[ So he was alone in Scotland. It was a matter of work ethic. A hostile work environment in that case obviously went and— Makes it pretty cut and dry as far as Rafe can see it.
The sheer certainty that strikes in the next moment is enough to galvanize him into action: he shouldn't be here. It's still more effort than it's ever taken him before but Rafe has years of practice on his side to make it happen. He sits up straight as the walls go up, any trace of vulnerability sloughing off his shoulders as he forces them to relax. Nate's tagged along on a few of Rafe's social or business obligations, enough to recognize the eerily blank face he puts on now. Even as he continues avoiding looking Nate in the eye.
Even his voice, when he speaks again, has shifted into a tone cheerfully tailor-made for small talk and banalities instead of one from the bottom of a well. ]
And so now you've got Flynn. You're set. [ Something like bile rises in his throat but he swallows it. Pushing off the bench, he almost hesitates with Nate's shirt still in his fist— But only for a moment and then he checks his watch. As if the sodden reddened cloth is negligible and never mind the continued death-grip it. ] I've got a flight to catch.
[ This isn't a retreat, he rationalizes even as sheer stubbornness even now wants to dig in and not let go. Isn't as if he's taking a loss — can't lose what wasn't there, after all. No, this is... It's a choice not to waste any more time on this. A possible investment that obviously won't pan out. That's all. ]
[Rafe's family is not well-loved by Rafe, something Nate picked up while visiting the Adler estate those few times they wandered back to New York for whatever reason. He remembers seeing the twitch in his eye, the way he would tense every time they said something he didn't like, the "worried" fluttering about their only child. Face devoid of emotion, of sentiment.
Rafe stiffens in this familiar way and Nate knows he's fucked up, that he should have said something else, but what's the point? The guy came out here to mend bridges, or maybe just to point out that the bridge is busted and he's confused as to why. Standing abruptly he catches Nate off-guard, so much so that the shirt full of ice swings and nearly clocks Nate in the head before he leans back to avoid it. A drop of bloody water falls and hits his jeans, cold.
Swallowing disappointment that hoped this could have ended differently Nate can't find the words to say because he doesn't know where it went wrong out here. This should have been neutral ground. He doesn't stand.
Nate leans back against the bench, hands folded in his lap, failing to curtail the ache and hurt in the sentence he forces out even if he knows Rafe's claim is full of shit.]
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uncalendula) wrote2016-10-19 11:19 am
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[ So he was alone in Scotland. It was a matter of work ethic. A hostile work environment in that case obviously went and— Makes it pretty cut and dry as far as Rafe can see it.
The sheer certainty that strikes in the next moment is enough to galvanize him into action: he shouldn't be here. It's still more effort than it's ever taken him before but Rafe has years of practice on his side to make it happen. He sits up straight as the walls go up, any trace of vulnerability sloughing off his shoulders as he forces them to relax. Nate's tagged along on a few of Rafe's social or business obligations, enough to recognize the eerily blank face he puts on now. Even as he continues avoiding looking Nate in the eye.
Even his voice, when he speaks again, has shifted into a tone cheerfully tailor-made for small talk and banalities instead of one from the bottom of a well. ]
And so now you've got Flynn. You're set. [ Something like bile rises in his throat but he swallows it. Pushing off the bench, he almost hesitates with Nate's shirt still in his fist— But only for a moment and then he checks his watch. As if the sodden reddened cloth is negligible and never mind the continued death-grip it. ] I've got a flight to catch.
[ This isn't a retreat, he rationalizes even as sheer stubbornness even now wants to dig in and not let go. Isn't as if he's taking a loss — can't lose what wasn't there, after all. No, this is... It's a choice not to waste any more time on this. A possible investment that obviously won't pan out. That's all. ]
no subject
Rafe stiffens in this familiar way and Nate knows he's fucked up, that he should have said something else, but what's the point? The guy came out here to mend bridges, or maybe just to point out that the bridge is busted and he's confused as to why. Standing abruptly he catches Nate off-guard, so much so that the shirt full of ice swings and nearly clocks Nate in the head before he leans back to avoid it. A drop of bloody water falls and hits his jeans,
cold.
Swallowing disappointment that hoped this could have ended differently Nate can't find the words to say because he doesn't know where it went wrong out here. This should have been neutral ground. He doesn't stand.
Nate leans back against the bench, hands folded in his lap, failing to curtail the ache and hurt in the sentence he forces out even if he knows Rafe's claim is full of shit.]
I don't wanna hold you up.