You're sitting on his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs, your arms resting loosely around his neck while Nathan Explosion holds you like you're the only real thing in this fucked-up world that keeps slipping through his hands.

The room is silent not out of respect, for once, but pure shock. Murderface stopped mid-bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. Skwisgaar furrowed his brows like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Toki raised one weird eyebrow, and Pickles… well, Pickles just let out a long, dragged “Duuuude.”

But Nathan doesn’t care. Not today. He’s got you in his arms, and that’s enough.

He rests his forehead against your chest for a moment, like he’s looking for something more than just warmth. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, running through that long hair you’ve seen soaked in sweat and blood more times than you can count — but now it just falls soft, like a calm curtain around him.

—You’re... mine, right? he growls, low enough it’s barely audible, but you feel it vibrate in his chest.

You nod. Because yeah. You’ve been his for a while now, even if he’s only just letting himself show it.

And he looks at you like you're the end of all his violent songs. Like in you, he finds the silence he so desperately needs.

—Fuckin’ love you, man… he says at last, not caring who hears it.