[ And still it gets worse. And worse. He's asleep in your apartment suddenly sounds more like an insult than a consolation prize. A cosmic kick in the teeth. Stephen listens as a friendship is broken, a marriage wrecked, and a brother stands steadfastly by the righteousness of his lie.
Then a gun, and a cliff. Then a skull thudding against rock at speed.
Stephen's mouth goes dry.
For most of them their time here is an inconvenient waystation on what they hope to be a round trip home - or a choice to be made, an opportunity to be taken or left. It's not a restless afterlife before an imminent end.
He stares back at Nate, the reality of all he's just been told sinking in, settling alongside what he already knows. All the times they've sat around sipping whisky or planning trips to places they've never yet managed to visit. The man Nate is behind the bar and in thought-fast texts at a distance, always jovial, ever able to share his energy in spite of the bone deep exhaustion none of them is free of anymore.
All that time he's been carrying this around. Boxed up and kept. He'd have held it in forever too - Stephen knows that better than most might - if it weren't for its original catalyst showing up and throwing Nate off his hard-earned center of gravity.
Stephen's mouth presses into a flat line. The arm resting on the counter shifts so he can press his thumb into the covered crook of Nate's elbow, fingers resting slightly higher and heel of his hand careful to avoid the bare skin of his forearm. A firm point of contact in the absence of a spoken comfort it's impossible to produce. ]
I'm sorry. I can't imagine. What do you need?
[ He doubts Nate knows, or will ask for it even if he does. But if there was ever a time for him to be asked, it's now. Better late than never. ]
no subject
Then a gun, and a cliff. Then a skull thudding against rock at speed.
Stephen's mouth goes dry.
For most of them their time here is an inconvenient waystation on what they hope to be a round trip home - or a choice to be made, an opportunity to be taken or left. It's not a restless afterlife before an imminent end.
He stares back at Nate, the reality of all he's just been told sinking in, settling alongside what he already knows. All the times they've sat around sipping whisky or planning trips to places they've never yet managed to visit. The man Nate is behind the bar and in thought-fast texts at a distance, always jovial, ever able to share his energy in spite of the bone deep exhaustion none of them is free of anymore.
All that time he's been carrying this around. Boxed up and kept. He'd have held it in forever too - Stephen knows that better than most might - if it weren't for its original catalyst showing up and throwing Nate off his hard-earned center of gravity.
Stephen's mouth presses into a flat line. The arm resting on the counter shifts so he can press his thumb into the covered crook of Nate's elbow, fingers resting slightly higher and heel of his hand careful to avoid the bare skin of his forearm. A firm point of contact in the absence of a spoken comfort it's impossible to produce. ]
I'm sorry. I can't imagine. What do you need?
[ He doubts Nate knows, or will ask for it even if he does. But if there was ever a time for him to be asked, it's now. Better late than never. ]