( There's a lot he could say about history repeating itself, about what it means for them. He doesn't, because he's been trying to blank out the slate as much as possible -- not to erase the life they lived in the aerie so much as just... temporarily shelve it. Draw a little from Kyna's wisdom and a little bit of his own, now that he's had time to think about it.
It's been rolling around in his mind that maybe he'd like it if they could work based solely on the original version. If the two of them could be something without external influence, without the shortcut of another set of memories layered over the other halves of themselves to lay a ground work, like bumper rails keeping them out of the gutter. He wants to see if the dumb kid from Weaverville matches up with the dumb kid from -- what, like everywhere in South America?
He really doesn't plan on invalidating the Aerie. It still feels real to him down to the bone, and it's still something he'll wind up wearing off and on without even realizing it, like a well-fitted sweater. It's a temporary compartmentalization for the sake of trying to do something the right way.
If there's such thing as a right way. Jesus Christ, life keeps getting progressively weirder and harder to neatly define.
In any case: I'm glad you're here.
It earns a soft smile, small and genuine, eyes dropping back down to the sea floor automatically. He drags them back up again after a beat, and sways in place just a little to gently bump Nate's shoulder with his. )
Me too.
( He means that in both possible interpretations. Me too, I'm glad I'm here and me too, I'm glad you're here. This place kind of saved them both, and while he's definitely not selfish enough to be glad Nate's fucking dead, he is glad it seems like he plans on staying here if the Displaced ever find a way to go home. It opens up stupidly optimistic possibilities that he otherwise wouldn't even consider.
A hand comes up to absently scratch at the back of his neck, one of those universal faintly awkward gestures that comes from somebody a little embarrassed about what they're saying. )
And I know it's stupid, this whole... official date thing. I mean, we're not fucking kids, this isn't... High school or a romcom or whatever. I just kinda thought...
( His hand drops away from the back of his neck, drifts toward his pocket to the rhythm of a (deliberately) casual, absent shrug. )
I don't know, it's nice to have something... personal, you know what I mean? Everything's so fucking huge lately, it's all this... enormous godly scale, thinking about a hundred people collectively, every decision feels like practically life or death sometimes. I kind of wanted to take the night off. Zoom back in to a micro level and remember that we're allowed to focus on actually living life once and a while. Make it so the biggest decision to stress over today was what fucking shirt to wear.
( And he genuinely, genuinely doesn't know if any of that makes sense, but... there you go. That's what's going on in his head. )
no subject
It's been rolling around in his mind that maybe he'd like it if they could work based solely on the original version. If the two of them could be something without external influence, without the shortcut of another set of memories layered over the other halves of themselves to lay a ground work, like bumper rails keeping them out of the gutter. He wants to see if the dumb kid from Weaverville matches up with the dumb kid from -- what, like everywhere in South America?
He really doesn't plan on invalidating the Aerie. It still feels real to him down to the bone, and it's still something he'll wind up wearing off and on without even realizing it, like a well-fitted sweater. It's a temporary compartmentalization for the sake of trying to do something the right way.
If there's such thing as a right way. Jesus Christ, life keeps getting progressively weirder and harder to neatly define.
In any case: I'm glad you're here.
It earns a soft smile, small and genuine, eyes dropping back down to the sea floor automatically. He drags them back up again after a beat, and sways in place just a little to gently bump Nate's shoulder with his. )
Me too.
( He means that in both possible interpretations. Me too, I'm glad I'm here and me too, I'm glad you're here. This place kind of saved them both, and while he's definitely not selfish enough to be glad Nate's fucking dead, he is glad it seems like he plans on staying here if the Displaced ever find a way to go home. It opens up stupidly optimistic possibilities that he otherwise wouldn't even consider.
A hand comes up to absently scratch at the back of his neck, one of those universal faintly awkward gestures that comes from somebody a little embarrassed about what they're saying. )
And I know it's stupid, this whole... official date thing. I mean, we're not fucking kids, this isn't... High school or a romcom or whatever. I just kinda thought...
( His hand drops away from the back of his neck, drifts toward his pocket to the rhythm of a (deliberately) casual, absent shrug. )
I don't know, it's nice to have something... personal, you know what I mean? Everything's so fucking huge lately, it's all this... enormous godly scale, thinking about a hundred people collectively, every decision feels like practically life or death sometimes. I kind of wanted to take the night off. Zoom back in to a micro level and remember that we're allowed to focus on actually living life once and a while. Make it so the biggest decision to stress over today was what fucking shirt to wear.
( And he genuinely, genuinely doesn't know if any of that makes sense, but... there you go. That's what's going on in his head. )