[ It still feels, more than a little, like casting.
With Kyna, it'd been a means to an end. Get that worm out of her head. It'd been brief, and then he'd gotten fucking stabbed. With Ian, beforehand, it'd been necessity: cutting something off at the pass. This feels a little more deliberate. Cauterizing a wound before it can bleed over. It feels like casting all the more because of that, how everything gets dialed in that little bit closer, a window into someone else's entire core opening just for you.
And where magic might spill out — a small cord or vibrating wire or glowing tendril of magic, there to be reached, knit together with his own, it's just... fear.
Anxiety, fear, real enough and tangible enough that it pulls from Nathan too. It's like a punch to the gut. It's real and visceral, and to focus, Nathan looks directly at Ian.
Chest expands. Inhale, exhale, steady rhythm and breaths. A blue glow alights.
Nathan thinks about early mornings. Waking up before the sun rises. Settling the rhythm of his breathing into his footfalls when he runs, passing through the fields, the cool mists, the horses gently raising their heads in passing interest. The bond isn't the totality of what you feel. It's just what you feel right now.
Calm. Steady, ambivalent, the way a boat just rocks with the waves.
A little acknowledgement. Recognition at the forefront.
Threads of nostalgic feeling, faint and distant.
Nathan lifts his brows silently at Ian. A wordless Alright?, like that alleyway, minutes of quiet communicated in not much else. Nathan's not pulling away yet, but throwing the question out there. Waiting for the response. However long it needs to be.
no subject
With Kyna, it'd been a means to an end. Get that worm out of her head. It'd been brief, and then he'd gotten fucking stabbed. With Ian, beforehand, it'd been necessity: cutting something off at the pass. This feels a little more deliberate. Cauterizing a wound before it can bleed over. It feels like casting all the more because of that, how everything gets dialed in that little bit closer, a window into someone else's entire core opening just for you.
And where magic might spill out — a small cord or vibrating wire or glowing tendril of magic, there to be reached, knit together with his own, it's just... fear.
Anxiety, fear, real enough and tangible enough that it pulls from Nathan too. It's like a punch to the gut. It's real and visceral, and to focus, Nathan looks directly at Ian.
Chest expands. Inhale, exhale, steady rhythm and breaths. A blue glow alights.
Nathan thinks about early mornings. Waking up before the sun rises. Settling the rhythm of his breathing into his footfalls when he runs, passing through the fields, the cool mists, the horses gently raising their heads in passing interest. The bond isn't the totality of what you feel. It's just what you feel right now.
Calm. Steady, ambivalent, the way a boat just rocks with the waves.
A little acknowledgement. Recognition at the forefront.
Threads of nostalgic feeling, faint and distant.
Nathan lifts his brows silently at Ian. A wordless Alright?, like that alleyway, minutes of quiet communicated in not much else. Nathan's not pulling away yet, but throwing the question out there. Waiting for the response. However long it needs to be.
Inhale, exhale. The silence extends.
The wait continues. ]