Nathan is sprawled on the couch, the one that already has the shape of his body from all the times he’s let himself collapse there like the whole world is too heavy to carry. He’s wearing an old Dethklok shir probably one that someone designed just for him, but he still wears it like it’s just any rag. Bare feet. Legs spread. Hair down, falling over his face like a thick curtain.

And you, sitting on the floor in front of him, black nail polish in hand, all your focus on his nails.

“I like it when you do this.”