i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
"Before or after she escaped outside?" Nate asks softly, wry grin aimed towards Sunjata, his brow up with the tease. But he blinks, some wheel finally turning, and lets his gaze drift, almost absently, towards the window he'd thrown open, that Pemota had drifted through. Oh. Oops. "I... think that might have been my fault. A little bit." In a roundabout way, but with enough curves Nate could bury himself in so much guilt he'd never see the light of day again, and he's not really in the mindset to keep away from those curves.
As much as it's worked against him, there's a part of Nate, some objective, sensible part, still put together enough to have thought, that's impressed by the hustle, how easily he was backed up against a wall. He hates it, obviously, suddenly understands exactly the feeling that had gripped Sunjata all that time ago, the lashing out, arm on his chest, but for all Nate is quick to anger, quick to threats and intimidation, he's slow to actually get physical, made doubly so by the fact that it's Sunjata, and doubly again by the fact that he's already injured.
If nothing else though, it does force something out of him.
His shoulders slump a little, more in relief that anything else, and his fingers fall still on Sunjata's face. It wasn't exactly that it was a point of contention, of course the other man knew Nate worried about him, it wasn't even a question, but it gave him some kind of base to work from, something to build on. Of course, as soon as he had a foundation, as soon as Nate started planning his next move, he was rocked, the quiet I'm sorry sending his jaw working, his eyes flicking to some distant corner of the room. Because that's not what he wants, not what he means at all. The worry isn't the burden, it's part of who he is. It's what comes from the worry, what comes when he's alone, and he doesn't know how to explain that, without setting it back onto Sunjata's shoulders. There's a low sigh, and then his hands dropping away, twisting together, just for some motion.
Nate knows it comes from a good place, a caring place, but Sunjata coming close, coming to focus on him does not help. He feels small enough, trying to do this, that he doesn't need the extra reduction of being seen while he does it. Hands rise up, and Nate is surprised at the stillness of them, the mechanical motion of them rising to cup Sunjata's face. "Don't look... don't look at me." The other man's is pulled in hard against his chest, Nate's chin coming to rest atop his head, Nate's arms wrapping around his shoulders. "I can talk, or you can see me." It's all he can offer as explanation, but he's not exactly forthcoming with his words after it.
Instead, fingers curl in the short hair around Sunjata's ear, and Nate heaves out a sigh far longer than any person should be able to. This is... stupid. He's stupid. He's being dramatic, and ridiculous, and as much as he wants to just put a line in the sand and not step past it, he can't stop himself. It's infuriating. "I... could keep you safe, so I wouldn't worry." He says, instead of anything else, still trying to be roundabout, to talk around what he wants. "You don't need that though." In fact, I know you'd hate it. And a shrug, felt easily, like he's not sure what to say next, when he knows, he knows he hasn't even really said anything.
As much as it's worked against him, there's a part of Nate, some objective, sensible part, still put together enough to have thought, that's impressed by the hustle, how easily he was backed up against a wall. He hates it, obviously, suddenly understands exactly the feeling that had gripped Sunjata all that time ago, the lashing out, arm on his chest, but for all Nate is quick to anger, quick to threats and intimidation, he's slow to actually get physical, made doubly so by the fact that it's Sunjata, and doubly again by the fact that he's already injured.
If nothing else though, it does force something out of him.
His shoulders slump a little, more in relief that anything else, and his fingers fall still on Sunjata's face. It wasn't exactly that it was a point of contention, of course the other man knew Nate worried about him, it wasn't even a question, but it gave him some kind of base to work from, something to build on. Of course, as soon as he had a foundation, as soon as Nate started planning his next move, he was rocked, the quiet I'm sorry sending his jaw working, his eyes flicking to some distant corner of the room. Because that's not what he wants, not what he means at all. The worry isn't the burden, it's part of who he is. It's what comes from the worry, what comes when he's alone, and he doesn't know how to explain that, without setting it back onto Sunjata's shoulders. There's a low sigh, and then his hands dropping away, twisting together, just for some motion.
Nate knows it comes from a good place, a caring place, but Sunjata coming close, coming to focus on him does not help. He feels small enough, trying to do this, that he doesn't need the extra reduction of being seen while he does it. Hands rise up, and Nate is surprised at the stillness of them, the mechanical motion of them rising to cup Sunjata's face. "Don't look... don't look at me." The other man's is pulled in hard against his chest, Nate's chin coming to rest atop his head, Nate's arms wrapping around his shoulders. "I can talk, or you can see me." It's all he can offer as explanation, but he's not exactly forthcoming with his words after it.
Instead, fingers curl in the short hair around Sunjata's ear, and Nate heaves out a sigh far longer than any person should be able to. This is... stupid. He's stupid. He's being dramatic, and ridiculous, and as much as he wants to just put a line in the sand and not step past it, he can't stop himself. It's infuriating. "I... could keep you safe, so I wouldn't worry." He says, instead of anything else, still trying to be roundabout, to talk around what he wants. "You don't need that though." In fact, I know you'd hate it. And a shrug, felt easily, like he's not sure what to say next, when he knows, he knows he hasn't even really said anything.
NATE
