[ 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. ]
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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. ]