[ Even. He hates how that sounds, like it's supposed to be some kind of shitty exchange where they trade information because it's proper, not because it's warranted or earned. Nate doesn't need even. He doesn't know what he needs, but it's not that. He doesn't need Wade to share his own trauma if it comes at the cost of reliving it.
He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
[He's being so careful about it, engaging in self-deprecation to spare Wade's feelings, but Wade knows a dismissal when he hears one. He's heard this same song and dance before, in the rare moments when he mistakenly let the mask slip just a little bit; when he read too much into things and got just a little too real.
You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
[ It's the sudden bitterness that really feels like a slap in the face. Like he's made a mistake in offering clemency, in suggesting that Wade shouldn't feel obligated to talk about anything that makes him uncomfortable just because he thinks it might help Nate in some way. A sharp, ragged laugh and Wade turns away, back to the precipice that Nate suddenly feels is more inviting than the company that was trying so hard to be a balm on his evening.
He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.
no subject
He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
no subject
You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
no subject
He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.