don't you know i'm no good for you?
Yes. He is an adult, but he doesn’t seem to act like it in his poor decision making. He’s glad that Nate’s still facing away from him, though, as the iciness leaves the demigod’s lips. Sunjata swallows hard, lets his words fall silent, doesn’t know where exactly he should begin to try and untangle that or if it’s better off left alone. He chooses the latter, however, not wanting to fight, not wanting to open himself up for one either. So silence it is.
Hope does spur in his chest, tight and sharp as he inhales just as slowly as Nate exhales. The tone is better this time with the prospect of green, one that he can agree with easily. “I like green.” He agrees softly. It’s far from blues, far from purples, far from the night sky that might remind them both too much of what he’d done, what he’d destroyed. So he focuses on his coffee, on something that might not bite back at him when he hears and feel’s Haai’s appreciation with the coffee. It’s set on the floor and she promptly fits the mug in her mouth and carries it over to the corner, putting it between both feet of hers so she can lick up every last dreg.
But Nate’s looking at him now, and Sunjata can’t find it in him to look over just yet. He lifts the mug to his lips, downing the rest of it and grabbing the last bite of the pear Nate had sliced, before he stands and sets the cup in the sink, pulling out the bucket he’d left there to air dry, before he finally turns and faces his husband.
It breaks his heart all over again. It makes it worse, somehow, than what he’d felt with Nate wearing the bloodring, letting his feelings course over of how he’d felt when Sunjata had gone missing for two days. At least that might have been something to be proud of, but here? This? This was hurt, distrust, a brokenness that cracks within him and he desperately craves something to do with his hands. His gaze quickly averts so he can start, stepping to set the bucket aside in its place, unfortunately quite near his husband.
His gaze is distant, trying not to add more into what Nate feels, knowing that he deserves whatever it is Nate wishes to give. “Alright. I'll... Go grab what we need.” His voice leaves him in a quiet hum, lips quirking slightly and tugging at the scar as he goes to step past his husband toward where they kept the tools – hammers and nails, a saw for cutting the wood down to size.
Hope does spur in his chest, tight and sharp as he inhales just as slowly as Nate exhales. The tone is better this time with the prospect of green, one that he can agree with easily. “I like green.” He agrees softly. It’s far from blues, far from purples, far from the night sky that might remind them both too much of what he’d done, what he’d destroyed. So he focuses on his coffee, on something that might not bite back at him when he hears and feel’s Haai’s appreciation with the coffee. It’s set on the floor and she promptly fits the mug in her mouth and carries it over to the corner, putting it between both feet of hers so she can lick up every last dreg.
But Nate’s looking at him now, and Sunjata can’t find it in him to look over just yet. He lifts the mug to his lips, downing the rest of it and grabbing the last bite of the pear Nate had sliced, before he stands and sets the cup in the sink, pulling out the bucket he’d left there to air dry, before he finally turns and faces his husband.
It breaks his heart all over again. It makes it worse, somehow, than what he’d felt with Nate wearing the bloodring, letting his feelings course over of how he’d felt when Sunjata had gone missing for two days. At least that might have been something to be proud of, but here? This? This was hurt, distrust, a brokenness that cracks within him and he desperately craves something to do with his hands. His gaze quickly averts so he can start, stepping to set the bucket aside in its place, unfortunately quite near his husband.
His gaze is distant, trying not to add more into what Nate feels, knowing that he deserves whatever it is Nate wishes to give. “Alright. I'll... Go grab what we need.” His voice leaves him in a quiet hum, lips quirking slightly and tugging at the scar as he goes to step past his husband toward where they kept the tools – hammers and nails, a saw for cutting the wood down to size.
i've learned to lose, you can't afford to
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
