![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
god u read my mind
ill be there in ten minutes
no pressure tho
if ur not there ill save u a seat
and maybe one taco ;D
ill be there in ten minutes
no pressure tho
if ur not there ill save u a seat
and maybe one taco ;D
[ We had a good thing going here, and then your brother shows up-
It's a statement that surprises him, because it's not one he ever anticipated hearing from someone as outwardly confident as Wade. Most of that is a show, he knows from their previous conversations, but Nate is starting to grasp - albeit slowly, badly - that it runs a lot deeper than he anticipated.
He's improved exponentially at this "understanding people" thing that Lance has, for years, exposed him to. His gut reaction is that he very suddenly wants to ask if Wade is somehow jealous, for reasons that baffle him, but it's the kind of question that would immediately put someone on the defensive. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks.
It might be good for all of them to get their own spaces, eventually. Not just rooms in a shared apartment. ]
...no, tell me. [ He stresses, expression open. ] Please. Because I'm kind of an idiot about this stuff most of the time and I can't know unless we talk. So let's talk.
It's a statement that surprises him, because it's not one he ever anticipated hearing from someone as outwardly confident as Wade. Most of that is a show, he knows from their previous conversations, but Nate is starting to grasp - albeit slowly, badly - that it runs a lot deeper than he anticipated.
He's improved exponentially at this "understanding people" thing that Lance has, for years, exposed him to. His gut reaction is that he very suddenly wants to ask if Wade is somehow jealous, for reasons that baffle him, but it's the kind of question that would immediately put someone on the defensive. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks.
It might be good for all of them to get their own spaces, eventually. Not just rooms in a shared apartment. ]
...no, tell me. [ He stresses, expression open. ] Please. Because I'm kind of an idiot about this stuff most of the time and I can't know unless we talk. So let's talk.
[ Nate gets there first because he happened to be closest, kicking around the local eatery in the neon glare of the nighttime streetlights and signage. At first blush there isn't a lot different outside of looking more tired than the usual, shying away from any passers-by that walk close enough to risk recognition.
He's also wearing a crew-neck shirt. ]
He's also wearing a crew-neck shirt. ]
( they can't help everyone, and jason--definitely does not expect to. there's a lot of shit here he can't do, people he's not going to be able to reach. this isn't gotham but the whole goddamn world, and even in his own hunting grounds he knew better than to expect to be able to resolve everyone's problems. this isn't any different. )
i still haven't gotten the full story on what the hell happened
but from the bits and pieces i have gotten, i don't think i want it either
you got names of displaced to look out for?
i still haven't gotten the full story on what the hell happened
but from the bits and pieces i have gotten, i don't think i want it either
you got names of displaced to look out for?
[It isn't unexpected that Nate might take some guesses in order to try to prompt conversation along, but also show that he understands, and that's something Lance appreciates. As much as Lance is closed off about so many things, and he doesn't want to add to others' worries, there's something deeply reassuring about being reminded that the people he cares about care in return.
So, after the questions, his gaze flickers toward Nate briefly before turning toward a rabbit that has taken shelter under a bench, chewing on something and twitching its little rabbit nose. Watching it is a nice distraction as Lance answers.]
That's part of it, yeah.
[And Nate's very right to assume it bothers him, because it very much does. But that's less because what it is, and more because of how it makes him feel, and what feeling that way reminds him of.
But how to say that, and how to start saying it, is so difficult. There's silence several seconds as he goes over a few possibilities, plays out different scenarios in his head, and tries to gather the will to talk about something he never talks about; at the moment, it isn't so much his usual emotional response stopping him, but just sheer exhaustion.
Still, finally, he begins.]
You know, um, I... I nearly died, when I was six. I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, which wasn't difficult to do, and my foster father lost it; it's not like that was weird--it happened basically every day--but this time it was just... Worse.
[He doesn't care to go into further explanation about how, both because he doesn't want to and it isn't necessary. Nate knows him well enough to get the idea when he understates things, and that particular incident isn't actually the point anyway; it's that it was such a constantly dangerous, terrifying situation, and what it's like to live that way.
So he's quiet again for another few moments, still not looking at Nate, before finally putting that into words as well.]
After all this time I thought I was past having to be so constantly careful about everything I did and said, but then the conspiracy happened at home, and then I ended up in Hadriel, and now I'm here.
[And so although it's certainly not the same situation, for years now there's still been that sense of living constantly in fear. That would be bad enough on its own, but with everything else that happened, it just feels like he's gone full circle and that's such an innately horrifying thought he can't really allow himself to consider it for too long.]
So, after the questions, his gaze flickers toward Nate briefly before turning toward a rabbit that has taken shelter under a bench, chewing on something and twitching its little rabbit nose. Watching it is a nice distraction as Lance answers.]
That's part of it, yeah.
[And Nate's very right to assume it bothers him, because it very much does. But that's less because what it is, and more because of how it makes him feel, and what feeling that way reminds him of.
But how to say that, and how to start saying it, is so difficult. There's silence several seconds as he goes over a few possibilities, plays out different scenarios in his head, and tries to gather the will to talk about something he never talks about; at the moment, it isn't so much his usual emotional response stopping him, but just sheer exhaustion.
Still, finally, he begins.]
You know, um, I... I nearly died, when I was six. I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, which wasn't difficult to do, and my foster father lost it; it's not like that was weird--it happened basically every day--but this time it was just... Worse.
[He doesn't care to go into further explanation about how, both because he doesn't want to and it isn't necessary. Nate knows him well enough to get the idea when he understates things, and that particular incident isn't actually the point anyway; it's that it was such a constantly dangerous, terrifying situation, and what it's like to live that way.
So he's quiet again for another few moments, still not looking at Nate, before finally putting that into words as well.]
After all this time I thought I was past having to be so constantly careful about everything I did and said, but then the conspiracy happened at home, and then I ended up in Hadriel, and now I'm here.
[And so although it's certainly not the same situation, for years now there's still been that sense of living constantly in fear. That would be bad enough on its own, but with everything else that happened, it just feels like he's gone full circle and that's such an innately horrifying thought he can't really allow himself to consider it for too long.]
[Ellie pauses, her mouth tight and a furrow coming to her brow. This wasn't something she wanted to tell him, hadn't banked on getting into it, but Nathan knew a thing or two about how to world worked, and more than that, seemed like he knew how people worked.
She worries her hands together, pulling at the prosthetics, struggling to relieve the phantom ache. It doesn't occur to her to lie. Instead the response that tries to jump out is almost too honest.
Worse.
Looking out at the city, Ellie presses all of the breath from her lungs. She doesn't want to be watching his eyes when she tell him this, but he deserves to know.]
I hunted them down. One by one. And I did what Joel would've done if it had been me.
[There's no pleasure in the words. No satisfaction. Her fingers ache like hell.]
She worries her hands together, pulling at the prosthetics, struggling to relieve the phantom ache. It doesn't occur to her to lie. Instead the response that tries to jump out is almost too honest.
Worse.
Looking out at the city, Ellie presses all of the breath from her lungs. She doesn't want to be watching his eyes when she tell him this, but he deserves to know.]
I hunted them down. One by one. And I did what Joel would've done if it had been me.
[There's no pleasure in the words. No satisfaction. Her fingers ache like hell.]
[ He said eight o'clock.
It is nearly eight, and just like the time Nate wandered this way to tell someone the difficult truth surrounding his status as a dead man walking, it's hard to cross the threshold. It's supposed to get easier, isn't it? With repetition? Taking the first step is the worst part, and usually Nate is the kind of person who enjoys the freefall.
His implant is already coded so he doesn't bother knocking or ringing before entering, the quiet shhhunk of the door behind him solidifying the intention he's supposed to be carrying with conscientious intent. Ian isn't in immediate view, so he steps into the living room and pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows now that he's in less public company. ]
Hey.
It is nearly eight, and just like the time Nate wandered this way to tell someone the difficult truth surrounding his status as a dead man walking, it's hard to cross the threshold. It's supposed to get easier, isn't it? With repetition? Taking the first step is the worst part, and usually Nate is the kind of person who enjoys the freefall.
His implant is already coded so he doesn't bother knocking or ringing before entering, the quiet shhhunk of the door behind him solidifying the intention he's supposed to be carrying with conscientious intent. Ian isn't in immediate view, so he steps into the living room and pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows now that he's in less public company. ]
Hey.
I'm not so sure they will get over it.
[ He admits with some reluctance, examining the lip of his bottle in vague, distant interest before taking a very, very healthy sip.
Nate mulls over the following seconds, piecing together his thoughts. ]
There's a- a disconnect, somewhere. People seem happy to act as though that world and what we all did in it weren't as real as this one, but at the same time there's active condemnation in the streets. I keep getting dirty looks and- maybe it's just easier for them to rationalize how upset they are if they have a scapegoat, you know? Like they can pretend they didn't do those things - that they weren't those people - so long as they have my face to hate.
[ He admits with some reluctance, examining the lip of his bottle in vague, distant interest before taking a very, very healthy sip.
Nate mulls over the following seconds, piecing together his thoughts. ]
There's a- a disconnect, somewhere. People seem happy to act as though that world and what we all did in it weren't as real as this one, but at the same time there's active condemnation in the streets. I keep getting dirty looks and- maybe it's just easier for them to rationalize how upset they are if they have a scapegoat, you know? Like they can pretend they didn't do those things - that they weren't those people - so long as they have my face to hate.
And long as you're around, they can't forget it.
[ If no one came back but the bystanders, maybe they could write it off. But murdergame winners eating dinner a table away? That's harder.
If things had gone differently, maybe he'd be feeling the same way. He doesn't know who shot Ian, tried to shoot Nathan. It might be different, if he did. ]
Thing is, it's still fresh. They're staring you down now because they were there when it ended--you'n me, we got a head start getting over it. So we give 'em some time. And if it doesn't get better, we pack up and pick ourselves a new city.
[ If no one came back but the bystanders, maybe they could write it off. But murdergame winners eating dinner a table away? That's harder.
If things had gone differently, maybe he'd be feeling the same way. He doesn't know who shot Ian, tried to shoot Nathan. It might be different, if he did. ]
Thing is, it's still fresh. They're staring you down now because they were there when it ended--you'n me, we got a head start getting over it. So we give 'em some time. And if it doesn't get better, we pack up and pick ourselves a new city.
( He's at his desk, as it so happens. Tucked into a corner with circuitry exposed, the guts of some new gadget spilling out onto the wooden surface. He abandons it immediately — it had been a time passer, something to keep him from spiraling out. Something to concentrate on, something that isn't consequential compared to the man who just walked in.
He spins around on his spinny-stool steady and easy, a leg stretching out long to bring himself to a stop. There's a black smudge on his forehead and a screwdriver in his hand, because of who he is as a person. Sorry. )
Hey, man.
( Calm, with only a little detectable amount of reservation in there somewhere. )
He spins around on his spinny-stool steady and easy, a leg stretching out long to bring himself to a stop. There's a black smudge on his forehead and a screwdriver in his hand, because of who he is as a person. Sorry. )
Hey, man.
( Calm, with only a little detectable amount of reservation in there somewhere. )
[ Nate almost says "hey" again, like an idiot, partly because his brain is running on maximum overdrive right now and reaching the point of shorting out like a fuse in a Bogotá electrical box, and partly because Ian looks really, really charming with a smear of machinery oil between his eyes. He smiles in spite of himself, though the expression is shuttered, muted, careful to meet the thinly-veiled anxiety from the other half of the apartment.
Nate half-sits, half-leans against the back of the couch, gaze trailing over the abandoned project on Ian's desk. ]
So...sorry I'm always- uh, bringing heavy stuff to your door.
Nate half-sits, half-leans against the back of the couch, gaze trailing over the abandoned project on Ian's desk. ]
So...sorry I'm always- uh, bringing heavy stuff to your door.
( Yeah, it's okay, he completely gets it. He's taken to gently tapping one palm with the thick handle end of the screwdriver, a kind of bouncing rhythm — slow, quiet, contemplative. No vibrating anxious energy here, it's all neatly tucked down deep. )
I mean, to be fair you're really... good at carrying... stuff.
( Lamely, and with an almost apologetic look on his face just as soon as he finishes getting it out.
He tried, and therefor no one can criticize him. )
It's the...
( Vague gesture to his own bicep, two fingers curled around the screwdriver to keep from dropping it. )
I mean, to be fair you're really... good at carrying... stuff.
( Lamely, and with an almost apologetic look on his face just as soon as he finishes getting it out.
He tried, and therefor no one can criticize him. )
It's the...
( Vague gesture to his own bicep, two fingers curled around the screwdriver to keep from dropping it. )
Right, yeah.
[ Every day is leg day when you run from your problems, or something like that. Even without the joke it's not an inaccurate statement: Nate carried Sam with him for fifteen years, never brought him up to anyone - even those who had known him - and is still getting used to referring to his brother in the present tense. It was practically a decade of knowing Elena before they worked through their issues by the warm side of that prismatic spring in Hadriel, admitting where he came from, why he lied, what his name is.
Was.
Nate fiddles with the knuckles of his left hand, pinching at the web at the base of his fingers, worrying the skin. ]
I don't really know where to- I'm sorry, I'm not good at this.
[ He can do better. He knows he can do better, she made him better. It isn't just the honesty that feels as though it's hamstringing him, it's the ache of something he's only mentioned in passing to Stephen, when they talked about what mortality forced Nathan Drake to leave behind. ]
...I had a wife, back home. Before I died. [ Nate takes a sharp, shuddering breath, like the sentence that follows is something to brace for, a knife between the ribs. His gaze hovers somewhere in the convenient middle distance, between Ian's stool and the concrete wall. ] Her name is Elena. I- I miss her every day, I love her more than I can really express.
[ He's never been eloquent about anything but historical esoterica but there's no way to verbally capture the emotion that rushes in like a flash flood when she would laugh because he insisted on turning her freckles into ridiculous constellations, to articulate the delight of being decimated by her prowess in tv game things, to express the solidity of sentiment in unwavering support. How is anyone supposed to describe the indescribable? ]
But I also feel a lot of really...really strong, intense emotions about you, too. And it's- confusing, I don't know if I'm allowed or supposed to feel both, and I don't know if that's fair to you, so...I wanted to tell you. Before you made a mistake.
[ Every day is leg day when you run from your problems, or something like that. Even without the joke it's not an inaccurate statement: Nate carried Sam with him for fifteen years, never brought him up to anyone - even those who had known him - and is still getting used to referring to his brother in the present tense. It was practically a decade of knowing Elena before they worked through their issues by the warm side of that prismatic spring in Hadriel, admitting where he came from, why he lied, what his name is.
Was.
Nate fiddles with the knuckles of his left hand, pinching at the web at the base of his fingers, worrying the skin. ]
I don't really know where to- I'm sorry, I'm not good at this.
[ He can do better. He knows he can do better, she made him better. It isn't just the honesty that feels as though it's hamstringing him, it's the ache of something he's only mentioned in passing to Stephen, when they talked about what mortality forced Nathan Drake to leave behind. ]
...I had a wife, back home. Before I died. [ Nate takes a sharp, shuddering breath, like the sentence that follows is something to brace for, a knife between the ribs. His gaze hovers somewhere in the convenient middle distance, between Ian's stool and the concrete wall. ] Her name is Elena. I- I miss her every day, I love her more than I can really express.
[ He's never been eloquent about anything but historical esoterica but there's no way to verbally capture the emotion that rushes in like a flash flood when she would laugh because he insisted on turning her freckles into ridiculous constellations, to articulate the delight of being decimated by her prowess in tv game things, to express the solidity of sentiment in unwavering support. How is anyone supposed to describe the indescribable? ]
But I also feel a lot of really...really strong, intense emotions about you, too. And it's- confusing, I don't know if I'm allowed or supposed to feel both, and I don't know if that's fair to you, so...I wanted to tell you. Before you made a mistake.
( It's a tick he never really noticed before, Nate fiddling with his hands like that. Absently registered it in passing, never thought anything of it until I had a wife. The realization sets in like a cold gust of wind; a fucking wedding ring that isn't there. )
Shit.
( It's breathed out in an absent, thoughtful kind of awe. A throw-away sound more than a word, automatic and made to fill the space while he processes. How he feels about it. What it means for them.
He's a rational guy, usually. Internally anxious though he may be, that's mostly a product of overthinking. Over-analyzing too much. Aside from that, he does a great job stepping outside of himself and observing both his emotions and the scope of the issue from a more detached perspective. That's what he does now, with a hand passing absently back and forth across his lips.
There's a version of himself in there that's jealous. It's probably expected, it makes sense; you live a life where you spend ten years with somebody, jealousy is a natural human instinct when thinking about your partner loving somebody else. That's just one small part of himself in a greater whole, a whole that knows he doesn't actually have any claim here. There's another version that would very, very adamantly insist on minimizing their relationship — one dream kiss, a couple long conversations, flirting. Doesn't mean anything, totally fine if this ends right here, definitely 100% totally fine if they start slowly ghosting and he starts hiding and things just sort of slowly drift apart. Fizzle out, a slow death.
That part's full of shit, though. He knows it. He's grown just a little too much since he got here to pretend like he doesn't.
When in doubt, his default thought is that the best course of action may be to put his feelings aside and deal with them later when he's alone, when nobody's there to see him display it all. And yeah, maybe deal with might turn out to be ignore, but that's for future-him to worry about. Right now it's just. Way easier to stubbornly swallow it and focus on the obviously distressed feelings of the guy standing in front of him. )
I'm sorry, Nate. That you got separated from her, I mean. On top of everything else you're figuring out, that probably makes it feel, like, ten times heavier.
( He didn't miss that before you made a mistake, it's just that he's not completely confident in how he's interpreting it, or the right way (is there a right way in situations like this?) to respond to it.
He licks his lips. Chews the bottom one for a stalling second. )
And I— completely get it. If it's too much, if it doesn't... feel right. To do. It really doesn't have to be a thing, I'm not gonna like... you know, guilt you or tank our whole... friendship over it if you need to... step back, or something.
Shit.
( It's breathed out in an absent, thoughtful kind of awe. A throw-away sound more than a word, automatic and made to fill the space while he processes. How he feels about it. What it means for them.
He's a rational guy, usually. Internally anxious though he may be, that's mostly a product of overthinking. Over-analyzing too much. Aside from that, he does a great job stepping outside of himself and observing both his emotions and the scope of the issue from a more detached perspective. That's what he does now, with a hand passing absently back and forth across his lips.
There's a version of himself in there that's jealous. It's probably expected, it makes sense; you live a life where you spend ten years with somebody, jealousy is a natural human instinct when thinking about your partner loving somebody else. That's just one small part of himself in a greater whole, a whole that knows he doesn't actually have any claim here. There's another version that would very, very adamantly insist on minimizing their relationship — one dream kiss, a couple long conversations, flirting. Doesn't mean anything, totally fine if this ends right here, definitely 100% totally fine if they start slowly ghosting and he starts hiding and things just sort of slowly drift apart. Fizzle out, a slow death.
That part's full of shit, though. He knows it. He's grown just a little too much since he got here to pretend like he doesn't.
When in doubt, his default thought is that the best course of action may be to put his feelings aside and deal with them later when he's alone, when nobody's there to see him display it all. And yeah, maybe deal with might turn out to be ignore, but that's for future-him to worry about. Right now it's just. Way easier to stubbornly swallow it and focus on the obviously distressed feelings of the guy standing in front of him. )
I'm sorry, Nate. That you got separated from her, I mean. On top of everything else you're figuring out, that probably makes it feel, like, ten times heavier.
( He didn't miss that before you made a mistake, it's just that he's not completely confident in how he's interpreting it, or the right way (is there a right way in situations like this?) to respond to it.
He licks his lips. Chews the bottom one for a stalling second. )
And I— completely get it. If it's too much, if it doesn't... feel right. To do. It really doesn't have to be a thing, I'm not gonna like... you know, guilt you or tank our whole... friendship over it if you need to... step back, or something.
[ There's a certain relief in not receiving some kind of accusation about lying by omission. It wouldn't be unwarranted, but neither was this something that Nate felt himself capable of sharing when there was never a need. Like with Sam - like with his death - there are subjects easier not to touch, to leave them be while trying to solve the more pressing issues, like not dying in a monster attack or helping out on an expedition intended to make things easier on all of them.
Nate has an unfortunate tendency to bury the things he fears and it's only more recently that he's found himself capable of accepting the fact that this place really might be all he has left - something made all the more pressing and distressing knowing his new status as a known entity, no real chance for a tabula rasa when something else has already determined public perception of the person he isn't.
It's too much. He can ask for help, but hesitates for the same reasons he knows his friends do. More than that it's felt like shifting back to another time before the years where he had someone he could stand next to, who would share the load, who would hold his hand.
The dearth of it is what drags at him endlessly, the guilt comes from being human, and he's already learned more than once that he can't keep running on fumes.
Nate's eyes list to the line of Ian's shoulders and it sounds like the words he's saying are muffled through several layers of fabric. No decrying the fact he kept quiet, no ultimatums, just the soft reassurance that he can have distance if he wants it.
He doesn't, though. ]
Look...I like you. [ It feels razor sharp in his palms, on his tongue, when he finally seeks eye contact. ] And maybe this sounds- selfish, I don't know, but- I'm tired of being lonely and pretending I'm okay with it.
Nate has an unfortunate tendency to bury the things he fears and it's only more recently that he's found himself capable of accepting the fact that this place really might be all he has left - something made all the more pressing and distressing knowing his new status as a known entity, no real chance for a tabula rasa when something else has already determined public perception of the person he isn't.
It's too much. He can ask for help, but hesitates for the same reasons he knows his friends do. More than that it's felt like shifting back to another time before the years where he had someone he could stand next to, who would share the load, who would hold his hand.
The dearth of it is what drags at him endlessly, the guilt comes from being human, and he's already learned more than once that he can't keep running on fumes.
Nate's eyes list to the line of Ian's shoulders and it sounds like the words he's saying are muffled through several layers of fabric. No decrying the fact he kept quiet, no ultimatums, just the soft reassurance that he can have distance if he wants it.
He doesn't, though. ]
Look...I like you. [ It feels razor sharp in his palms, on his tongue, when he finally seeks eye contact. ] And maybe this sounds- selfish, I don't know, but- I'm tired of being lonely and pretending I'm okay with it.
( It's not that he's insecure by nature, or that he has a tendency to default to options that garner reassurance. It just seemed like the safest bet, assuming the previously (currently? until death, etc?) married guy might not be ready. Seemed like the best way to brace himself, banking on a no rather than hoping for a yes and getting disappointed.
Which is to say, there's nowhere to go but up from there. Smart move, Fowler, outstanding maneuver.
He's careful and easy with his movements: setting the screwdriver onto his desk, standing up, crossing the short gap between them until he's a tentative foot or so away. Close enough to wrap his fingers loosely around Nate's wrist — gentle enough to pull away from with basically no effort. For obvious reasons. )
Cool.
( Which is definitely not representative of what he's got going on internally — not entirely. There's an undercurrent there of a little uncertainty, a little contemplation, a maybe indecipherable mix of jealousy and guilt and sympathy and prickling nervousness. Those are all taking a back seat, playing bit parts in a larger show. Mainly, he's relieved as fuck, buzzing with a kind of tightly reined in optimism he's conscientiously tamping down.
...Maybe one brief flickering spike of guilt for a second there, because-- )
I mean, obviously like 87% of that is not cool, you have a lot of really complex shit to work through and you're a little dead, but...
( You know what he means. The 13% that selfishly works out in his favor is cool. He's trying, cut him a little slack, it's hard to perfectly word something when you're vaguely too aware of your heartrate. )
You don't have to do it alone, if you don't want to.
Which is to say, there's nowhere to go but up from there. Smart move, Fowler, outstanding maneuver.
He's careful and easy with his movements: setting the screwdriver onto his desk, standing up, crossing the short gap between them until he's a tentative foot or so away. Close enough to wrap his fingers loosely around Nate's wrist — gentle enough to pull away from with basically no effort. For obvious reasons. )
Cool.
( Which is definitely not representative of what he's got going on internally — not entirely. There's an undercurrent there of a little uncertainty, a little contemplation, a maybe indecipherable mix of jealousy and guilt and sympathy and prickling nervousness. Those are all taking a back seat, playing bit parts in a larger show. Mainly, he's relieved as fuck, buzzing with a kind of tightly reined in optimism he's conscientiously tamping down.
...Maybe one brief flickering spike of guilt for a second there, because-- )
I mean, obviously like 87% of that is not cool, you have a lot of really complex shit to work through and you're a little dead, but...
( You know what he means. The 13% that selfishly works out in his favor is cool. He's trying, cut him a little slack, it's hard to perfectly word something when you're vaguely too aware of your heartrate. )
You don't have to do it alone, if you don't want to.
[ Ian's hand is warm and dry around his wrist, an anchor in increasingly jarring swells that serves to quiet his own anxieties by pushing several of Ian's own. It's a little funny how so many of the same sentiments crop up, nudging their way into his mind like inquisitive tendrils, heavy with a relief that washes over him. A much friendlier tide.
Nate exhales through his nose, watching the pad of Ian's thumb rub his skin and letting the stutter-stop prickle of being seen ebb and flow with his own insecurities, his own fears. He huffs a laugh at the observation, somewhat self-deprecating, because complex shit feels like it's being generous. Understatement of the century.
He had so much, until he didn't. Until he had to start over from scratch and didn't think he had it in him to do so. Being in the Aerie was a tacit reminder that he can't live without connections anymore and he doesn't know why he was trying so hard to do exactly that. Under no expectations that this will even remotely resemble any dynamic from that alternate world Nate somehow finds the uncertainty easier to cope with, to accept. His adaptability building the perfect beast for the occasion.
The point being, he's just a man. And it's just a date. ]
If you're okay with that. [ His arm turns slightly in Ian's grasp, fingertips to the inside of his wrist. ] I really don't want to do it alone.
Nate exhales through his nose, watching the pad of Ian's thumb rub his skin and letting the stutter-stop prickle of being seen ebb and flow with his own insecurities, his own fears. He huffs a laugh at the observation, somewhat self-deprecating, because complex shit feels like it's being generous. Understatement of the century.
He had so much, until he didn't. Until he had to start over from scratch and didn't think he had it in him to do so. Being in the Aerie was a tacit reminder that he can't live without connections anymore and he doesn't know why he was trying so hard to do exactly that. Under no expectations that this will even remotely resemble any dynamic from that alternate world Nate somehow finds the uncertainty easier to cope with, to accept. His adaptability building the perfect beast for the occasion.
The point being, he's just a man. And it's just a date. ]
If you're okay with that. [ His arm turns slightly in Ian's grasp, fingertips to the inside of his wrist. ] I really don't want to do it alone.
Okay.
( You got him, then.
That he doesn't pull away, that he shifts a little to accommodate the touch is bolstering enough for him to tighten his grip. Noncommittal to firm, fingers curling and pressing more intently the first few inches of Nate's palm; more of a hold and less of a careful touch.
They're different people here than they were in the Aerie, he knows that, but... some things are the same about himself. Some things may be the same for Nate, too -- the need for comfort via touch might be one of them, he thinks. Granted, that could also have been a product of all of the unwanted touching forced upon him on a daily basis in that life.
Guess he'll find out all over again. Feels a little like he got short-changed the head-start of meeting at twenty-something, but he's making an effort not to compare the trajectory. )
Feels weird having a serious conversation without you covered in glitter.
( Feels weird having a serious conversation at all, frankly. This version of them, the original, have had like... a grand total of three, or something. )
( You got him, then.
That he doesn't pull away, that he shifts a little to accommodate the touch is bolstering enough for him to tighten his grip. Noncommittal to firm, fingers curling and pressing more intently the first few inches of Nate's palm; more of a hold and less of a careful touch.
They're different people here than they were in the Aerie, he knows that, but... some things are the same about himself. Some things may be the same for Nate, too -- the need for comfort via touch might be one of them, he thinks. Granted, that could also have been a product of all of the unwanted touching forced upon him on a daily basis in that life.
Guess he'll find out all over again. Feels a little like he got short-changed the head-start of meeting at twenty-something, but he's making an effort not to compare the trajectory. )
Feels weird having a serious conversation without you covered in glitter.
( Feels weird having a serious conversation at all, frankly. This version of them, the original, have had like... a grand total of three, or something. )
[ okay, so. he gets asked on a date and promptly panics and ignores the message for the rest of his shift working the casino bar, like a cool guy who knows exactly what he's doing. (if anyone asks, they got a birthday party in around 11:30 that night. they did not actually get a birthday party in.) and he's been dancing around it for the last six hours, thinking about it and then deciding not to think about it, off and on, but by the time he hangs up his stupid vest and leaves, he doesn't have a better answer than he did when kyna sent over that screed.
so, promptly at 5:30 in the morning, he shoots a text off to his baby brother. ]
hey nathan, you awake?
so, promptly at 5:30 in the morning, he shoots a text off to his baby brother. ]
hey nathan, you awake?
i am now
what's up?
what's up?
Edited 2021-01-29 15:18 (UTC)
rise and shine. got a hypothetical for you.
[ is he dragging this out? maybe. ]
[ is he dragging this out? maybe. ]
great, you want to stop dancing around it like a salsa champion or what?
he says, executing a perfect croqueta complicada
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