, it might have helped him back then, when it was still only six months old.
He parts his lips to say as much — those polite things people say after 'no' they'd already eben expecting, really, it's okay, you don't have to- but Nate cuts that off at the knees.
Wrong time, wrong place, the annoying thing about an empathy bond is you can't pick and choose and screen what you feel like you could probably do with thoughts alone. Recite the alphabet over and over again in your head all you want, you can't do that with your emotions. Cold fingers wrapping around his wrist sends through a sharp and bright awareness through his bones, sensory static and sunlight before Nate's pressing sincerity sweeps it away. Fleeting enough to ignore entirely, hopefully, to focus on the actual subject at hand.
Amusement follows - grim, not remotely cheerful. He accepts the answer, just... the reason he's given, not so much. ]
Don't worry about me. I promise I've seen worse.
[ Than the sky, the trees, and a peaceful death. He's not what's important right now anyway. He's trying to be the comforter, not the comfortee. ]
He parts his lips to say as much — those polite things people say after 'no' they'd already eben expecting, really, it's okay, you don't have to- but Nate cuts that off at the knees.
Wrong time, wrong place, the annoying thing about an empathy bond is you can't pick and choose and screen what you feel like you could probably do with thoughts alone. Recite the alphabet over and over again in your head all you want, you can't do that with your emotions. Cold fingers wrapping around his wrist sends through a sharp and bright awareness through his bones, sensory static and sunlight before Nate's pressing sincerity sweeps it away. Fleeting enough to ignore entirely, hopefully, to focus on the actual subject at hand.
Amusement follows - grim, not remotely cheerful. He accepts the answer, just... the reason he's given, not so much. ]
Don't worry about me. I promise I've seen worse.
[ Than the sky, the trees, and a peaceful death. He's not what's important right now anyway. He's trying to be the comforter, not the comfortee. ]
[ It's alright — it wasn't really about pushing the offer so much as making it clear Nate shouldn't consider Ian's sensibilities a factor. He offers a small expression that counts as a smile only by sheer technicality, and his hand leaves Nate's thigh to accommodate his retreat. ]
Okay. You don't have to. Whenever— if you ever do...
[ You know where he lives.
He settles his own elbow against the couch backing, the side of a finger settles on his lips briefly. It doesn't completely fall away when he speaks again. ]
I guess in the meantime we have to find a way to keep the tourists from messing up our city. Fucking snowbirds.
[ A gentle transition offering, if Nate wants the out. ]
Okay. You don't have to. Whenever— if you ever do...
[ You know where he lives.
He settles his own elbow against the couch backing, the side of a finger settles on his lips briefly. It doesn't completely fall away when he speaks again. ]
I guess in the meantime we have to find a way to keep the tourists from messing up our city. Fucking snowbirds.
[ A gentle transition offering, if Nate wants the out. ]
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