Fumbling with the keys he'd just been leaving on the table - a sense of finality with that, like giving up all the rights he'd once thought he'd had - Nathan looked up, grey eyes going wide.
"Jim."
The name is said with that same feeling of finality, of weary surprise and dread, of a fondness that aches from the futility of it. Nathan remembered, all over again, how much he loved Jim, just from that name, just from seeing him after what felt like a forever absence. The cigarette in his hands got a quick glance, but Nathan was far too busy drinking him in, unsure and wanting and all of that bruised over with hurt.