if I am lost for a day, try and find me.filmzbyzachJune 14 2009, 06:53:26 UTC
"I'm tired," he's complaining already, but somehow it sounds more like a fact than anything as subjective as whining tends to be, laden with how ridiculous he finds his own feelings at this point, and how ready he is to go home. Lately, it's been the first few times he's wondered if never seeing Claire again is worse than seeing her every day and feeling like he's gotten hit by a fast moving car. It's a combination of things either way that bring him here now, to a friend from another world who he doesn't really deserve, because the truth is his friendship and, yes, love, of Claire Bennet, has handicapped him in ways he never wanted to admit, but is forced to at least recognize these days. He feels guilty for showing up at all and even as he leans against the blond he stands up again, swallowing discomfort.
"Sorry," he half says, half mumbles, head bowed a little even as he does, now that the door is open, invite himself in as far as the couch where he curls up at one end, all of ten years old maybe in an instant. And he knows it too, but apologizing again seems insincere and pointless, so he glances up at Nate, a flicker of a second 'sorry' there before averting his eyes again, the floor in front of his spot on the couch somehow rather enthralling--blank and safe, maybe.
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.malleableworldJune 14 2009, 06:58:39 UTC
Nate doesn't say anything as Zach walks in and proclaims how tired he is, and continues not to say anything as he curls up on his couch. Nate instead feels; he keeps his memories to himself and stays out of Zach's head, even though there's a deep and almost overwhelming sensation to pluck whatever it is that's hurting Zach out. He feels, instead, anxious, and worried, and like his stomach is going to split open. It's not because Zach is on his couch as much as it's because something has driven Zach here, and as much as Nate likes him, he hates seeing him this sad, if sad is even the right word.
"It's okay," he utters, softly, and moves to sit next to him. He hopes that Zach thinks he's safe because he wants Zach to feel safe with him, but he almost thinks that it might be too much to ask. He resists, then, for now, putting an arm around the other boy and drawing him into an embrace. "Do you want to talk about it?"
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.filmzbyzachJune 14 2009, 07:06:11 UTC
"No it's not," and he knows he's being a hypocrite as soon as he says so, because he tells other people the same thing, and means it...right? It's okay. Don't be sorry. You can feel however you want. We all have bad times. These things, he knows, they aren't lies. He really believes them. So why can't he endorse them for himself? Maybe he feels like, because he creates so much of his own conflict by staying near her, by wanting to be near her, he doesn't have the right. Maybe. Maybe it doesn't make a difference and he's still having a terrible double standard. Maybe.
"...no," he answers, predictably, but he doesn't shy away from an arm around his shoulders either, feeling as insignificant as the very word and small about it, small about everything, and wanting or willing or needing to be allowed to lean on someone who he doesn't feel guilty about looking at, for once. He loves Claire but he knows he has nothing to offer. He cares about Caspian, but how much does that mean when he knows what's bound to happen to his young friend, inevitably, always out of his hands? And then there's Nate, set apart from the two aforementioned, and in a way again that has had Zach being less than a decent friend, or what he considers a decent friend to be. He doesn't deserve to be allowed to come to him and complain, or curl on the couch, or whatever...and he knows it, but here he is.
And he doesn't want to leave.
Sighing, he swallows hard again, face turned away from the blond, who he owes at least enough to look directly at, but he can't.
"Thanks though," for letting me in, for letting me at all.
I'm not even sure what I want to be let to do anymore, but this is better than being there--the apartment--or alone--which is what he perceives will be the case upon departing this world of worlds. What's the lesser evil though, so to speak? That, he cannot say.
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.malleableworldJune 14 2009, 07:13:41 UTC
There are days; small days, but days that are growing ever more steady and increasingly larger if he's just a bother to people, and if that's the case, if he minds that he's a bother to people. He holds on tightly to Zach; rather, as tightly as he'll allow himself, not wanting to stretch the boundaries of propriety more than he already has. What is he doing? Why does he keep inviting Zach over when the other teen clearly has worse to handle and doesn't want help? He knows that the definition of crazy is when someone keeps bashing themselves against the same problem with hopes of getting a different result, and Nate doesn't know what the result he's after is, but this, this insistence that he feels deep in his soul for some kind of connection will drive him mad.
He wonders if this is the last time he can be Zach's friend, and presses the thought back and away for now. If there's anything that Nate can't do, it's issue an ultimatum.
Instead he breathes in the smell of Zach's hair; soft and a little musky and a little sweet, like he uses Claire's fruity shampoo if his own runs out. "You can stay here as long as you want," as long as you need me, Nate thinks, because this is really what this is. Someone needing him, when he needs so many people and he has pushed most of them away.
"If you need anything..." the words fade almost the same time that they leave Nate's mouth.
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.filmzbyzachJune 14 2009, 15:26:00 UTC
Zach probably uses Claire's shampoo sometimes, thoughtlessly, just because it's there, but subconsciously because if he can hold onto her in some small if material way, then maybe he can hold onto her altogether, or so goes the ill laid theory. He needs her, but he will lose her, and she will lose so much more than he will that he can't find it in himself to feel badly in his own favor. On a comparative scale in this nexus, he knows he's got no right to complain. What's an ordinary kid's separation issues in the midst of worlds ending and faith being shaken? He can't place himself. He doesn't even try these days, knowing he'll only feel worse for even daring. No, it's not his say, but his own opinion of who he is and where he stands has so nearly become the only one he has. Nate allowing him this sharing of space, a generous thing, he knows, is not lost on him, not in the least.
As close as they are, one could draw a picture parallel of puppies curled over each other, set to nap or something equally sweet, but this is sad, this is selfish and he knows that too. Still, those words come as another olive branch, a kindness he doesn't feel he's earned, but he leans his forehead on his friend's shoulder and murmurs something like thanks before silence shades in the space around them like shadows cast by an onset of clouds.
He should say something else, but he doesn't know what or where to begin, so the quiet presses further as he tries not to do something as pathetically reminiscent of clinging as he fears he is already doing. Is he so much weaker and uncertain than he thought he was, or than he once was? Is that what the modest path to a mild insanity is----to come close to one thing only to get another, over and over? And what does he think he can get from anyone else, from Nate for example? Should he even consider that question to begin with? It feels unstable, but that can be said of everything--almost--right now. The truth ends up being that part of him fails to reach out fully to others because he thinks the moment he does, that's when Claire will really be gone.
And he doesn't know what he'll do then, even if it's just one step closer to the inevitable.
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.malleableworldJune 14 2009, 20:09:45 UTC
Nate isn't sure what's going on in Zach's brain; whatever it is obviously weighs heavily against him and he's pressing against Nate's shoulder like it's the very last safe place in the world. He moves a hand up to brush his hand up in Zach's hair, his fingers moving in broad, comforting circles.
"Sleep, Zach," he says, pressing the memory of sleep against Zach, as an option; take the memory or don't, no pressure. He knows that Zach will know what to do, if he feels it, if he decides it's worth his time. If he decides that this is better than whatever suffering is casting long shadows on his face. Nate isn't sure what else to do, other than to just sit there and hold him like there is no other way to hold back whatever pain this is.
if I am lost for a day, try and find me.filmzbyzachJune 17 2009, 21:42:01 UTC
If not the last safe place, it is one of the safest, undoubtedly, and there are so many things to be said for that, none of which Zach will ever feel capable of expressing in full, because he can have the odd encouraging speech, the nudge of reminding people he is there for them, but all in all he has little to nothing grand about him. His feelings maybe come close but he falls short of expressing them properly, so there's that. When people think about best friends, many different qualities come to mind, all changing depending on who the thinker is and who the friend in mind is, where they are from, what their personal circumstances are, and where they'll be, not today, not tomorrow, but someday.
Someday, he thinks he'll disappear because things have been so painstakingly perfect and terrible here, one day and the next. What could begin to compare with meeting heroes from storybooks or making friends with people who see you as something more than you see yourself, despite how amazing they are and how unremarkable you are? He asks this, wonders, ponders, never gets an answer, and it suffices nothing to say that if he had an answer it wouldn't be good enough anyway.
"Sorry," he speaks into a warm shoulder and lets the memory of sleep pull itself over him like a favorite blanket, feeling pathetic for seeking comfort from someone he hasn't earned it from, but willing to accept it because he needs someone. If Nate will be that person for him right now, Zach isn't strong or bullheaded enough to turn away from the blond, and falling into slumber, it's all he can do to push his last thought from at least I didn't cry to thank you, I'll make it up to you, even if he doesn't yet know how.
"Sorry," he half says, half mumbles, head bowed a little even as he does, now that the door is open, invite himself in as far as the couch where he curls up at one end, all of ten years old maybe in an instant. And he knows it too, but apologizing again seems insincere and pointless, so he glances up at Nate, a flicker of a second 'sorry' there before averting his eyes again, the floor in front of his spot on the couch somehow rather enthralling--blank and safe, maybe.
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"It's okay," he utters, softly, and moves to sit next to him. He hopes that Zach thinks he's safe because he wants Zach to feel safe with him, but he almost thinks that it might be too much to ask. He resists, then, for now, putting an arm around the other boy and drawing him into an embrace. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He assumes that the answer will be no.
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"...no," he answers, predictably, but he doesn't shy away from an arm around his shoulders either, feeling as insignificant as the very word and small about it, small about everything, and wanting or willing or needing to be allowed to lean on someone who he doesn't feel guilty about looking at, for once. He loves Claire but he knows he has nothing to offer. He cares about Caspian, but how much does that mean when he knows what's bound to happen to his young friend, inevitably, always out of his hands? And then there's Nate, set apart from the two aforementioned, and in a way again that has had Zach being less than a decent friend, or what he considers a decent friend to be. He doesn't deserve to be allowed to come to him and complain, or curl on the couch, or whatever...and he knows it, but here he is.
And he doesn't want to leave.
Sighing, he swallows hard again, face turned away from the blond, who he owes at least enough to look directly at, but he can't.
"Thanks though," for letting me in, for letting me at all.
I'm not even sure what I want to be let to do anymore, but this is better than being there--the apartment--or alone--which is what he perceives will be the case upon departing this world of worlds. What's the lesser evil though, so to speak? That, he cannot say.
Reply
He wonders if this is the last time he can be Zach's friend, and presses the thought back and away for now. If there's anything that Nate can't do, it's issue an ultimatum.
Instead he breathes in the smell of Zach's hair; soft and a little musky and a little sweet, like he uses Claire's fruity shampoo if his own runs out. "You can stay here as long as you want," as long as you need me, Nate thinks, because this is really what this is. Someone needing him, when he needs so many people and he has pushed most of them away.
"If you need anything..." the words fade almost the same time that they leave Nate's mouth.
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As close as they are, one could draw a picture parallel of puppies curled over each other, set to nap or something equally sweet, but this is sad, this is selfish and he knows that too. Still, those words come as another olive branch, a kindness he doesn't feel he's earned, but he leans his forehead on his friend's shoulder and murmurs something like thanks before silence shades in the space around them like shadows cast by an onset of clouds.
He should say something else, but he doesn't know what or where to begin, so the quiet presses further as he tries not to do something as pathetically reminiscent of clinging as he fears he is already doing. Is he so much weaker and uncertain than he thought he was, or than he once was? Is that what the modest path to a mild insanity is----to come close to one thing only to get another, over and over? And what does he think he can get from anyone else, from Nate for example? Should he even consider that question to begin with? It feels unstable, but that can be said of everything--almost--right now. The truth ends up being that part of him fails to reach out fully to others because he thinks the moment he does, that's when Claire will really be gone.
And he doesn't know what he'll do then, even if it's just one step closer to the inevitable.
Reply
"Sleep, Zach," he says, pressing the memory of sleep against Zach, as an option; take the memory or don't, no pressure. He knows that Zach will know what to do, if he feels it, if he decides it's worth his time. If he decides that this is better than whatever suffering is casting long shadows on his face. Nate isn't sure what else to do, other than to just sit there and hold him like there is no other way to hold back whatever pain this is.
Reply
Someday, he thinks he'll disappear because things have been so painstakingly perfect and terrible here, one day and the next. What could begin to compare with meeting heroes from storybooks or making friends with people who see you as something more than you see yourself, despite how amazing they are and how unremarkable you are? He asks this, wonders, ponders, never gets an answer, and it suffices nothing to say that if he had an answer it wouldn't be good enough anyway.
"Sorry," he speaks into a warm shoulder and lets the memory of sleep pull itself over him like a favorite blanket, feeling pathetic for seeking comfort from someone he hasn't earned it from, but willing to accept it because he needs someone. If Nate will be that person for him right now, Zach isn't strong or bullheaded enough to turn away from the blond, and falling into slumber, it's all he can do to push his last thought from at least I didn't cry to thank you, I'll make it up to you, even if he doesn't yet know how.
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