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Nathan Prescott has gotten to see life crumble down around him many times in his existence.
Life has fallen down with every hit of his father's fist when he got too angry and Nathan was being silly around him. Pieces of life dropped to the ground with each word and each slap and every bitter tear he crushed with an angry thumb. Life has dropped around him every time he felt Mark's needle in the flesh of his neck and every time he woke to suspicious bruises and the feeling of being soiled.
Life had shattered to pieces when Mark told him he'd killed Rachel; and by the time the bullet pierced Chloe's gut he wasn't sure life existed anymore - but if there had been any leftovers they were gone that second.
Nathan never expected to survive any of it; when the cops came for him he was ready for whatever they threw at him. Well, not ready so much as resigned. He'd go to prison, he expected. A young, relatively good-looking kid with a complete unability to lay low - he knew what prison would do to him. Prison would break him. Prison would kill him. But it hardly mattered by that point.
The trial was a confusing blur of pain.
He hadn't expected it to hurt because nothing was supposed to hurt anymore, and had found himself upset by the discovery - betrayed that he still had any ability to feel pain. His body felt like an empty shell most days and all nights, yet every glare and every word still pierced through to something.
This, he'd assumed, was what life was. First there's nothing, and then there's pain. And it would keep being that way. He'd considered suicide; but it wasn't an option, because at the trial Mark said that he planned to dispose of him (like he'd disposed of Rachel) and in a childish way he couldn't let him win.
So he kept on moving forward - or whatever direction he was moving into, he couldn't quite tell.
And somehow the unimaginable happens. Somehow, life pieces itself back together.
He still can hardly believe it; it seems like things are moving too fast and too easy and it's only preparation for something much worse than everything before, even though he can't quite think of what could be any worse. It feels like the premise to a cruel joke and a last attempt to get him down for good. It feels like a promise that can't be ever be held. But it keeps happening.
Slowly, Blackwell students lose interest in him.
Slowly, Victoria allows him to touch her again, lets his shoulder bump with hers without that look of fear on her face.
Slowly, Hayden begins to sit next to him in their shared classes again - they don't talk but they're here and it's not uncomfortable.
Slowly, he stops worrying Dash will climb out of the window and never come back, because Dash is always back right when he needs to be, purring, rubbing against his legs, begging for more food and some petting.
Slowly, Warren stops writing puns on his door slate, because the other boys have stopped leaving insults on it. When his slate remains clear for three days in a row he decides he can write something and - after long, thoughtful consideration - settles for a quick drawing of Dash, because it doesn't have any meaning and it won't get any attention, and he hopes no one will erase it.
Slowly, Warren pulls him into his bed at night and kisses every bit of his skin he can reach, smooths his hands over all those nasty angles in his body without any disgust, and when their hips stroke together, for just a moment it feels good- it almost feels like heaven. And sometimes it feels like Warren's eyes are just too hungry and too wanting; that he's trying to truly capture something from Nathan, more than empty words about burning his image into a camera. He feels like Warren is burning his whole soul into something much more long-lasting, and perhaps he's taking more than what Nathan should be giving. It's only scary for a moment, though; and then he forgets.
It's quiet and peaceful and it's a routine and he gets used to it. He goes to the diner with Warren and orders a burger. When he eats it he feels bloated and weird and kind of sick but he can keep it down and Warren looks like he's really proud when there's nothing to be proud of. He stays off the scale he keeps under his bed because he knows he'll freak out if he sees the numbers. Ignorant bliss doesn't feel as guilty as he thought it would. He takes a shower every morning and feeds Dash, he goes to all his classes, he hangs out with Warren and Victoria. He meets Kate's eye in a hallway and she gives him a smile; Courtney tugs the collar of his jacket straight as she listens to Victoria talk. It's almost normal.
On the nights he spends alone in his room it still feels like the better it gets, the worst the punishment will be. He still gets nightmares he awakes of in a sweat where he's back there, in the Dark Room, and he can't move and he can't speak but this time he can see, this time he can feel. He still cries every now and then, and it's still humiliating. But it keeps getting better.
He lays awake on his bed while Warren rests his head on his shoulder, one arm lazily hooked around him, and feels like this is good, this is really good, he wishes it would stay like this forever.
He lifts the joint to his lips. The weed is Hayden's, not his, because he doesn't buy anymore - not like any dealer in Arcadia Bay would sell him anything anymore. Warren doesn't disapprove of his smoking; he didn't ask to take a hit, though. It's not the kind of high he ever got from Mark's stuff so it doesn't stress him out.
"You wanna go out?", he asks lazily, and feels Warren's head shift to look at him.
"Where?", Warren asks in response, and he shrugs slightly. Anywhere would be fine. The forest, maybe, it's been a while.
Warren sits up slowly and stretches his arms. Nathan gazes at him and admires the way his shoulders roll under his shirt. Every time he remembers Warren is strong - stronger than he is, broader in the shoulders with enough muscles in his stomach that he can feel them under his palm - it's sort of odd. Warren doesn't look strong - he looks young, and hesitant, and all smiles and it doesn't conjure the image of a strong person. Months ago, before he paid any real attention to the guy, Nathan would've easily called him weak if he'd been asked. Now he realizes it's not the case at all.
Nathan gets up as well and crushes the end of his joint on the bedside table. It'll leave a burn mark, but he doesn't care. He grabs his jacket and throws it on as he steps to the door. When Warren follows him, he takes the time to push him against the wall and give him a sloppy kiss. Halfway through it his lips slip down but he remains determined as he starts mouthing at Warren's throat. He can feel his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows thickly.
"Thought you wanted to go out?", Warren asks.
That's right. He forgot. He pulls back, regretfully, and opens the door.
When they leave the school, they don't take Warren's car - just keep walking down the side of the road, hands shoved into their pockets. Warren talks about movies Nathan hasn't seen, goes on and on about American Graffiti (a classic, he insists) and the way teenagers were shown on film in the past decades. Nathan doesn't really get what he's saying because he's high, but he likes the sound of his voice and he thinks if he bothered to listen the discussion might have been interesting.
At one point they lock arms together and keep walking with their shoulders constantly bumping, which makes Nathan laugh dumbly. They reach the edge of the forest, near the train tracks, and walk into the trees without following any tracks, stumbling over some logs and branches. Quickly enough they reach a clearing, with a fallen tree in its middle, and they sit on the old, rotting wood.
"It's nice out here, isn't it?", Warren says. Nathan nods in answer and rests his head on his shoulder.
It's affectionate like they probably shouldn't be. What's the point of this?, he wonders vaguely. Eventually Warren will get with one of those girls he's always around - Brooke, Max, or back with Alyssa; maybe even Kate, though he doubts it because she's too religious. So what's the point of hanging around and getting attached and creating a routine if it'll only be broken up later? He's setting himself up for failure, pulling his heart out of his chest and giving every means to break it, as he always does, as he did with Mark--
But Warren kisses him and he stops thinking about it. He always does.
Soon enough, they roll off the tree and onto the grass, and though Nathan is halfway crushed under Warren's weight he only grabs him tight and keeps kissing him. He rolls them over after a minute and straddles the other's hips, sitting up on him to take a breather.
Under him, Warren is grinning, his cheeks red and his hands above his head. He looks very fine. Nathan dives back in for another kiss.
They fumble with each other's clothing for a few moments, though neither of them get very far with it, and eventually just end up grinding against one another, Nathan's pants pulled down his thighs. Warren's hands slide under his shirt, stroke his sides, and Nathan's fingers twist in that beautiful brown hair. Warren comes first, for once, not bothering to stiffle a long, throaty moan, and Nathan pushes his mouth against his shoulder to muffle his own orgasm because they might be alone in the woods but he has some goddamn decency.
He's getting too used to this; even in the afterglow he can't quite shake the thought. He's getting used to the way Warren is easy under his fingers, always just in reach, both his shoulder to cry on and his friend to laugh with, and also a brother and a lover and just someone to bounce film rethoric off of and someone to grind against just like he just did, when he feels needy and hot and needs to cum and make someone cum. And it's no good, because when Warren eventually gives up the many jobs Nathan has given him - when he finds someone better to spend his time with - he'll be all alone. He won't have anyone to sleep against when nights are scary, and no one to spend the best of his days next to. But it's hopeless; he can't bring himself to break it off anyway.
Warren pulls his pants back up for him (a true gentleman) and hugs him close. Nathan is very aware that they both have cum in their underwear and need to get cleaned up, but he's unwilling to move, even though they're laying in the grass and will probably only get dirtier from it. Now Warren is petting his hair absently as he stares up at the sky above.
As he cuddles up against Warren's body, Nathan reaches two certainties.
The first is that he doesn't want whatever they have to ever end; the second is that he can't ever tell Warren that, or he'd ruin it.