Wev

Back in Nathan’s dorm years ago, staring up at the ceiling as though it bore stars, you two imagined life in the big city. Bustling streets, an endless go, go, go. While you were excited for the nightlife, and Nathan had said he was too, you secretly believed he was simply trying to get as far away from his parents as possible. 

New York was as good as anywhere else, and it was prestigious enough to be reasonable when he’d brought it up during dinner. His dad already began running plots- carry on the realtor business, extend outwards, sink its teeth into the flesh of NY, but Nathan had been quick to shut that movement down before it could truly snowball. 

Pursuing photography, he’d said. High-class weddings, sponsorship events. Capturing the precious moments of luxurious, frivolous spending. His dad, albeit quiet for the remainder of the evening, pressed his palm long and firm onto Nathan’s shoulder as he left. You watched from the passenger seat as they traded glances. At that moment, for the first time, you liked to think perhaps they understood each other. And though it did not change the past, it was enough for him to crawl into the driver's seat and breathe out something full, and deep, and relieved. 

Mr. Prescott had even sent you a painting in the mail when the hustle died down. A hand painted, specially commissioned portrait of the lighthouse back in Arcadia Bay. It overlooked the ocean, no detail missed, as though you stood before a window looking in. Gorgeous as it was, you grew antsy as Nathan looked it over, worried perhaps this was something ulterior. Perhaps Mr. Prescott's way of reminding Nathan he’ll never truly leave home. 

But Nathan carefully dragged the painting from its wrap and stood it up. Then smiled, because tucked into the frame of the painting, was a much smaller picture. 

It was the same as the painting, just on a much smaller scale. Digital- a small, almost grainy photograph. He flipped it around, and sure enough, etched onto the back in scribbled handwriting, was ‘lighthouse.’

“This is the first photo I ever took.” He murmured in thought, truly admiring the expertise of the craft. “I didn’t think he kept it.”

Nathan hung the photo up over the banister and stood back to admire both he and the painter's work. 

Every sunday now, while you both lounge the day away, that painting overlooks it all. Today is no different- the couch much more than worn in as you both relax well into the afternoon, ignoring how the impending doom of Monday came more as a threat than a day. The weekend had been so busy- no, the whole damn week had been one thing after another, and you were more ready to sleep it all off. 

Nathan was equally as exhausted, judging by the way he’s phasing in and out of sleep across from you. Head tipped back, eyes up towards the ceiling, creeping open only long enough to awake before they slip shut once more. 

Rain taps at the glassy windows. 

Stretching out, you toe at him, the fuzz of your socks brushing against his arm. The designer logo on the socks stare back at you, gifts from Nathan during your first Christmas together. Instinctively his hand rests on your calf. He peeks an eye open despite the weight of his eyelids and hums in acknowledgement. 

“Hey, sleephead.” You coo. “We gonna sleep all day?”

“What’s wrong with that?” He answers, but stretches to life regardless. His shirt rides up and exposes his belly, and you almost take the opportunity to nudge it with your feet. You decide against it for a moment. Only a moment, because he quickly takes something from the tableside and plucks a cigarette, you realize, from its box. A lighter seems to appear from nowhere. 

When he brings it to his lips, you kick him. “Not in the house.”

“It’s raining.”

“Forecast says it’s over by one.” Nathan’s eyes glance to the digital clock, then back to yours, unamazed. You shake your head. “You can go an hour.”

“You’re gonna’ fuck up my morning cig’?”

“I don’t think it really counts as a morning cig’ anymore.” You hoist yourself up, lean forward, and pluck the cigarette from his lips. He lets you, too, watches you with narrowed eyes but not even a lick of fight. “So either wait, or get soaked outside.”

Those blue eyes of his rolls so hard they nearly topple out. But he listens. He takes the cigarette back into his thin fingers and shoves it into the box, tosses that and the lighter onto the coffee table. 

“Happy?” He huffs.

“Very.” You take the opportunity to spin around and rest your back on his chest. 

Arms wrap around you, tug you closer, even when he likes to pretend you piss him off. Everything falls into line. When you ask him whatcha’ thinkin’ about, you can hear the smile in his words. 

“...Last weekend.” 

“Oh, god.” You can’t help the laugh that bursts from you, rumbling deep from your chest, returned by his own chuckling. The memories come flooding back and you simply can't stop yourself. “Talk about a mess.”

“Fuckin’ Valentines day.” 

“Fuckin’ Valetines day.” You echo. 

---

The day had started innocently enough. When you pushed yourself out from Nathan’s car, immediately you clocked the overcast. Thick, grey clouds that seemed darker as the distance grew threatened your date- this year's Valentines would be a dull one for sure. 

Impending rain contrasts the livelihood before you- a busy street lined with vendors, white tents, and red, heart-themed designs as far as the eye could see. 

“Wasn’t supposed to rain,” Nathan grumbles as she shuts the door for you. He pokes and preens you, adjusts your scarf. “Good thing our reservations are indoors.”

You look out to the busy street crawling with buyers. “Where’s our reservation?”

“-Cold as fuck, too.” Nathan, not even hearing a word from your mouth, adjusts the collar of your coat. You stop his fussing and plant your palms on his chest. 

“Nathan.” 

He blinks up at you then retracts himself, straightening his spine. Pops the collar of his own jacket and raises his brow. “What.”

“Where are we eating?”

Then that empty expression melts into something far more coy. He hums and shifts his weight. You nudge his shoulder, asking again. Finally, he cracks. 

“...High top.”

Once more his shoulder takes another swat as you imagine yourself sitting in one of the most luxurious fine-dining establishments in the city. “What! Can we afford that?!”

“You think I don’t got this shit covered?” He snarks. But when it doesn’t change the shocked expression on your face, he simply nods. “I got it.”

There isn’t much else to do but lean up on your toes and kiss him. It’s short, it’s chaste, but it’s sickeningly sweet. He doesn't give you a minute to second guess him, or perhaps wonder where the extra funds came from, pawing your shoulders and spinning you around to face the vendors. 

“Alright,” Pointing a gloved finger down the stretch. “You’ve got an all inclusive pass to go crazy.”

Go crazy you intend. All the possibilities- all the art you could bring home and decor to drive Nathan crazy. Statement pieces, you liked to call them. Fucking eyesores, is what he would say. 

Cold as it may be, the frigid wind did not stop you from touching almost everything you could see. From trinkets to portraits, from sculptures to home-made goods, nothing escaped your wandering eyes and touchy fingers. The vendors had certainly worked their asses off this year to upsell their products. It’s hard to say no, especially when this city always had the best of the best. Really, you’d take it all if you could. Just stuff it into some giant sack and drag it all the way home. 

But, alas, money is tight. Even when Nathan says it's not. Perhaps one day when you climb the ladder of your job, and Nathan properly locks in his Photography firm, you’ll allow yourself to indulge. He’s close- he’s so fucking close- only a few short months from formally starting his business. His first big break was booked out for the summer: a lavish, high-end wedding. 

Of course his last name gave him perks, too, as well as his time in Blackwell. More than once when he’d handed out his card, eyebrows would perk up. 

Between the two of you, you live comfortably enough. He gets his private gigs at smaller events, and you landed yourself a part-time job bartending at a higher end concert bar. Though the income is much more limited than he’d like, it’s enough. Cushy, quaint. And now and then he splurges the extras on fancy clothes even when the bank threatens to run dry. 

High class attracts high class, he says, looking away when he swipes his debit card. Gotta’ look the part. 

But really, you know he simply just wants the nicer things in life. 

The outdoor market is just as perfect for you as it is for him, as he idly chats away with the organizers. He’s crafty, uses their need to upsell to network and charm his way into gathering another client. After all this time, even when he hates to admit it, he’s become quite the business man. The Prescott charm was certainly hereditary.

Now, as you glance through an array of hand sculpted table-ware that his mother would absolutely adore, you notice him pluck something from the side-table and buy it. Then, he promptly turns and offers you the little item. It sits in the palm of his hand nice and snug, a beautifully made heart shaped cookie. 

“Aw, thank you.” You beam at him. “Is this your way of asking me to be your Valentine?”

He scoffs. “You are my valentine.” 

You tuck the cookie into your purse. “I don’t recall you ever asking me.”

“Ask you-” Nathan narrows his eyes, then shakes his head. “Will you please,” And your hands are captured in his despite the snark in his tone. “Do me the honor, of being my Valentine.”

“Well…” You pretend to give it some thought. “No thanks.” Nathan drops your hands. “Kidding! Of course I will.” 

“Very funny. You-” 

Suddenly, in the midst of his sentence, you feel it. A singular wet droplette atop your head that makes you twitch. Quickly you glance upwards, once again noting the rapid roll in of heavy clouds. Another drop, this time landing directly on your cheek. 

“Seriously?” He huffs, ducking down into his collar. 

“Looks like it’s gonna be a good one, too.” The vendor sighs. She tucks the card Nathan had slipped to her into her pocket, clicking her tongue when the rain starts to tap away at the top of the tent roof. 

“These weather guys don’t know shit.” Nathan throws an arm around you, tugging you close to his side. You lean into the warmth. 

“Good thing our reservations are indoors. Pretty soon, right?” 

“You, ” He peeks at his watch quickly as you both meander towards his waiting car. “Are correct. Too bad the view is gonna’ be total ass.” 

“I think my view is gonna’ be great.” You retort. There’s a glimmer in your eye, and with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, you can’t be bothered by any dreary weather. Not with him, even though it meant chowing down on far too expensive food while what should be a spectacular view of the horizon is muddled with endless, drawn grey. 

The first wave of rain shows its limited mercy in sprinkles. They dot his car, shine with the glimmer of the cherry red paint. There’s a dozen bodies rushing around, a symphony of slamming doors and starting engines as both vendors and buyers alike escape the cold. It’s sad to watch all the lovely colors strip down to empty tables. 

You tuck yourself into the passenger seat of Nathan’s ride and he sags into the drivers a moment later. His long coat is dappled with rain, his perfectly slicked hair poking up in sections where rain had settled into the gel.

“How close is High Top?” You ask, leaning back in your seat, watching the market further deteriorate.

“Close enough.” 

“How close is close enough?”

“It means it’s close enough.”

You nudge him. “Don’t be a shit-head, babe.”

And he smiles. His lips twitch upwards as the car rumbles to life, and with ringed fingers, he twists the wheel and pulls the car onto the road. 

But ultimately, Nathan had been correct. It’s a mere fifteen minutes when you see it in the distance- this hulking beast of a building stabbing through the thick of clouds. It almost makes you dizzy when you see it, and a wave of unease decides to plant itself in your gut as you realize sooner rather than later you’re going to be up that high. 

Craning your neck as it grows closer doesn’t help. Perhaps, you think, it’s better that today's weather had totally folded in on itself. Probably best that you didn’t have to glance out the window and look down. 

Nathan is far more stoked. With the rhythm of the music, he’s tapping away on the steering wheel amidst navigating the inner-city traffic. He even slides his right hand over the center and drops it on your leg, idling ribbing circles into your skin through the pants. 

High Top feels larger than life when he pulls into the long driveway. Immediately you notice at the entrance is a gentleman in a tailored suit, a muted blue vest over his black button up. He’s equally as manicured as everything else, waiting patiently for Nathan to drive the bend. 

“Valet?” You ask, watching the gentleman smile wide as you both stop. Nathan nods, and your brows raise. “Damn, this really is fancy.”

“Just wait til’ we get in.” 

It’s just as cold out as before when you step out, the door propped open by the Valet driver, who seems almost a little happy to do his job. He takes Nathan’s keys with great pride, and before you know it, you’re both watching Nathan’s car cruise into a parking garage. 

You aren’t sure why you linger. Something about the height, maybe, has you trapped in place, staring up at the hundreds of windows. A voice catches your attention, further away, and you glance at the source. Emerging from the parking garage is an older gentleman dressed similarly to the valet, a phone tucked between his chin and shoulder. 

He’s clearly angry, drilling demands and insults into the poor soul on the other end. It takes hearing Nathan’s voice pipe up to break you of your eaves dropping. 

“Can you get over here?” He calls from the front doors and motions you inside. He’s got it held open for you, and you’re sure cold, brittle air is wafting into the lobby. 

“Coming, sorry.” You scurry in, regather yourself, and shake it off once inside. “That dude over there is like, freaking out.”

“Well when we’re a-hundred feet in the air you can do all the rubbernecking you want.”

“...Hundred feet, huh?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights?” Nathan links his arm with yours, presses a hand over your knuckles to guide you through the lobby. 

“Hell no.” You say, but you think you’re lying. “...Maybe. I’ve never been up that high before.”

“You’re about to find out real quick.”

And he’s right, because you’re both rolling up to the host’s podium. There’s a man waiting there under a dim, expensive light. He raps his fingers as you approach, tilts his head, cocks a crooked smile. 

“Dining for two?” The man sings. 

“Prescott.” Nathan answers flatly, like the host should know him by presence alone. You almost have half a mind to kick him. The host’s brows raise momentarily, but quickly he begins to sort through the long list of names. 

Pursing his lips, and then clicking his tongue, he searches for what feels like forever before he hums, “Can you spell that?”

Nathan’s brows knit. “...P-R-E-S-”

“Sorry sir, but I’m not seeing any Prescott’s for this evening. Did you make a reservation?”

Immediately there’s a shift. That queasiness in your belly further sours. 

“Actually, yes, I did make a reservation.” 

The host hums again. “I’m not seeing it, sir.”

Oh, you don’t like that. Nathan doesn’t either, huffing.

“I made them three weeks ago.”

“Wrong day, perhaps?”

“Wrong day?” 

“Wrong day.” The host says. Then, like a cherry on top, quickly adds, “Sir.”

Two years ago you think Nathan would have jumped the counter. Maybe picked up the book of reservation names and swung it at his head, demanding this mess get sorted quickly lest they face the wrath of his father. For a moment you think he still might. But then, he shuts his eyes for a brief second, and breathes deep. 

“Can you get me your manager?”

Oh god. 

Not the manager talk. Something cringes deep in your soul while the host and Nathan stare at one another blankly. The host, of course, blinks first in defeat. Plucking a phone from its stand, he presses a tight-lipped smile, and dials a few random numbers. 

“Can I borrow you for a few minutes?” He speaks into the line, glances at you both. “Yes. Just having an… Issue here.” A short pause, eyes never leaving. “Thank you sir. Sorry to bother- I know you just got in.” When he hangs up the phone, it clacks louder than what possibly could be polite, and he straightens his spine. “He will be here shortly.”

“Thanks.” Nathan grits, the passive-aggressive war on-going.

During the wait, which is not, in fact, ‘shortly’, you and him trade looks of discomfort. There's a range to it- a spectrum of confusion, annoyance, and out right fuck this guy. When you start to convince yourself the manager would be able to sort out this ridiculous screw up, they show up. Steps into the low light like a final boss and then you notice it. 

The same man from the parking lot. Unlike before, he's wearing a wide, fake smile. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” He asks, clasping his hands together. For some reason, you suddenly throw the idea of him solving this dilemma out the window. 

Nathan feels it too, you think. His weight shifts, stiffening up. “Your host here can't seem to find the reservations I made almost a month ago.”

The host feigns surprise as if it's the first time he's hearing it. There's a glint in his eye that spells disaster, even more so when he takes a dramatic step back and spins the book to his boss. Makes a big show of it too,  shrugging his shoulders. 

The manager glances up from the book to Nathan. “Last name?”

“Prescott. Two T's. Nathan Prescott.”

He drags his finger down the line of names, doesn't skip a beat. Then much like the host he too clicks his tongue with the absence. 

“Well, sir,” He sighs. “Im sorry but I am just not seeing it here. Are you sure you've got the right evening?”

Nathan swallows, trying to hold back his tongue. “Yes, I'm sure.”

“Unfortunately we simply don't have it. Where did you book it?”

“I called. Booked directly over the phone.” He runs his hand through his hair, the frustration mounting in his tone. “You're telling me we have no reservations. None.”

“Not for tonight at least. I can check our system for a later date?”

“No.” Nathan shakes his head, gives himself a second to think. The duo wait, watch. “Alright. Fine. How long is the wait for a table tonight?”

The host cringes, drawing his lips. “Given it is Valentine's Day, you're looking at around… Four hours. Give or take.”

It blows the wind from your sails. Your hope of gorging yourself a hundred feet in the air turns to dust. For a moment you think Nathan's going to go with it, so you touch his shoulder and gather his attention. 

“Fuck it,” You murmur. “Let's go somewhere else.”

The manager gives you two a beat before he sings, “So, am I putting you down, Mr. Prescott?”

Immediately his mouth opens to spew something back, a flash of his younger self begging to bend this guy over his knee, but he stops himself. Outwardly torn, he simply forces a curt smile on his lips. 

“We'll take our evening somewhere else.” Is all he offers. The tone is too polite, almost sickeningly so, far kinder than what the pair deserved. 

“Oh, sorry to hear,” The manager says. “Well in that case I hope you two have a great night.”

Nathan doesn't wait for anything else before wrapping his arm around you and turning sharply. You aren't sure if Nathan catches it, but you hear the manager call, Happy Valentines Day as the glass front doors swing shut behind you. 

It's like a walk of shame, shivering when the hard wall of shrill wind and rain meet you at the other side. Knowing those two assholes were watching you leave, you simply throw your middle finger up and give them something to gawk at. Nathan doesn't see it, but you're sure if he did, he'd have done the same. 

The Valet driver returns Nathan's car equal parts concerned and sorrowful. Honestly the most genuine you've seen yet- and because it's not the Valets fault for screwing up your date, you thank him heavily for his work as you climb into the car. He becomes a fading blip in the mirror as the car pulls back out into the road. 

Nathan's quiet. Whether because he's trying to figure out what to do next or because he's an expert at stewing, you aren't sure. What you are sure of is that you hate this heavy silence. Hate how it feels like the magic is dying, so you break the weight with a long huff. 

“That dude was a prick.” You mumble. Nathan nods along. 

“They're gonna love my review,” He starts, and for a moment, you hear it: They dont know who they fucked up with. My dad. My Mom. My last name. But, the taut grip on the steering wheel instead loosens, and his shoulder slump down in tandem with a long, drawn breath. “Whatever. Fuck High Top. They're overrated anyways.”

That same hand comes to rest on your thigh and you flatten your palm over his knuckles. “Fuck High Top.”

Compared to the ride in, the ride out is much less energized. The radio plays soft music, perfectly in tune with the patter of rain. It's a somber feeling as you coast past the remnants of the art expo, the only thing left being a couple skeletal remains of tents. Shockingly, Nathan pulls into one and only local park. Of course it's empty- nothing but a ghost town as he throws it into park. 

For a moment, he says nothing, simply sinking into his seat. Rain races down the windshield, and you watch the way his face catches the reflection. The sky is already growing dark. If it weren't for the pillow of clouds above, you're sure the first of tonight's stars would be peeking through the deep blue. 

“Hey,” You murmur, leaning over the center console just to drop your head against his shoulder. “Fancy roasted carrots just aren't in our cards tonight. There's something better, I'm sure.”

“It's not just the food.” He grumps. You cock your head. “I-... They have live music. I was gonna’ try to get a dance in.” 

“A dance?” Now that really raises your brows. “We've danced together exactly twice, and both times it was at your Dad's charity galas.”

“Fuck me for trying to be romantic.”

You can't help but smile, then reach up to catch his chin, and kiss him. Even while you're making it nearly impossible for him to stew, he sighs against your lips. 

“Thank you for trying, Nate. It would have been nice. Until my two left feet make themselves known.” 

“Yeah. You are pretty shit at dancing.” 

“Hey!” You whack him good, gasping. “Sorry I didn't grow up with a private dance instructor.”

“Didn't need one. That shit just came naturally.”  You two giggle to one another, and then finally after a pause, he sucks in a breath and cracks his neck. “So… What now. Any ideas?”

You lean up and gaze out the window in the hopes that something would spark an idea. Something fun, romantic. At first you go empty handed. The park really doesn't offer much, beautiful as it was. An empty play-structure, monkey bars and a jungle gym. Lushious grass even despite the frigid cold and trees that seemed to refuse to let all their leaves go.  

Then, you spot it. An awning, a gazebo, standing in the center of the park. He follows the line of your sight and knits his brows. 

“Up for an adventure?” You sing. 

“What do you know about adventures?”

“Come on.” And then you’re throwing the car door open, the sound of rain surrounding all else, and taking off into the growing storm. Nathan stammers for a moment in bewilderment. He remarks about the rain, about your clothes, about his clothes, but there isn’t a doubt in your mind he’s coming after you. 

Sure enough, a mere second later, his door slams shut behind you. He’s covering himself with his hands in an attempt to maintain his hair but quickly forgets it when you tug him towards the gazebo. 

The high, round roof shelters all but the cold. Small droplets drip down the edges and between the thin cracks above. 

“What’s adventurous about being out in the cold?”

“Oh come on,” You sing, spinning around, setting your purse on the steps. “This isn’t romantic? You, me. The Rain.”

“My hair's a mess.”

“Good. I like it better that way.”

“Oh, you do, huh?” Nathan brings himself inches from you before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. The tension leaves him in a smile, albeit still shivering from the wind. Instinctively his hands find your waist, and like a habit, you feel him sway you ever so slightly. A gentle rhythm. Left, right. 

“Oh? We gonna’ dance?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his shoulder. 

“Romance, right?”

You aren’t sure you weren’t prepared for him to sway you forward, but when he does, you stumble and nearly topple him right over. Of course he catches you. Thinks it’s funny, too, snickering when you cling to him like a lifeline. 

“There they are,” You start, nervously laughing. “My two left feet.”

“Barely made it a few seconds that time.”

“Guess I’m not a natural.”

Nathan presses his lips together. “Well… My mom taught me.”

“I knew it!” You beamed. “Natural my ass.”

He nods and steps you backwards. This time around, you don’t fumble. 

“She always said some shit like, when I got older, it’d be embarrassing if I couldn't lead a dance.”

“...So I’m embarrassing?”

“Are you leading?” He asks, and you shake your head. “Then no. Keep following me.”

It’s easy enough. It always is with him, a fine leader indeed. Right, left. Forwards and backwards. The weight of the world seems to fade away like this- only focused on his expression, the hard angles of his jawline, his cheekbones. Rain becomes a melody easy to follow, and though your hands are soaked, they clasp together perfectly. A union of two bumbling, laughing idiots, salvaging what they could. 

The fun only stops when you realize that the rain is coming to a stop. A downpour simmers into a dribble, a tap, tap, tap on the roof that becomes silent. Nothing but the slow drag of wind through the cracks. When you split from Nathan, you mourn the heat of him. It’s worth it though, to peek up and notice that he’s been blushing. Deep scarlet over his cheeks, like it’s the first time all over again. 

All you can do is lean up on your toes and kiss him. He’s warm, he’s sweet, and he holds you against his wiry frame like you belong there. 

“Hey, since the rain’s stopped, how about we go look for something fun, huh?” You murmur against him. 

“Anywhere you want.”

“What if I want to get some shitty takeout?”

He cringes. “Fuck that.”

“Lemme check my phone and see what else is in the area.” Glancing down to your purse, you’re stunned to see something heavy and furry digging clean through the bag. “Hey!”

Right there on the step of the gazebo, somehow unnoticed by the lot of you, is a dog going to town on your goods. Plastic crinkles as it chomp down on the cookie you’d bought earlier. When you shout, the poor thing leaps, startled and stares upwards with its great big eyes. You see the panic in a split second, and in that panic, take a few steps backwards with a low wagging tail. It should bolt any second now, but instead, launches forward and yanks your purse by the handle.

It takes off into the yard, water splashing around its giant feet the entire way. A cream colored blur that hauls as it darts through a long line of decorational trees. Nathan whistles so loudly it nearly bursts your ear drums, but it works. The dog stops hard in its tracks and spins around, tilting its head. 

“Good boy! Or- Girl, maybe, come on,” You crouch down and try to summon the fluffy thing. It lowers for a moment, your purse grazing the wet grass, and you think perhaps it would saunter its way back over. However, in a calculated move, the dog pivots back around and disappears into the brush. 

You chase it without thinking, sprinting into the wetness and hoping your feet would match its pace. Pushing through the treeline, you manage to catch a glimpse of its fur tearing its way across the street. Slows when it feels it’s gotten far enough away, but the moment you think you may catch up, it darts down a long stretch of an alleyway. 

Surely, with nothing on either side and a chain link fence blocking the only other exit, you could corner the poor thing and snatch your purse back. Maybe check it for a collar, too. Nathan brushes up beside you once he catches up. 

Got it, you think with heaving lungs. All it takes to spur the dog on once more is taking a singular step towards it. There’s a micro gap in the fence, and it shoves its head through, forcing its way to the other side. The metal groans and gives, and once more, the dog and your purse are gone around a corner. It leaves tufts of thick fur on the edges of the fence, blowing in the wind, caught on the metal teeth by the time you make it over. 

Through the gaps, you get the pleasure of watching it run through what looks to be some sort of junkyard. It’s precise, knows exactly where to go when it waves past cars that look like they've been rusting there longer than you've been alive. Heaps of broken down cars, trucks, the whole nine yards. Piles of tires and piles of glass that glitter with the evidence of rain. 

It’s getting harder to see now. The sun's dropped behind the buildings, casting long shadows through the alleyway. Though the rains died, the clouds still linger, further darkening the world around you. Streetlights light to life.

What you can see bright and clear is the giant Do Not Trespass sign dangling from the fence directly in front of you. It hangs inches above you, a glaring threat. But damn it- you can literally see the dog climbing underneath what looks like some old, old lifted truck. Its height creates the perfect den. If only you could just… 

You grip the fence hard, cold biting into your skin. The sign rattles, makes you second guess. Makes you hesitate. 

“Fuck!” You bark, smacking the fence. It rattles in protest, ever present. Nathan catches up once more and rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath. 

“Where’d- Where’d it go?”

“It’s literally right there.” You can even see its tail sticking out from the gap it crawled in through- wagging endlessly, enjoying the fruits of its thievery. Probably making light work of your cookie, too. “Sitting right there under that truck. Look.”

Nathan presses the fence inwards, cranes the metal to peek around and get a glance for himself. Sure enough, he spots the pup, and groans. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You decide you can’t waste time. Sure, take the cookie. Chew up your purse, your notebook, even the cute little keychains you’d collected over the years. But the thought of having to spend a free day at the secretary of state fighting for a new ID? Having to change all your subscriptions to a new card because your old one got eaten by a stray dog? Hell no. 

When Nathan looks over at you, you’re hiking one foot up. 

“You’re gonna climb this shit?” He breathes, and you merely offer him a toothy smile. 

“...Adventure?”

“I mean..’ He shakes the fence, tests its integrity. “Fuck it. Yeah. Here, I’ll boost you up.”

You two snicker like teenagers as he gets down and links his fingers, letting you use his conjoined palms as a hoist you get you up. It’s a tried and true method he’s come to do like it’s ingrained in him. Before you know it, you’re teetering on the edge, and suddenly you’re back in Arcadia Bay on a hot summer night. 

Nathan climbs beside you more squirrel than man, faster than hell, already jumping down onto the wet dirt before you can even get your footing properly to begin your dismount. He’s taller, he’s faster. Experienced in the arts of being a public menace. You stare down from above covered in grime and damped with the aging rain. 

His arms unfurl before you. 

“Need me to catch you?”

You laugh at him. “I think I’d crush you.”

Nathan tosses thoughts around in his head, bounces what must be unsavory words before he settles on, "Wouldn't be a bad way to go.”

You can’t bring yourself to jump. Not even when he motions for you to just do it, use him as a landing pad even if it meant turning him into a splat beneath you. It takes a long moment, but you manage to twist and climb down the fence until finally you feel hands on your waists physically pulling you down. 

You land in front of him with a soft thud. 

“Smooth landing.” He chirps, and you nudge him. 

“Alright, we gotta be quiet,” Your murmur, crouching down. 

The lifted truck looks like a corpse, all rust and beams and exposed rods. But it’s tall enough to offer space for the large dog, who is still laying beneath it, its tail wagging something fierce still. You can't see what it’s up to, but you’re sure it’s enjoying its new goodies. 

When you make it halfway, and the dog still hasn’t noticed your presence, Nathan flattens a hand on your shoulder. 

“Wait here.” He whispers, and you frown, catching him by the sleeve.

“Why? What are you gonna’ do?”

He shrugs your hand off. “Trying to make sure you don’t get mauled.”

Anxiety spikes when he crepes forward. Every step adds weight to your gut, determination written on his face as he came to be mere feet away. When he was able to reach out, the dog's tail stopped, static. It tucks in and disappears. 

Your breath catches- he reaches out, palms out and low, and slowly dips into the gap. The fear strikes even harder like a lance, imagining him getting bit by this strange dog. What if it really did jump him? For a moment you nearly call him, say forget it. Then, just as slow as they’d entered that darkness, he retracts. 

The purse in tow. 

Relief floods you in a long, heaved breath. Nathan even looks through the contents to ensure it’s all good, but during so, stops, glances upwards back into that shadowy den. He tucks the purse to his side and tilts his head. 

“Oh, shit.” He mumbles. You hardly catch it, enough to make you crane forward and squint, like you’d somehow see through the metallic beast of the truck if you tried hard enough. 

“What is it?”

Leaning back on his heels, he simply waves you over in a large stroke of his arm. There’s hesitation of course, you don’t move for a long second. You’re careful not to disturb too much of the muddy gravel as you move. Arriving at his side, peering into the opening, you really do have to work your eyeballs to make out what’s going on. It’s so dark now, and the first thing you notice is that yes, the wrapper to your cookie you’d purchased earlier has been torn clean open and now sits empty a few inches away. There’s others among it too- like the dog had been thieving it up for quite some time now. 

It breaks your heart. Especially so when the second thing you notice is just how nasty the dog's coat is when your eyes adjust. 

The dog curls up in the darkness, covered in wet, sticky mud. Not growling- merely lying there, watching you watch it. Perhaps frightened into freezing, or perhaps simply trusting enough to not chase you away. In the center of its fluffy little donut, you see something smaller, similar in color, wriggling among the thickness like a fuzzy worm. 

It nearly knocks the wind from you when you realize it. 

A puppy.

Immediately your phone is fished from your purse, the flashlight turning on, beaming over the sight before you. It’s just one pup, a little bitty thing squirming through the fields of its mother’s coat. Momma is silent, but the pup’s telling you all about it, yapping and chirping little noises as it crawls all over her dirty body. 

“Oh my god, it’s so fucking cute.” you squeal. Nathan simply stares in what looks like awe, unsure of what to do with the information before him. 

When that little nugget realizes you’re both standing there, it emerges from its mother, waddling like a fat bean towards you both. You can’t stop yourself from reaching out when it approaches, and thankfully mama doesn't seem too pressed that you’re getting friendly with her baby. 

“You two have just been living out here, huh?” The little thing smells your hand and fumbles closer. Its coat is damp, greasy. Not as much as its mothers, but certainly a sad sight indeed. Suddenly cookie be damned- you wish she’d taken a whole feast from you. Mama wags her tail as you coo, and you turn your attention towards her. “Aw, sweet girl.”

Her ears flatten back in submission, the tail picking up speed. 

“Oh, she’s so sweet, Nathan. We have to call someone.”

“Call who?”

“Um… I don’t know. Animal control? They can’t just live out here.”

Nathan shrugs in loss. “I-”

“Hey!” 

It’s a rugged, booming voice that splices the moment in two. You damn near jump out of your skin, launching to your feet and whipping in the direction it rang from. The puppy hauls back into the den with its mother. Sure enough, standing at the gate at the other end of the junkyard, is a man standing there watching you two through the darkness. You flick your phone's flashlight up, and the man returns with his own, much brighter than yours. It’s like being gamma-rayed, blinded, squinting hard and shielding your eyes. 

Nathan scrunches his face up, looking away. 

“I- I lost my purse!”

“On private property? Yeah. Right. You two better stay where you are!”

Your heart sinks into your ass. “No, seriously, we’re not-”

“Stay there!”

“Fuck.” Nathan wipes hard at his face, groaning. 

Like a demon on your shoulder, you wonder if running would be the best option here. Take off into the night, hop the fence all over again, disappear into wherever the fuck you could scamper off to. Just wait for a signal, you think, wait for Nathan to make a move first. 

He bumps your side. “I’ll handle this.”

You blink at him. “I mean… Alright.”

And handle it he does not.

From the very moment the officer, you realize, had caught you trespassing he’d decided you two were thieving crooks. A stout man with a heavier New York accent, he marches right up to the pair of you still beaming that flashlight directly into your eyes.  From the moment he stood toe to toe, to the moment you were both walked out into the street and stopped outside his car was a blur. 

He wasn’t taking any explanations. Wasn’t listening to a damn word you were saying, and to make matters worse, he wouldn't even stop and look at the two poor dogs living in filth. Just kept chattering away into his walkie-talkie that he caught two trespassers trying to steal from the old cars. 

It gets real when he pulls open the car door and demands you both climb inside the backseat until his partner arrives, determined to ensure you guys don’t make a break for it. 

A part of you wonders if this is common practice. Another part of you doesn't want to make things worse for you or Nathan, so you climb inside. Nathan settles beside you, jumps when the door shuts hard enough to rock the frame. 

“What the hell, man.” You grumble. The seats are uncomfortable, the inside of the car is just as cold as the outside. Crossing your arms, you watch Nathan glare hard outside the window. 

“My dad will handle this. This is bullshit.” Nathan says it like it hurts him. Like he had to physically reach in and pull the words out. For the first time you really think that’s the best option. This is legal shit after all, and he has a building business to worry about.

But then you notice how strained he looks. How he’d do anything, anything except give his dad something to hold over his head. 

“No,” You start, knocking your knee against his. “Don’t call him. Don’t give him a reason. Whatever happens we’ll just deal with it, yeah? We weren’t stealing. When they see the dogs they’ll get it.”

“Yeah, sure. Piggy looks like he’s really understanding.” Nathan scoffs.

You drop your head on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, Nathan brings his arm around you, tipping his head back to stare up at the dark ceiling. 

“Fine.” He mumbles. “I won’t call him.”

Silence settles in. A radio plays quietly, only enough to hear the top 40 hits. The officer outside continues to talk away to whoever was on their way over, shifting his weight left to right, right to left. Occasionally he’d glance over his shoulder at you both, making sure you weren’t up to anything funny. 

“Never thought I’d see the inside of one of these.” Your voice doesn’t travel far in the compact car, but it doesn’t need to. Nathan snickers.

“You should have, since you’re with me.”

You smile. “Remember when we were still first meeting, and you ran from the cops, and hid out in my dorm?”

“Yep.” 

“I think that night re-wired my brain chemistry.”

Nathan laughs again, louder this time. Fuller in his chest, rumbles into you like a soothing purr. “You’re welcome.”

You pull your head from his shoulder to look at him. He shifts to face you. “Hey Nathan?”

“Hm?”

“Happy Valentine’s day.”

He rolls his eyes. “This shit is so ass. I don’t know what I’m gonna’ do to make up for it.”

“Don’t worry about that. I just like being with you.”

“This is a good time to you?” Motioning to the inside of the cop car, he raises his brows. When you shrug coyly, grinning, he nods. “Wow. I did re-wire you.”

The song on the radio ends. When it picks back up, you don’t realize what song it is until the chorus begins. 

“Oh, Nathan, listen.” 

He tunes in. 

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. Nobody’s promised tomorrow. So I’ma love you like it’s the last night, like it’s the last night.

“Fucking Bruno Mars,” He chuckles. “Jesus.”

“I love this song!” You hum, singing along. “If the world was ending, I’d wanna’ be next to you~” and then you change the lyrics, watch him smile wider, the one thing in life that could heal you time and time again. “If we got arrested for breaking and entering I’d wanna hold you, just for a while~”

“Lyrical genius.” 

“Aren’t I?”

Nathan sighs out some of that anger that had been festering. The day clearly had gone every way but right, but you realize, staring at him with the streetlights pouring in through the tinted window, that you really don’t mind. Not when it’s with him. 

“Y’know, this isn’t so bad.” You murmur, playing with his fingers. “At least we’re in here together, right?”

“Yeah.” Nathan leans towards you. There’s a glimmer in his eye drawing you in like a moth to a flame, closer by the second. 

“And we love this song.”

“We? You speaking french?”

You catch his jawline in your fingers, press your lips against his, soft and sweet. “We.”

There, in the back of the police car, you throw caution to the wind and let him drag you against his form. Moving languidly, moving like liquid against each other, smiling and giggling into the kiss. 

“This one’s gonna be a fun story for sure.” You chuckle, feeling him kiss your cheek, your chin, your forehead. Warmth radiates from him always, a living furnace. He runs a hand through your hair. “Trust me, one day, we’re gonna look back and laugh at this.”

Nathan doesn’t bother answering. He simply kisses you again, slings that arm around your neck and drags you up to meet him, determined to find the good in all this mess. 

You aren’t sure how long you two get the joy of enjoying one another. You don’t notice when the second officer arrives, scopes the junkyard. You don’t even notice when they return and flicker a flashlight into the darkened window, too caught up in the endless perfect that was Nathan. 

“Alright, break it up.” Hard raps on the window that make you jump back, the moment shattered in one fell swoop. You stare outside with wide eyes as the officer begins to pull the door open. The first officer looks like he wants to throw you both off a cliff. His buddy, you notice, is standing beside him with a much more bashful expression. 

“You two having a good night?” The partner chirps, snickering, and you flush deep red scarlet. Nathan is much less shy.

“Trying to.” He snickers. 

“Alright. Well, I checked the yard and I did find this-” The man held up your purse, which you hadn’t even realized you forgot once again after the first officer scared the daylights out of you. “And I did see the dogs you’d brought up. We’ve been getting calls of a stray digging through cans but couldn’t find her til’ now.” 

“She stole my purse right from me. We really didn’t mean to trespass, but I needed my cards.”

He nods. “So I heard. Alright. Let me have a look at your ID’s and then you can be on your way.”

“Seriously?” Nathan asks, narrowing his eyes. “That’s it?”

The partner raises his brow. “Do you want me to take you down to the station?”

“No!” You wave your hands, shaking your head. “No. Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s going to happen to the dogs?”

“The dogs?” The man thinks of it for a moment. “Animal Control will take over from here.”

“They’re not gonna’ like, get put down or anything, right? What shelter would they go to?”

“They would stay at Animal Control until someone claims them.”

“...And If no one claims them?”

The officer shrugs. “Then they’d be up for adoption, I guess. If you’re that worried you can go ahead and call them Monday.”

You nod slowly, taking it in, trying to convince yourself that they’d live long happy lives after tonight. Something in your belly, though, calls to you. And that feeling stays all the way from the moment you climb out of the car and share your information, all the way until after the officers split, you and Nathan left standing in the late-night cold watching their taillights disappear down the quiet street. 

No one says anything. 

But then, your stomach grumbles loud enough to hear, hard enough to make you cringe. 

“I’m fucking starving.” You blurt, still staring forward, like the cops would change their minds any moment and come hauling back. 

Nathan nods. “Me too.”

--

The night concludes late, a quiet that you’ve come to appreciate after moving to New York. The curb makes a good enough bench for you both, two containers of chinese take out spilling over the edges laid out in front of your laps. Neon glow paints the grounds, paints your back, the mess of your hair.

Dancing along the beacons of streetlights, the rain had stopped hours ago, but snow had begun to loft down from the heavens. A gentle ride of sparkling white gathering on the dark cement. Beside you, Nathan lights a cigarette and stretches his legs into the empty street. 

“Remember earlier when I asked for shitty take out and you pitched a fit?” You asked suddenly, taking a bite of your food. 

“I didn’t pitch a fit.” He grunts. 

“Look at us now.”

So he does. He stares down at the food, stares up at the sky, then back to you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips, offers you a hit, and shrugs when you turn him down. Smoke wafts up, and he alternates between taking a bite of his food and a long draw of his cigarette. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” He mumbles.

“Not at High Top, though, right?”

Nathan laughs, shoulders shaking. “Fuck high Top.”

To him, this night could not have gone worse. 

To you, you watch the neon red map the outlines of him, and you wonder how you could have possibly gotten so lucky. 

--

Now a week later, enjoying your perfect sunday, you find that you can, in fact, laugh at the memory.

“Worst Valentine’s day ever.” He chuckles, staring up at the ceiling. Probably really wishing the rain would subside so he could get his smoke in. 

“Aw, it wasn’t all bad.” 

“It was pretty bad.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing, though.”

Nathan peeks an eye open to look at you, opening his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by the unmistakable sound of nails pattering on the floorboards. Emerging from the bedroom comes the little furball- a stout, cream colored pup with gentle dark eyes. Just like his momma. 

“Frankie, come here bud.” You call, and you get to watch the way his little ears perk up as he follows your voice. As you reach down to pluck him from the floor, you notice the big girl herself has peeked around the doorframe. You pat the space on the couch in front of you. “You too, Roxy.”

“Ay, no dogs on the couch- No!” Nathan doesn't get to finish his sentence. Frankie climbs you like a mountain to get to him, already licking his face despite the way he tried to paw the little guy off. You giggle at the struggle, because you know deep in your heart, Nathan would never kick the fella off. 

Sure enough Frankie settles in his hold like a potato, snuggled up against his warmth. Momma settles at the foot of the couch, resting her head on your shin. You run your fingers along the top of her head, remarking just how bright her fur is now that she’s not covered in yuck any longer. 

“I change my mind,” You suddenly blurt, and Nathan blinks at you. “I think it was an amazing Valentine's day.”

He opens his mouth, shuts it. Frankie yawns and chirps, curling up further in Nathan's arms. The sight alone warms your heart. It’s everything, this little family of yours you’ve both built together. 

“I guess it wasn’t all bad.” He sighs. You lean back into him, letting your eyes slip shut. 

For a moment, time freezes. You breathe him in, and he breathes you out in tandem, heart beats matching. Twenty minutes later, the rain clears, the clouds part. And Nathan, running his fingers along the pup's thick fur, pretends he doesn't notice.

A long, dark walk through the wet grass and crickets. Four AM on a Sunday morning, not a soul in sight as you traverse. Red sun tips the horizon and pokes through the trees, flickering past the leaves. Even with it, the sky is still ever dark, alive with stars and galaxies overhead. Just before five, lost in thought, the sound of waves crashing onto the beach finds you before sight does. 

You breach the mile span of sand and there it is, as if waiting for you, always. The picnic table is a monument where it sits beneath the low, draping willow. And when you climb atop that old, creaking wood, it’s like coming home again. With it, a rush of memories, too. They meet you like old friends. Quiet at first, until they’re louder than all else. Until you can’t hear anything but the sound of old, fleeting conversations. 

Before you’d been such a weepy-eyed baby. Right there, supported by old waning wood, you’d stared off into the shimmering sea with misty waterlines and a heart chock-full of uncertainties. You had nothing- no friends, no reputation. Losing the stakes by the very hour. Wondering how you got here. 

It’s a painful realization that you truly haven't changed much. 

If it were anything but like before, any moment now you’d hear the unmistakable sound of feet shuffling through the sand behind you moments before you're met with the even more unmistakable snark of a very specific Prescott. 

God, how he’d been such a nuisance before. There you were, trying to throw yourself the wildest pity-party this side of the county had ever seen, and he was so quick to ruin it for you. Quick to hop up beside you, share the long stare into that ever long horizon where sea met sky, harping on and on about how little Arcadia Bay meant to him. Like it was a hound on his leash. Back then, you had no idea how much that day would change your life. 

How, after that day, the weight of his key in your pocket would be like carrying a piece of safety wherever you went. It was the first moment you realized things were changing. You were changing. 

He’d let himself loosen those tense shoulders, and he’d let the mask slip, if even for a second. 

“I’m for real, though. Those bitches aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shit-hole of a town they’re not even gonna’ matter.”

Nathan’s voice never quite leaves you. Even when he’s gone, even when he’s stripped you from his life so wholly it’s as though you were never there at all, you still hear him. 

“We?” 

You’d gawked at him then, unsure if you had really heard him right. If there was truly space for you in that imagination of his. He sputtered, searched for something to say.

“Well- like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it’s fine.” And it was fine. You remembered the way your heart skipped a beat, eyes drinking in the late afternoon sun, staring at him as though he himself shone like gold. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna’ blow this town and they’re all just gonna’ be some shitty memories.”

All that, and then you let him slip away like sand through your fingers. All that, and here you were, moping about instead of fighting for what you really wanted. You should have never loosened your grip. From the third day when you’d discovered he was not, in fact, laying beat half to death somewhere out on his own you should have shoved into his room and demanded an explanation. 

But instead you just… Let him. 

The sky grows in vibrancy by the second. One moment a deep crimson red, blotches of darker color where clouds sap the light. But now it’s pinkening at the edges, sunlight breaching in brazen gold, kissing the last remnants of stars goodbye. 

Your mom texts you, always the early bird. 

I need you to call me as soon as possible.  

Although the message is simple, it makes you lock up, sighing deep and forlorn from the pits of your lungs. You know in your head she is just trying to help. And you know in your heart she does love you, even when love feels more like control at times. She’s angry- of course she is. One moment you had been a bright star, the apple of her eye. This perfect thing to parade around. The next… Much less than that. 

A voice within you cries to be loved for what you love. To be wanted for what you wanted. For fucks sake, to be merely accepted for what you were. An entire life you had yet to live, but it seemed your mom had already dotted all the I’s for you, crossed all the T’s. 

You, yourself, were not in control of your own life. And every step you took, straying away from the path, the lead tightened. 

I was so proud of you. 

The bright star plummets to earth in a ball of fire, threatening to crash and disperse into a million pieces. 

You tuck your phone away, unable to stomach the thought of answering her just yet. Static simmers in your ear drums, body growing heavier under the mounding weight by the second. 

Two birds sit languidly in the distance, rocking in the current. It’s hypnotizing, almost, the way they let the sea take them, trusting nothing but cold water beneath their webbed-feet and the scorch of morning light. So hypnotizing that it almost shocked you when suddenly they up and take flight, soaring into the sky. Water chases them only so far before they’re free, airborne, great wings capturing yellow at the tips of their feathers. And when they disappear into the horizon, with it, follows your breath. Lungs empties for only a moment, because you realize a simple truth. 

In another life, that’s you and Nathan. Together. 

In another life you demand he tell you just what in the hell was going on. And in another life you tell him he can’t do this to you, he can’t throw you away. Everyone else- damn them. But not you. Not after everything. 

You can feel your breath quicken with your pulse. Beat, beat, beat, growing rapid in your flooded ears. Behind your eyes you’re back in that shed coughing your lungs out, watching the way skylight bleats in through the cracks of the ceiling. Glittering shrapnel lays in piles on the dirt, bullied toasters and microwaves dead, gone in heaps beside one another. 

Nathan had seen a muse in you. The train roared by but the focus was you. A beauty you hadn’t ever seen within yourself, like your very being was exposed in that photograph. For the first time in your life you were yourself. Not this image your mother had curated, and not the shell of the thing you believed yourself to be. School was an afterthought, but Nathan… Nathan was life. A teacher. A guiding hand, even when he didn’t know it. 

Seeing yourself in that polaroid rewired you, you think, because suddenly that photograph of you standing melancholic and lonely beside some future office worker splintered at the edges. The mirage was breaking, wavering, shifting. 

In a moment of strength, you drag your phone from your pocket and click his contact before you could talk yourself out of it. That’s when you see it- the real catalyst. Somehow you missed it when you arose this morning, foggy brained and dewey eyed, but there it is. 

One missed call. 

One voicemail.

The phone lags with the speed at which you open it. 

“Nathan!” A male voice instantly floods the speakers. 

Among it there’s loud chatter, incoherent cheers, non-stop shuffling. Wind through the speakers, and then you lock in when you hear his voice over it all. He’s rambling nonsense, nothing you can quite make out, as if he hadn’t meant to call you at all. Background conversation chirps in clippings, and then moments later, it all key-holes into silence. 

A door slams shut. Hard. 

“Don’t do this to yourself, man. Come back out there!” That voice again, muffled behind the door. 

“Fuck off.” Nathan’s voice is more slur than not, and somehow, his curses are the only thing coming through clearly. “I just-...” Right back to incoherencey, hardly eligible. “I need you to-... Ugh. I need you to just…” Sharp, shuffling movements muffle his speaking no matter how much you listen in, fingers shaking as you clutch your phone to your ear. When he speaks again, it’s downcast. Quieter.

“Fucking-... Whatever. Whatever! Nevermind.”

The call drops. 

In its entirety, the voicemail hardly surpasses a minute. But even so you’re left there as if struck by lightning, still in time, unable to move. Can’t look away from the screen, tranced, staring as if somehow the pixels would change if you blinked. The wind doesn’t dare brush through the low, hanging branches. The waves don’t dare cry out onto the shore. 

He’d called you. Surrounded by his friends, living his night to its fullest, free to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. A beautiful girl at his side. And yet. 

He called you. 

All over again your chest seizes up within you. Heart rate rising into your throat, the grip on your phone tightening until the muscles of your hand threaten to bend the metal. For the first time there is no sadness. No woe-is-me. No wondering why he’d become a ghost. No, this time, something deeper stirs. A beast awakens and erupts from its den- loud, demanding. It’s something you can no longer ignore. 

You wait with bated breath as you return your phone to your ear, calling your mom. It rings once, but doesn’t make it to twice. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom.”

“Young lady, you had a lot of explaining to do. I am- Gosh! I am so disappointed in you! I’m sorry, hon, I love you, I do, you know I do but-...!”  She pauses, sputters, perhaps only to let you interject, but you let her go on anyway. Because she needs this. Because you have nothing that will quell the terror. “You are just letting everything I’ve done for you go to waste. Is that what you want? You want to throw your life away?”

Her iron grip reels in the long line and you drag closer by the inch, neck-caught in tether. A thousand words dance at the tip of your tongue, begging to spill out, but you press your lips into the tightest of lines and you hold that sea back for her sake. For your sake. And when you still lack a response, she scoffs. 

“If you don’t clean up your act, I’m going to have to stop paying your tuition.”

Waves beat against stone, the sun lights your skin alive, aflame.

“I hate blackwell.” You blurt. 

Your mom, god bless her, freezes up. Silence, for only a beat. And then, “What are you talking about? You love Blackwell.”

“No,” Your head shakes, eyes falling to your lap in dejection. “I hate it, Mom. I never wanted to come here.” 

“Yes you did! Hon, when you got accepted, you were so excited!” It’s almost as though you can hear her clutching her pearls, scrabbling to hold herself together. 

Once again, your head shakes, as though she can see you, witnessing the backlog of despair. 

“You were excited,” You say. “And I-... I was happy that you were happy.”

For a long, long time, she says nothing. So long, in fact, that you have to glance at the screen to ensure she hadn’t hung up on you entirely. But she’s there. 

“Mom?” You nearly whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“I’m here.” Her voice has gone… Low. Not quite as angry. “You know I just want what’s best for you. All-.... Oh, Hon. I hate to say it but… All I’ve done, and this is what I get?”

“And that’s, what, exactly?”

“A drop out!” She’s growing exasperated, losing the fight, going down swinging. “What are you going to do when you get home? Where will you work?”

“I’ll figure it out.” 

“No, no! Listen to yourself!” There’s shuffling on the other end, like she’s pacing. “I’ve given you everything I could have ever wanted. I would kill to be where you are! Don’t you see that?”

“Exactly!” Your brows knit together, a fine line creasing between them. Your heart beats hard against the cage of your ribs. “Everything you ever wanted!”

“So tell me what you want then.” 

“I-...” And then you stop, because truly, you don’t know what to say. Because when you think about what it is you want in all this, you don’t even know where to start. 

That mental mirage, the photo of you with a strange man, frayed at the edges. Faces blur out, the colors run and drain. That can’t be your life. It just can’t. Even when you don’t know where to go from here, and even when you lose your lifeline, it has to be better than that. 

In a glimpse, you see Nathan. Unhappy, bored out of his mind. Wrong, and drained, and nothing like the man you remembered him to be when he was beside you. From the very moment you had met him, he had been this presence of fire. Burning, scorching. Captivating and full of everything you could hardly stand. 

In a glimpse, you see what you want. Standing at that porch, sharing his glow, watching the world blur into nothing else but him. His hands, his arms, his shoulders. The sparkle in his eyes that you wished you could bottle and keep forever. 

The brief, beautiful moment he lingered with his lips brushing your own. 

That was what you wanted. 

Your mom’s voice cuts through again. 

“Well? Tell me. What is it that you want.”

There’s no mistaking the distress. You haven't heard her like this since your father left, and you feel the draw of sadness playing nimbly at the strings of your heart. The perfect girl she’d curated fizzles out. The safety net she’d casted for you for so long, the empire she’d built crashing down all around her.  

Here you were, finding yourself at the cliff's edge. Below you, unknown. Behind you, safety. 

She had done it all for you, she says. But you know better. You see it- the way she had taught you to mirror her. The way she lives through you. The child beauty pageants that had you sick to your stomach, the road of perfectly safe grandeur she guided you down. She had taken the reins of your life and in her desperation told herself that it was all for you. To keep you safe, warm, sheltered. To give you the life that she wished she’d had.

You hate the way it feels to know that if it weren't for you, she could have had it all. 

The sky bleeds red into the softness, kindest blue you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. And then darkness, when you slip them shut, leaning into the breeze that’s refound its nerve to continue. 

“I don’t know yet.” You tell her. 

But you do. 

Her hands have grown bloody with how she clutches tight to the ropes, those reins, but you think perhaps it is time you take them for yourself. Set yourself both free, and live. Really live- and feel like you’re worth something to this unforgiving world. 

“You’re going to throw it away over an… I don’t know?”

You are.

“Give up on Blackwell?”

You will. 

This time you can’t sit around and watch it all go. You won’t stand by any longer and watch everything you’ve come to love burn away into ash taken by the wind. Even if there is nothing to catch you as you take the leap, there is no other way for you. 

If you were going to lose it all, you couldn’t let Nathan go with it. This could not, and it would not be the end. After everything, you would not let him do this to himself, or do this to you. If you were at fault, you’d fix it. If he was at fault, you’d forgive him. If he lost the strength, let himself sink into the earth a dying flame, you’d relight the fire. Nathan, as his very core, was and always had been a hellfire of everything good and bad contorting into a blaze of glory. You wanted to touch it- to graze it- to reach and rip him out. Whatever it took. And if you couldn’t do that, then you would simply burn with him.

You’re going to throw it all away?

Yes, you would. 

All in one go, too. Jump from that cliffside and pray that there was something more out there for you, diving into a freefall. Throw yourself into the endless crash that was Nathan Prescott, because a life with him would never be something so quiet. 

You have to, because he, even in his self-sabotaging rage and unjustified hate, deserves this. 

God damn it, you deserve this. 

Bright, early this Sunday morning, he’d be at his dorm now, recovering from his drunken stupor. 

The key in your pocket glows like a beacon. Calls to you like a siren out in that beautiful, shining ocean. 

You know exactly what you need to do. 

“Please just tell me you’ll think about all this.” Your mother pleads. “Just give this all one more chance.”

Your mouth opens, closes. Fingers twitch at your sides. Although she can’t see you, the corners of your lips turn up into a smile.

And then, you simply tell her you love her, and you hang up. 

--

Before you even walk in the door, you know he’s there. The halls of the dorm are eerily silent. Every step sounds like thunder, every breath a roar in your ears as you stand before the span of his doorway. There is no use in knocking, not even when it would announce I’m here, whether you want this or not. 

The key is heavier in your hands than you remember. Or perhaps the shaking of your fingers is simply your adrenaline rushing from beneath your skin, weaving through your veins. Through the crack along the floor, you can hear muffled music playing softly from inside. You don’t recognize the song- not right away, anyways. After a beat of hesitation, even despite your resolve, you shove the key into the lock and twist. 

Immediately you’re met with the unmistakable melody of Deftones. Again. You know this one, too- low strums of a guitar and the sense you’re being crushed under the weight of melancholy. 

“Floating underwater, ever-changing picture, hours from land, in tune with all our dreams.”

Oh, Nathan. It’s no wonder he feels so… Deeply all the time, feeding himself songs of despair like this. Beautiful as they are. 

You creep inside, every step quiet a mouse. His room is thankfully in better shape than you last saw it that day, mostly re-organized by precise hands. But even when the surface seems so clean, now you see the faults. The remnants of his anger, like the notch in the wall where his phone had struck the plaster.

Most importantly of all, though, as your eyes travel through the expanse of his room, you notice the shape of something living shoved underneath heavy blankets. It takes your breath, knowing he’s right there, feet away. But you need him awake. You need him alert, so even though your nerves hop up into your throat, you let the door slam shut behind you. 

Hard. 

Nathan lights to life like a stick of dynamite. The blanket throws off, shoves to the side and then he’s up in a seconds notice. Shirtless, too, you realize as he springs out of bed spitting all sorts of unsavory words. Cursing you left and right as he scrambles to grab his shirt laying haphazardly on the nightstand beside him. 

“Who fucking let you in my room?” Sleepy as he is, his voice drips in rage. Naturally. You simply hold up the key, and after he squints to get a good look, you could literally see the moment the realization clicks. “Jesus fucking christ. You better get out!”

There isn’t a thing on god’s green earth that could send you packing now. There is no question. This, his room, standing before him even in all his flighty anger, is exactly where you need to be. So you stand your ground, and you suck in an even breath as he mashes the power button on his music player. 

“We need to talk.” 

“The hell we do. Get out of my room!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Nathan storms past you in a flurry of red-hot rampage. In one swift move he throws the door open. “Then I’ll just call Madsen and let him come deal with your sorry-ass. How about that, huh? He’d run a field day with this shit.”

“You won’t.” Although it’s a frightening gamble, you take it anyway, and you throw that door shut all over again so mighty it rattles on the frame. Nathan gapes at you, but he doesn’t stop you, and that’s enough to spur you on. “I’m not moving an inch until you tell me why you’ve been ignoring me for a week!”

It pains him. He twists up, balls his fists at his side. “No.”

When he tries to tear the door open once more, you stop him, and you plant your hands over the boney mounds of his pale knuckles. He rips back like you’ve wounded him and stumbles backwards, chest heaving. 

Your palms come out to your chest in defense, freezing him in time. “Just talk to me. You don’t wanna see me anymore, fine, but… God! Just cutting me off like that, what the fuck, Nathan?”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“Yes you do!” You hate the way your voice raises an octave. You hate the way your heart cracks even more. He sneers at you, at your desperation. “...What happened?”

“What happened.” He simply scoffs. 

“Yes! What happened to you- to-” You search for the words, and then you slap a hand to your chest. “To us?!”

“Us.” Nathan says the word like it’s vile in his mouth. Spits it onto the floor and stomps on it. “There is no us.”

“Why are you treating me like I’ve betrayed you?” Those fickle cracks rippling through your heart, your very soul, sprout like lightning, or branches. It takes the wind from your sail, it drowns you in yourself. 

In that moment, when your words sink into that brain of his, he simply stares at you like you’re some sort of fucking idiot before him. Gawks. Then those wide eyes narrow into fox-like slits, and his shoulder rehaunch, and there’s a tick to his flexing jaw that spells outrage. 

“You really thought you could just play me, didn’t you? Cut the shit. I'd respect it if you were honest.”

Now it’s your turn to stare, stunned into silence. And when you can’t scrounge up the words to say, he rolls his eyes and turns his back to you. Presses his hands flat to his desk and lets his head fall. 

“Can’t blame you,” He speaks through audibly grit teeth. "Everyone thinks they can. Everyone thinks they can give Prescott a good spin, like I won’t figure it all out eventually.”

“Figure out what?”

“That you were using me! Just like everyone else!” When he spins back around to face you, among the vexation and the rage, you don’t miss the way his eyes shine in the dim light with maddened tears. 

You should defend yourself. You should grab him by those broad shoulders and shake him loose until the stupid rolls out but he’s got you locked in the spotlight of his wettening eyes. Unable to move, frozen there, even when that wrath burns and melts down into bitter heartbreak. 

“Get out.” He whispers. 

“No.” You finally manage. His lips press into a tight line, but despite it, you take a step forwards towards him. “You’re not yourself, and I.. I can’t leave unless you tell me what’s wrong with you. What happened.”

“Why do you even care anymore? You got what you wanted out of me, right?!”

He mourns. He’s in tears, and he won’t let you in. Exasperation plays on your mind, your voice, taking another step closer and fighting the burn when he steps back, presses into the table, in response. 

“If you don’t want to be with me, fine,” You start, even though saying the words out loud makes your sentence break up in cracks. “But-... But God, Nathan, I-...”

Eyes narrowing all over again. “You what.”

“I miss you!”

For a fleeting moment you see it- mercy. Hard edges soften, the slightest widening of those beautiful blues. But then whatever demon has a hold of him tightens its grip and snuffs the glow out. Anger floods back in, quick, encompassing. 

“Don’t fucking-” Features mangle into something dark, maimed, wounded. “Don’t you fucking say that to me. Ever.”

But you do. You do, you do, you do.

“I miss you, Nathan! I miss you so bad that I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. I just need you to tell me what I did wrong, please, so I can fix it!”

“Fix it?!” The scathe of anger takes over all else. ”Fix it! Alright! Go and fix all the fucking bullshit I’ve done for you- I’ve- I’ve done everything for you and all for fucking what?!”

You watch him as those long fingers of his find themselves digging into the trenches of his hair like he’s about to rip the strands out clean, spiraling, throwing all his caution and the explosive emotions to the wind, to light up and combust. As he cries out again in anguish, you feel the despair, you feel his suffering. 

“I thought you were different but I should’ve fucking known better. This whole time, I thought, maybe, just maybe I found one good fucking thing in my life but- God! Why me! Why does this always happen to me! Everytime I let someone in you all just fucking-...!”

You reach for him. “Nathan-”

“No!” He fumbles backwards and knocks into his desk, the stack of CDs clattering to the floor, an almost palpable divide between your bodies. “Fuck! I’m so sick of everyone using me! Lying to me! I’m so sick of being lied to!”

“When have I lied to you?!” Finally, finally, you find your voice. It roars from your chest as a cry of frenzy, watching him self-destruct. 

“You lead me on! You lead me on, and I can’t even understand why! What is it! You don’t like drugs, you barely drink, god, you don’t even smoke!” He counts on his fingers, his other hand balled tight, nails digging crescents into the skin of his palms. “You sure as fuck don’t ask for money so- so what?! Was it for fun? What were you trying to get out of it!” As his frantic expression meets yours, pained in ways you could hardly fathom, he begs for something. Anything. “Tell me!”

“Lead you on?!” 

“Lead me on! Admit it, you just wanted me on your side so you could do whatever the hell you wanted. You just wanted a good ol’ get-out-of-jail free card like everyone else-”

“I have never led you on, Nathan!” You lament, riddled with confusion, wondering how there was a universe where you didn’t truly love him. “I have never lied to you!”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes him like a held ghost. “Y’know what? I get it, now. All this time you were just… Trying to get to Hayden. Hayden, of all people! My best friend! Of course- I introduce you to him, and somehow-... What, did you think I’d set you up, huh? You wanted to get all buddy-buddy with me just to get to him. I was so fucking stupid.”

You can’t do anything else but watch him. It makes no sense- he makes no sense. He’s rambling nonsense, and he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore, leaning back against his desk to keep the space between you both good and far. Fists clenching and unclenching, the aura of him damaged, crying out. 

Hayden. 

You hardly even thought about the guy since the beginning of all this, even less after your interaction earlier that week. It rocks your world in a way you can’t explain, trying to fit him into the puzzle, but it’s like jamming a cube into a circle. 

“...What the hell does Hayden have to do with this? What, did he say some shit to you about me?” 

All you get in return is Nathan turning his back to you all over again. Let’s the desk support him, exhausted in his own turmoil, now. But when he speaks a beat later, he’s drowning in his sorrows. 

“He didn’t need to say anything. I heard you. I heard you on the phone and I heard you talking about him.” Nathan’s voice cracks as his speaks, struggles to get it out, like the words are too big to fit and he merely manages to spit out what remains. And then, hardly audible, so broken it nearly brings you yourself to tears, “...Why him?”

Everything hits you at once. A hammer drops onto your head, a stunning realization that punches the air from your lungs. You relieve it in that instant- sitting on your bed on the phone, your friend listening to you harp on and on and on about your life. About a certain someone. A warm feeling in your chest that collided with the chill of the breeze settling over your skin after drifting in through the open window. Properly agape as you babbled, wide open for anyone to hear the bits and the pieces. 

“You were listening to me…?” Oh god, how you’d let it all flood out. Oh god, it wasn’t about fucking Hayden. 

Nathan swallows audibly. His words shake as they leave him. “I was gonna’ surprise you. I was gonna… Make everything up to you.”

Your heart plummets. Your expression does, too. “Oh my god, Nathan-”

“Don’t!” Cut off in a second, he shakes his head. “Don’t. I can’t… I just can’t believe how stupid I was. And I bet you thought you were so smart going through me. Gotta say, it’s certainly a first.”

“It wasn’t him.” You breathe, entranced, locked in your memory. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Nathan hisses. Anger builds again like a storm. Like a fire. “Why does everyone fucking lie to me.”

“It wasn’t about hi-”

“Stop it! All that shit about us leaving here, and fucking- you slept in my room! I did everything for you!” There’s something within him craning upwards, fighting to get out, like a grand confession. Tension ripples like drops of water into the ocean, traveling, bursting and crashing against the rocky walls he’d built. You want to reach out and grab him, drag him in, save him from himself and the destruction. 

And then he says it. Quiet, defeated. Says it like it hurts to force the words from the depths of his ribs. 

“You… You knew I wanted you.”

He’s right there. Though his back faces you, though he bites back tears and trembling lips, he’s right in front of you. All of him. Him. Him. Beautiful, terrifying him. You didn’t want Hayden. Next to Nathan, Hayden didn’t even fucking exist to you. No one, nothing, did. 

Because how, in this life, could you ever want anything else but Nathan?

“Nathan…” But you can’t get the words out. His shoulders twitch, he let’s his body give into the dismay. Takes your silence as the answer he’d been so terrified of. 

“You know what, just save it. I don’t even wanna’ hear it.” And then he forces out something pathetic, caught between a choke, and a cry. Fear, even. Fear because he’s scared of you, and the things you’ve made him feel, and the way you played with the malleable core of his soul. 

For the first time since you burst into his room, you touch him. You catch the fabric of his jacket and you turn him to face you. Though he’s taken off guard, he’s tired, but only enough for the fight to leave him as you do. He’s vulnerable, bared, and he can’t process the anything of this entire moment. How you touch him so sweetly even when he truly believes he’s nothing but a scrap to your hungry, hungry, hands. 

You try to touch his face. The moment you graze the soft skin of his cheek, your wrists are caught, a desperation to his hold that begs you not to do this to him again. To not lure him back in with gentle touches, even gentler words. Though he aches, you feel the shake of his grip. The suffrage of rage and ruin. Seething, hurting, on fire and you let the licking flames scorch your skin. 

This is everything that he is. Alight, broken down. Afraid, and brave. Too much and too little. Pissed off like a betrayed, wounded animal that yet still feeds from the palm of your hand because the threat of loneliness is worse than the reality of deception. Loyal, even when his instinct tells him to run. 

All of him, it’s all there. 

You want it. All of it, of him, and more. 

It does not surprise you when tears prick the corners of your eyes. Everything swirls and builds and bursts all at once- he’s warm, he’s breathing harder than you’ve ever seen, standing there stock-still waiting for you to do something. This is it, what you’ve strived for. The grande finale, the very moment upon the moments that led you here, in his room. A terrifying blend of all that consists within your world and his. You realize, as he towers above you, letting you remain here, that he did not catch your wrist to stop you. 

No. The grip on your wrist serves both the chain to keep you there, as it does the anchor to hold him in place as he teeters on the edge. 

“Just tell me what the fuck you want.” He manages. Shudders when you push forward, pressing the pads of your fingers to his skin. A prayer between the spaces of his breaths. Breathes in deep like he’s hurting, in pain, and you put him there, kicking and fighting the entire way. 

No, you’d both gone down kicking and fighting. From the very top of it, all the way down, teeth barred and fists clenched and voices echoing. The anger, the passion in that free fall until the snowballed collision hitting rock bottom. 

Now, here. 

Loving you when you didn’t deserve it. Loving him when he didn’t deserve it.

You should have known from the very moment you saw him that day, sitting with his camera out in the cold, alone, lingering in the spaces no one else dared to visit, that you would end up here. Somehow, someway, you were always meant to end up here. 

The grip loosens. Only enough, you notice, to let you slip away. A flicker of light shines in the darkness. The walls, they crumble. This had  never been a battle of good or evil, even when you believed otherwise. This whole time, it had been two sparks. White hot flickers of flames you didn’t know you could ever possess, intentionally or not. 

Nathan doesn't pull away when you let your fingers dance up his cheek. He doesn't stop you when you press your palms to his cheeks. He just, simply, waits. Waits, and he waits, and for the first time he doesn’t run. He knows that now, there is nowhere to go. And you know that you can’t wait even another minute. 

You want it now.

Now, now, now. 

“Nathan,” You murmur. His arms fall to his side in surrender. 

“What.”

“That night, I was talking about you.” Feeling him let his weight lean into you, giving into you. “It’s always been you.”

You catch his jawline, and you pull. 

Lips meet like the end of a desperate sentence. 

Oh god, how it’s everything you’ve been waiting for. The flicker of light roars to life, into a current of raging flame that paints the crumbling walls into an emberous glow. Shattered into mortar, crumbling to dust, gone with every touch and every demand and every pease, please, give me what I want answered with earnesty. All at once, as if the fury had never filled the spaces at all, he sinks into you. 

And he lets you in. Molds against you as if your bodies were built for this moment. 

One of his hands encases the back of your neck while the other finds its rightful palace at the small of your back. Finally, finally, he holds you flush you against his body as though if he hadn’t crushed you against himself, you’d disappear in his hold. You are no better. Arms find their way around his neck, hands find their way into his hair and along his shoulders and along the highs and the lows of his cheeks. You map him, remember him, taste him against your tongue. 

Time stutters and fractures. Only when your lungs demand it do you part, but even so, Nathan’s clutch does not waver. His fingers hold tight to the very shape of your waist and even though it’s nearly hard to breathe you let him. And you pant what little air you can drag in, tell him all the things you realized he needed to hear. Things that he never  thought he deserved. 

“It’s never been about Hayden. I want you, Nathan. I’ve always wanted you.”

When he shakes his head like he can't believe you, like he doesn't deserve this, you just pull him into another kiss. It’s all you have. It’s all you can offer- dragging him down, finding the path to him. And he cries- he hiccups against your lips, he holds you so tight it must be coloring bruises into the flesh of your sides. 

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” You kiss his cheek, his jaw, breaking away only when the urge to breathe overpowers the need to find yourself sharing his air. 

“Why did you let me leave you?” Nathan forces. 

“I didn’t.”

“I yelled at you,” Every word is laced in pain, every breath shuddering and slow. Quivering with guilt too heavy to bear. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Even as you break away from him, your fingers stay where they belong, held fast to his shoulders. Blubbering away and finding yourself wettening with tears all over again. “I didn’t wanna fuck anything up, and, I.. I don’t know. I didn’t wanna’ lose you.”

“I almost fucked it all up.” 

“No, I-”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t think there is any other way to tell him you forgive him than to simply kiss him again. Again, and again, and again. This time around the kiss starts sweeter, gentler. Dragging your hands down his chest and over the thinness of his T-shirt, feeling him shiver as he tilts his head. It’s like the first time all over again. But then, in the epicenter of his room, surrounded by disarray and mess, those kisses grow in feverish by the ticking second until they become tests of reality.

Are you sure?

Dragging your fingers through his soft hair. 

Is this what you really want?

He clutches you to him, licks against your lips.

Am I enough?

And the answer is yes. And the answer comes to you as he backs you into the dark, painted walls and slides long, thin fingers up the path of your spine to the base of your neck. Lips against his, captured, exactly where they should be. 

You remember a moment like this, before. Before Nathan became a something in your life you could not live without. Before you knew that this, right here, was the home off the beaten path. At one time he’d caged you against the wall, trapped within his brutality of force, heated and angry, It was so different, now. 

This moment had been destiny. A curling fate, waiting to begin. Nothing but two souls crashing, magnetizing, polarizing. Hours of laughter into long, steady silences. Passing stares, the way his eyes never left you. Hoping, without even realizing it, that those eyes never would. A constant feeling that refused to fade no matter the way you fought, one that had ingrained itself, woven itself so tightly into the fabric of your life that you hadn’t realized it was there until you went without. 

A scary fact, it was. Life was cold without him. 

As the tight rope of tension cuts, your shoulders drop, unspool in his hold. Nathan's head rests against your own, nose to nose, the puzzle piece you’ve needed. The perfect half of you. 

“You’re shaking.” Your whisper against his lips. 

“So are you.” He answers. 

You hadn’t realized. He’s right, though. You’re trembling in his hold like a leaf rocking through a storm, hanging on tight, determined to persevere. Nerves a constant thrum of buzzing and he’s no better. Adrenaline finds you both in earth shaking relief because this is it. You have him. Or really, he’s got you, pressing his face into the inviting curve of your neck, slow and untrained, afraid at any moment you may change your mind. When you open your mouth to speak and find only silence, escaping tears speak for you. Cheeks wet, something pitifully small against him. 

“I missed you.” You sniffle. A reiteration, sure, but words could not describe the ache of your soul without him. Nathan pulls back enough to look at you. Really look at you- and what he finds is your doe-like eyes watching him, his every move. 

“I’m sorry.” Quiet and guilty, kissing your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “I’m sorry. Don’t let me be like that,” Then, hardly audible, as if a curse to say aloud, “Please.”

“I knew something was wrong. I wish it didn’t take me so long to ask. I should have just talked to you and stopped being such a baby about everything.”

“Not a baby.”

“I was,” Defiant, you correct him. “Because I could have done this… I-... I could have told you that you were the most important person to me a long time ago.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he blinks. “How long?”

“...Too long.”

Then he stares down at you, that same unreadable expression taking over, but softened at the core all the same. Relief, maybe. He sighs out and graces you with the upturn of his lips into a smile. 

“When did it start?” He asks, and you pinpoint the shyness to his tone. It strikes you that you don’t think he’s gotten this far before. The one that wins. The one that was wanted. Who were you to deprive him of that simple, simple pleasure?

Although embarrassment dances flush over your cheeks, you recount the moments, the hours spent pining. 

“I don't know. It just kind of happened, I guess. I was scared of you, remember? But everywhere I went there you were. I hated it for a while.”

“I know,” He mumbles. “You told me at the party.”

“Yeah… Well, truth be told, I fought it. I didn’t wanna’ be around you, but then I just… Stopped fighting it. And I realized you weren’t what everyone said you were.”

“A spoiled rich asshole?”

“No, you’re definitely a spoiled rich asshole.” You giggle. His tongue swipes out to wet his lips, rolling his eyes. You continue, running fingers though his hair, sighing when he leans into the feeling. “But you’re also… Funny. And fun. You make me feel like I can be myself. You’re insightful with a beautiful eye, too. And…” A slight pause, as if you hadn’t been liplocked with him moments ago. “...You’re really important to me.”

Spotlighted below him, he takes you in. Then, quickly, like if he didn’t blurt it then it’d never have come in, he says, “I told my shrink about you.”

Such a simple phrase that would bear little weight to many others. But Nathan, all he is, it makes your heart leap. 

I love you, is what it says. 

“How’d that go?” You ask, trying to hide the way you’re absolutely beaming. He notices it, anyways, grinning. 

“She told me that she was happy for me.”

A lance of love. A strike of adoration.

“Good.” You reply.

In the low, low lights, surrounded by the bits of and pieces of Nathan’s room that made him him, you let the silence speak for you. He makes it a point to crash his lips into yours, filling the gaps. Deeper this time, because the fear subsides to make way for gratification, and he stops running from himself. Finds himself in the curve of your body against his own. Gets drunk on your scent and the softness of your hair carding through his fingers. Tears dry, and electric, shaking tremors die away until the stillness of your skin brushes against his in ghost-like friction. 

Oh, how lovely it is, to be in the bird cage. To sing, to hum, to feel the vibrations of your words echo back. You imagine it now, a clock ticking away, time spent making up the lost minutes and hours and days and weeks. Making up for the entirety of his life that he's lived without you, making up for the life you spent waiting for something- something, something, just like this. Just like him. 

All yours to enjoy unashamedly. Without the looking, palpable fear that perhaps he does not see you in the light you see him. Light offered only by the fiery, unholy, brazen halo. But he does. The light shines on your skin. You bask, you warm, you glow. 

And he tells you that over and over again. Nathan whispers it between the kisses on your skin until the letters carve into the pulpy flesh of your soul. You’d bleed for it if you had to, if you had any more to give. 

“Can I… Stay here tonight?” You whisper with a breath lodged tight within your throat. His reply is far more even, controlled. As if the answer was so true and plain the question shouldn’t be uttered at all. 

“I wouldn’t let you leave even if you tried.” 

Touches become inviting, alluring. Then wild- etching mine everywhere they travel. 

Somewhere in another life you are still sitting at that picnic table, heavy hearted, wondering where it all went wrong. You stay there until morning light becomes too much to bear, and then you drag your sorry ass all the way back to your dorms, letting everything swallow you whole. Maybe you clean up your act and graduate lonely and unwilling. Maybe you drop out and find elsewhere with your tail between your legs.

But here, in this world, you feel the rise of his goosebumps as your palms slide under his shirt. You feel the edges of his shoulder blades, the rises, the dips and the valley of his spine. And he shudders so lovely it drives you wild. Hearts race and beat away in tandem, heaving chests that press flush together, forbidding to part. 

It’s warm. A door shuts down the hall. Streetlights outside lampoon mellow orange through the drawn blinds.

Nathan presses his lips to your neck and draws from you sounds you yourself had never even heard until that very moment. 

Here, you forget that you had almost gone without. 

Hours ago, it had felt like the end times, but your world had not combusted. Not quite like you thought it would. Instead, what's dead becomes the life. What’s wrong becomes the right. Instead, after an entire lifetime of floating within a void, you realized what lies before you, within arms reach. 

No, your world didn’t explode. But it did change. 

Outside, the world demands nothing. It isn’t just peace that borns, and grows, within the dark walls of Nathan’s room. 

His lips curl upwards into a snarl. 

Oh, how he seethes. How hate rips and claws and tears its way under the thinness of his skin and festers away. A million thoughts rattle behind his eyes, shaking in tandem with the nonstop tremor of his hands as he dragged them down his cheeks, fat red tendrils of irritation following the wakes. 

Bitch. 

Those hands fly upwards to grip hard into his own hair, practically tearing the locks away at the roots. This type of anger, this sort of outlash, it reverberates through the halls and it ricochets off the walls as stray, loose bullets. 

One more time, the last noise it’d ever make, his phone chirps to life again. 

‘see u tomo, right??’

There isn’t a moment of hesitation before he’s yanking it from the floor. In one swift move, the phone is hauled and beamed into the wall, finished in one shattering crack. Shards glitter on the floor beneath the lowlight, growing blurry as stubborn tears well up in the waterlines of his eyes. All over again, he shreds at his hair. 

“Fucking- Fuck!”

The scream is heard by no one. The room is as empty as could be, bearing only him, all things jagged and edgy and impossibly infuriated. 

Nathan doesn’t remember the exact moments that led up to bursting through his dorm's entrance. Doesn’t remember slamming the door so hard the frame rattled, echoing down the unending halls. Didn’t hear the voices from worried students peeking outside their rooms calling, hey, did anyone hear that?

But… He does remember standing outside your window.

He remembers not being able to sleep after he’d hung up, staring up at his ceiling, rolling side to side as his body refused to find a comfortable position. It was hours into the night, after replaying your conversations over and over again, that he realized how much more comfortable your bed would be. Because even though his bed cost more than your entire tuition, and even though he laid upon 600 threadcount bedsheets with a pillow to match, it lacked the one thing he couldn’t buy. 

You. 

You, because you never gave a shit about his money. You never gave a shit about his anything, really. Never took, or demanded, or manipulated. For some reason, that made him all the more willing to give. 

It also seemed to sprout other feelings. Ones that were unfamiliar, sickeningly deep, unable to scrub away. Possessiveness. The idea of you under the arm of anyone else other than him could make his stomach flip in ways he never thought possible. He couldn’t help it. Not when he’d fought so hard to keep you away and out with a healthy distance in between but you just… You just wormed your way in there.

And he loved it. He rewarded it- like all this time, even when he didn’t know it, he wanted someone to give it all up for. To give it all away to. He wanted it to be you. 

Jealously borned a beast within him that he struggled to tame. It cried and kicked and writhed when he imagined himself stuck at that fuckass shrinks office, rehashing the same shit over and over again meanwhile you were tucked up with Hayden in front of the big screen. Dimly lit, the echo of hearty laughter. 

Oh god, what if you two were sharing a popcorn bowl? Fuck. 

It should be him. 

His therapist clocked it, too. Highlighted that fit of agitation, the fear consuming him inch by inch, molecule by molecule. Like the very being of him was changing. Nailed him right then and there, and he was stuck, a deer in the headlights before her watchful gaze. Something in the moment weakened him. Maybe because he’d truly been called out, or maybe because for once, he wanted to be heard. Or maybe you were affecting him even more than he’d thought. Opening him up to the idea of, well, opening up.

Months ago the idea of confiding in her felt eons away. But this time around, he leaned forward in his chair, and he told her. Splattered word-vomit all over her clipboard, an endless stream of a dozen or so emotions he couldn’t quite name with his tongue all while she watched with a particularly pleased glint in her eye. The entire story of you, from the moment he first saw you to the moment he’d first felt the sting of jealousy in your room. 

When his voice ran through and died off into silence, she seemed happy with herself. Happy with him. Probably for the first time since he’d started seeing her. 

A breakthrough, she’d called it. Nathan had other colorful worlds for it, though. Fucking embaressing being at the top of that long, long list. 

Setting her clipboard to the side and resting her boney hands over her lap, she told him to breathe, and to think- really think- about whether or not he truly believed Hayden would do something like that to him. Whether he believed you would do that to him. Of, if he was simply feeling the cut of unfamiliar wounds. 

It drew the air from his lungs as he mulled it over and came to the obvious realization that no, he did not, in fact, think you would do that to him. And even more certainly he didn’t think Hayden would do that. Not when he saw the way Nathan looked at you. It deflated him in time with the slow, deep breaths his therapist guided him through. 

For the first time, he thinks, he waltzed out of that session with the weight on his shoulders lighter than when he’d walked in. And she, herself, was pleased as punch over it all. A win-win, really. 

So when he made the choice to find his way to your dorm, it felt all too right. He even took the time to look through his movie collection, meticulously scanning through the titles before choosing one he knew you hadn’t seen yet. The grass wet under his shoes as he snuck outside, excitement skittering through his veins as he crept to the girls' dorms. The path was ingrained within him, an instinctual walk, known by muscle memory alone. Step by step until he slithered along the brick exterior and found his place outside your window.

I’m gonna make last night up to you, he thinks. Because if there was someone worth making anything up to, it was you. 

No, he doesn’t remember every fine detail. But he remembers your voice through the open window. As always, it was a song that lured him in, thrill dotting the lines of what was to come. The movie was tight in his grip, hardly able to contain himself.

“That’s Hayden. He’s really cool.”

He freezes.

“Yeah. He’s pretty hot.”

Everything stops. Even the pump of his blood in his ears, breath bated. Reason argues with fact within him- surely, surely, he had misheard you. Surely there was something else at play here. To listen better, he shifts closer, losing track of your chatter only long enough to inch closer. Though there’s an incessant ringing in his ears, once he’s close enough for the light to leech onto his skin, he listens again. 

“Well, we’re not exactly seeing each other. We’re just hanging out right now.” The tone of your voice is almost too sweet, too shy. It makes his stomach twist and churn into every direction.

To save himself the grief, Nathan physically backs away. He has to, or else his belly would simply fold in on itself and empty into the grass right then and there. Gagging down the feeling of despair in his chest, he swallows hard, skin clamming up as suddenly the world becomes all too overstimulating all at once. 

His skin is too hot. It’s itchy- he wants to claw it off. The crickets chirp and the wind pushes through the trees. It’s cold out. And even having taken steps back, he can still hear you going on and fucking on like some damn school girl. 

‘No, she wouldn’t do that to me.’ He’d said, voice wavering more than it wasn’t.

His therapist had nodded, scribbled down his answers. Beaming, almost, she smiled at him in a way that truly felt healing. 

‘That’s wonderful, Nathan. I’m glad you have someone you can really trust.’

He might be sick. 

He really might be sick. His body feels numb and tingly from his toes to his ears, the world zoomed out around him. 

Fucking Hayden? Seriously?

And when he finally tunes in again, it’s the last nail in the coffin. Buries him six feet under, shovels the dirt over and leaves him to rot there. 

“I, uh…” There’s a shakiness to your words. Imaginary fingers grip the rug from underneath Nathan’s legs, long nails digging into the metaphorical fabric. He braces, locked up. 

“I think I’m in love with him.”

No, she wouldn’t do that to me. 

The rug yanks. 

That’s wonderful, Nathan.

He sucks in a breath so deep it hurts, feeling the ground turn to abyss below him. 

I’m glad you have someone you can really trust. 

Nathan falls so far that all the light drowns out. 

The movie is hauled off into the darkness, landing in the grass a feet away with a muted thud. Everything after that becomes fuzzy. A numbness that feels like autopilot. Zombified- standing mere inches from your sill listening to you harp on and on about his fucking best friend. 

When the dissociation subsides, something darker sets in. 

Anger. 

Anger that parallels the devil as he fell, bellowing downwards into the pits of hell. Scorching wings and all, an infernous explosion of hate and betrayal lighting up the sky as he tears back to his dorm and hauls the front doors wide open. The alarms spring to life, still screeching even as they slam shut hard behind him. The frame of his dorm door nearly wobbles clean off when he takes his sanctuary in the only place that had never turned its back on him. 

Except, he finds, even his dorm is fucking ruined, too. 

Plowing inside, slamming the door shut, turning on his heel just to see the outline of where your figure had once laid in his bed. And he sees photographs of you scattered on the nightstand. The pile of movies he filed through one at a time, choosing the perfect film for your night together. 

He needs it gone. Needs it destroyed- all piles of torn rubble at his feet. Stomped out, ruined, forgotten beneath him. The bitterness in the back of his throat has grown acidic and burning fire gathers as tears in his eyes. And then, when he realizes hes fucking tearing up over all this bullshit, it enrages him either further. He debates tearing his eyes straight from his skull- the accumulation of everything all at once, the realization through sheer agony that he loved you. 

Loved you so fucking much that it changed the very coding of his DNA, and you lead him on rope and collar and all and fuck he’s losing his mind. There’s so much happening that he can’t wrap his mind around it- can’t figure out why, why, why. All this rage and hurt and spite and if he didn’t love you much he’d have socked holes through your damn window to make sure everyone knew what a playing whore you were. A using, lying, bitch. Just like the rest of them. Just like the type of person he thought you were at the start until you worked to prove him wrong. All that trouble, all those miles you trudged through just to get close to him. 

All for what? For Hayden? To lead him on and open him up and build yourself a quaint little home in the cavity of his heart? 

She wouldn’t do that to me. 

But you did. 

And he certainly felt like a fucking idiot for believing you. For believing in anything at all. Of course this was the end. Of course this was the outcome. He should have known better. Clearly the writing was on the wall but somehow he hadn’t seen it, even when the signs were coming from miles and miles away. You blinded him. His love for you blinded him.

Tears bite at him like a rapid dog. Nubby fingernails dig trenches through his skin, lines that paint the pain down his cheeks and his shoulders. He sinks into himself, folds into nothing. His room becomes something of thunderous destruction. 

Only when exhaustion finds him laying on his bed is he offered reprieve. Those expensive sheets and the plush comforters are stuffed at the far edges of the mattress away from him. The energy to carry on finds him no longer. The urge to sink below it all settles in heavy as lead. 

Finally, he lets a strained croak escape his cracked and torn lips. Muffled, pathetic. He hides from his own shame by stuffing his reddened face into the now bare mattress. 

Sobs wheeze out until he loses count of the hours. 

-

You wake the next morning right as rain. 

Outside, the sunlight seeps in, the sky a perfect crystal blue that’s as open as a blooming field. The day greets you sweet and simply, a yawn escaping your lips as you stretch out broad, and wide. 

You were in love with Nathan Prescott. 

Wholly, fully, said and felt with your entire soul. It was as though the planets had aligned, and admitting it did, in fact, make it more real than before. The draw and the love and the adoration became a tangible, sweet thing that danced at the tip of your tongue every time you murmured his name to yourself in the early morning silence. 

It’s easy to swing your legs around the bed and hop up, lacking your usual dreary drag as you meander into your shower. Preparing for the day was easier than ever- and you even caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. An eternal smile curved at the corner of your lips. 

You looked… Happy. Happier than you’d seen yourself look in months.

The last thing you do before you head to class is shoot Nathan good morning text. A simple, ‘see u at the fountain’. You ignore the fact that he hadn’t answered your messages from the night before, assuming the guy simply hadn’t woken up yet. It’s no matter, after all. Nathan always got back to you eventually. 

The fountain is empty, void of that certain someone you were hoping to see. 

You try to focus on class throughout the day. The teacher goes on and on, and you note accordingly, but in the back of your mind you wait for the vibrate of your phone notifying Nathan’s response. An hour goes by- silence. And then another class without a reply, and you try not to let the fact that he wasn’t at the fountain that morning worry you too much. 

The hallways are lacking of him. A dozen or so thoughts skirt by, most in assumption that he’d simply skipped for the day. Probably out causing trouble and creating headaches for the local cops. A part of you is almost jealous. Whatever he was up to, you wanted in. He’d spoiled you, made you realize just how truly boring Blackwell Academy was when you could be out raising hell instead. 

Between third and fourth period, Madsen spots you amongst the sea of busy bodies wandering from class to class. Before you realize he’s locked into you, a heat seeking missile through all the movement, you find yourself cornered outside third period. 

Madsen, as always, is a menacing force before you. Nearly two full heads of height above you, glaring down with narrowed eyes that always seemed to see right through anything you threw at him. 

“Last night someone broke into the boys dorm,” He’d started, crossing his arms. “Know anything about that?”

That’s the first tell that he’s been onto your shenanigans as of late. Any other time he surely would have gotten you, but this time around, you really didn’t know anything. So you shook your head, shifting your weight with a shrug. 

“I was in my room all night, sir.” 

A brief pause. Chatter of students echo from left and right, a few heads turning to look at you before they pass by. 

“Right, right. Very well then.” But there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he doesn’t really believe you. “If you notice anything suspicious, you’re required to report it. You understand that?”

His tone grates on you, makes you tense your jaw until your teeth threaten to shatter. But you nod regardless. And when he walks away, he casts glances over his shoulder, as if preparing to catch you breaking your facade. 

You never do.

But your nerves mount even further when you hear the murmuring class. A video plays on the projector, some random history lesson you seriously couldn’t give a damn about, but behind you, you hear nothing but hushed whispers.

Alarm went off all night. Sounded like there was a fight, or something. Kept me up all night. 

You tune in like fine radio, leaning back in your seat. A pit forms in your belly, as if you knew exactly what the source was. You don’t need to hear a name to know. But they confirm it anyways, the ghost of a whisper a few rows back. 

I heard it was Nathan. Joshua said he could hear him losing his shit all night.

Their friend snickers something nasty. 

What a fucking freak. 

The first thing you think is that it’s got something to do with his dad. It’s always his dad, after all. Even when Nathan refuses to let you in, those walls of his so high up even he could hardly see above it all, you knew the root of it all bled back to the same source. So you pull your phone from your pocket and text him again, chewing your lip when you notice none of your messages have been read still.

‘hope ur good. meet me somewhere?’

Your phone then sits in your pocket, undisturbed, for the next two periods. Drives you nuts every minute, too, the silence droning on until those ticking minutes become hours. With no response, with no rhyme or reason to his absence, you seek out the one person who might have the answers. And like clockwork you find her in the girls bathroom just before final period touching her make-up just like the first time you’d spoken with her. She cranes forward over the sink, dabbing at her lipstick when you slip inside. 

Victoria. 

At first she doesn’t acknowledge you, even when her eyes skirt to the left and meet yours. This time around you don’t wait for her to invite you in. With a hesitant step forward, filling the gap beside her in the mirror, you wring your fingers together. 

“...Have you seen Nathan today?”

“No.” It’s a terse response. She pops the cap of her lipgloss closed, sighing as she does. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Disappointment spreads like webbing, your shoulders slumping. “I haven't. But I heard something happened at the boys dorm last night. Do you think-”

“Of course it is.” Victoria drops her lip gloss into her makeup back, fixes her hair and turns sharp on her heel. The edges soften, her eyes falling, the slightest hint of worry poking through. “He… Hasn’t answered me since last night.”

“What was the last thing he said to you?”

Victoria shrugs. “That he was tired. Having a hard time falling asleep. Not exactly out of the norm.”

You chew the inside of your cheek again, frowning. “I know he went to therapy yesterday. Do you think it could be that?”

“Could be. He can get pretty tense after his visits.” Shifting her weight, she sighs and readjusts her book bag over her shoulder. “He’s probably just blowing off some steam.”

“I’m just worried he got into something bad.”

“He can handle himself. You know that, right?”

You straighten your back, brows knitting. “Of course I do. But I know he gets up to some shady shit, so…”

“All the more reason to let him sort it out himself.”

You both stare at each other for a blip of time, this air of uncertainty between it all. Even when she hardens her voice, even when she tries to act as if she’s unswayed, you can see it in her plain as day. Worry. 

But it’s a moot conversation, much to your dismay. When the bell rings for the last period, she’s all too quick to collect herself and rush past you, remarking about how she isn’t too keen on the idea of ruining her perfect attendance. The door swings open, slams shut hard, and you’re left there alone in your silence. Stewing, thinking. Wondering just what the hell was going on, what could have changed in the twelve hours since you’d last spoken to him. 

Even when the final bell echoes off the long, winding halls, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to move. A part of you knows you should scurry off to class. Pay attention like a good student and try to salvage your slipping grades, but the other part… 

The other part of you just wants to find the nearest exit and get the hell out of dodge. Your moms voice of reason tries to breach through the fog, but it’s too far away. Out of body, out of mind, you hardly realize you’re b-lining for the doors after leaving the bathroom until you’re actually standing right before them. 

Against all judgement, you walk right out. 

Down the steps, past the fountain you could see the ghost of him sitting upon. There’s only one place on your mind: Nathan's room. 

When you make it to the boys dormitories, there’s a note posted on the front door, a bold and underlined 'All students are now required to use the sign in sheet upon reentry'.' Already you knew Nathan wouldn’t adhere to that, imagining him rolling his eyes and brushing straight past the hanging sheet on the wall directly to the right after you pushed inside. There’s a few names already scribbled down- none of them Nathans. Of course. 

The path to his room is one that’s become factually ingrained in your brain, a mindless trek until you’re standing before the heavy wooden doorway. The whiteboard that always hung beside the entrance is face-down on the floor, the marker another few feet away. 

You knock. And then a few moments later, you knock again. 

Nothing. 

Your finger hovers over the key he’d given you. You know you should respect his privacy. You know you should let him have his space, to come to you first, blow off his steam, but on the other hand… 

It takes a few seconds to fumble with his key to unlock his door. What greets you inside is absolute insanity. Destruction. A scene so profound it makes the blood beneath your skin run cold as ice. 

The usual set-up of his room has been entirely uprooted. Neat, orderly stacks of papers and CD’s have been launched across the room, gathered in sprawled piles on opposite sides of the walls. His lap toppled over, broken on the floor. What really terrified you, however, was the sight of his phone. It lay where the wall meets floor, absolutely demolished and smashed into pieces. Shrapnels of glass screen lay surrounding it, a boundary of ruination. 

Some sort of fight? Some sort of attack? It wasn’t uncommon that Nathan had enemies. It came with the territory of being a spoiled-rich prick after all. 

You imagined it more vividly than you’d like- someone breaking into the dorms late at night, catching him off guard in his room. He had been so tired after his psychiatric appointment, so drained, they certainly would have caught him at his worst.

But where could they have taken him?

Your mind scrambles. Flips and turns and bleeds adrenaline into your bloodstream until you’re a shaking mess with a trillion thoughts running through your brain all at once. 

He could be hurt- He could be kidnapped, he could be used as a pawn, he could be-

Leaving his room, you find yourself only able to breathe again when the door slams shut behind you. Then you’re just stuck there, standing in the doorway, your head in your trembling hands. 

What could you even do? Talk to Madsen, possibly make things worse? Report this to the police? Certainly with his status they’d do something, but it might involve yourself somehow, and that would be a total nightmare. But god, if he was in danger, you couldn't do nothing. 

By the time you get back to your own dorm, your nails are chewed down into mangled nubs.

It’s Taylor who talks reality back into you, as if she could sense your disarray the moment you threw yourself into your computer chair. When she pokes into your room, you’re running your hands through your hair, seconds away from hyperventilating. 

“Heard you left class early,” She says, voice softer than you’d heard thus far. “I also saw Madsen grilling you before third. You alright?”

You shake your head. “No. I think something's up with Nathan.”

“Like what?”

“Like-” You drop your hands into your lap, shaking your head, exasperated. “I don’t know. Something just feels wrong. He hasn’t answered me all day, and he didn’t come to class.”

“Trust me, that’s nothing new.”

“It’s not just that, though. I went to his room just to make sure he was all good, and everything was completely destroyed. It looked like a bomb went off in there.”

“Was he there?”

You shake your head. “No. And his phone was smashed, totally broken.”

Taylor sighs, deep and forlorn, and knowing. 

“It’s not the first time.” She leans against your doorframe, a sadness to her eyes, lips drawn down into a deep frown. It didn't fit her face- that somberness. But you were sure she felt the same when she watched you. 

“Hey, he’ll turn up. Sometimes he just… Get’s like this.” She murmurs, and you wish you could share the same confidence. Wish you could know him the way she did, seen this all before. And you wish you didn’t feel as though you weren't special enough to him to be privy to it all, even when you knew you were being entirely unfair. 

You chew your lip, brows knit. “How long does it usually, like, take for him to come out of this kind of thing?”

She shrugs, low and slow, sighing. “Sometimes a day or so. Sometimes… Longer.”

“Longer?”

“Yeah. Like, around a week or so. He just needs to get through his crap and then he’ll come back around.”

“I just wish I knew what brought this on. Maybe I could help him, or something.” You throw yourself backwards onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Honestly if there’s someone that could help him right now, it’s probably you.” Taylor pushes herself off the frame and picks her bookbag up from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. “If I see him around I’ll let you know, okay? In the meantime try not to worry so much. I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

You want to believe her. But for some reason you just can’t make that connection. Regardless, you roll onto your side.

“Alright. Thank you, Taylor.”

“Keep me posted.” Is all she says before she disappears, gone from your doorway, the gap now empty before you. 

-

Day two is no better. 

Tossing, turning, unable to catch a wink of sleep in your turmoil. Rest evades you and before you know it the sun is breaking through your curtains, teasing you until the very last moment. The school day is a trudge, moving like the dead, but every now and then you found yourself sparking to life when blonde hair pokes through the shifting crowds of students between classes. You perk up, but only long enough to realize it wasn’t Nathan at all. 

Class, somehow, is even harder to deal with than usual. You're anything but present- unable to focus, not even once. You're caught up in your own world of hurt, waiting for the moment your phone lights up with his texts. 

But not too caught up to miss the way April and May chat in front of you, though. 

“Nathan’s lost his damn mind.” April snickers, marvels in the fact that he’s losing his screws by the hour.

May mimics her excitement. “I heard he got into a fight at the diner and got kicked out yesterday.”

Now they’ve really got your attention. 

“He’s such a delinquent.” April jeers. “When is someone gonna’ do something about him?”

“Totally. Someone outta-”

They notice you're listening. Hard not to- you stare at the backs of their heads with dead eyes, absorbing every word. They hush right quickly, going rigid, looking down at their papers and scribbling on their notebooks. It’s probably the only time in your entire career at Blackwell you wished they would keep running their mouths, but hey, at least you’ve got the very bare minimum of facts to go off of now. A lead, of sorts. 

So when your final class ends, an endless harp of yapping you can’t be fucked to listen to, you make a point to rush out the doors and head straight for the diner. The entire trip you wonder just what happened, if there even was any validity to their words in the first place. As you approach, you even start to feel stupid. 

April and May never told the truth. Why would you believe them now, of all times?

From afar, the diner looks totally normal. The large whale sign is ever present, the building stands tall and true. But as you get closer you start to notice little details. Small things that signal violence- potted plants shattered by the outside brush, mounds of dirt scattered over the sidewalk. Plexiglass mounted on a window filling the gap of a hole, glass sprawled with fine-webbing through the paneling. 

A weight settles in your gut. 

When Joyce notices you walk in, she puts on her usual warm smile and greets you at the doorway. 

“Sorry hun,” She starts, a quickness to her voice you’d never heard before. She nods towards the window, a forlorn draw to her lips. “We’re not open today. Gotta’ make time for repairs n’ such.”

You gawk. “What happened?”

Joyce waves you off with a hand, as if it’s no big deal. As if the window of her diner hadn't been blown clean through. 

“Oh, it’s nothin’ hun. In a few days time it’ll be all fixed up.”

But you can’t help it- you worry, anyways. And you swallow hard before asking a hesitant, “...Did Nathan do that?”

Something knowing flashes in her eyes, expression tightened. She tenses before she deflates. 

“Don’t you worry about that.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, that boy…” Joyce searches for the words, pausing briefly. “He’s just, well… Troubled.”

Troubled is one way to put it. You chew the inside of your cheek.

"Where'd he go after?”

Though she seems perturbed by your question, she shrugs. “Well, Mr. Prescott came and got him after David saw him out.”

You eye her. “David?”

“My husband. David Madsen.”

“Oh.” Is all you mumble, and she offers an understanding nod. Then she shifts her weight, watching you. 

“Everything okay, hon?”

“Yeah, m’ alright. I’m worried about Nathan.”

Gently, she reaches out a hand, resting it on your shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that boy. ‘Tween you and me, he ain’t worth the energy. But if you’re really worried, his dad’ll get him outta’ this.” She pauses again, a bitter drip to her words, despite the warmth. “Always does.”

You’re physically turned around and guided out the door, a sweet smile and words of encouragement on her lips. And while you know in your heart she’s merely just trying to help, set you back on your path straight, you can’t help but leave feeling worse than when you’d walked in. 

Between the way she’d spoken about him and wondering just what in the hell had happened for him to blast the window out. 

You hated moments like this- being reminded by the universe that there was so much more to Nathan than what you knew. A few things come back to you, random facts in passing you’d learned over the weeks. Frank’s name was one of them. If you knew anything about that man other than the fact that Nathan had broken into his trailer, you’d seek him down and try to connect any dots. Even if it meant putting yourself in harms way in the meantime. 

But you don’t know anything about Frank. And you don’t know anything else Nathan gets up to his time without you. 

Uncomfortable warmth settles under your skin, a terrible current of electricity that makes you run feverish and restless. All that’s left to do is grab some random take out from the only other restaurant in town and meander back to your dorm, scouring your mind for any answers, anything that sticks out. Running through all your past conversations and searching for the clues. 

It feels wrong to linger in your dorm. It feels wrong to shower, hot water pouring over the crown of your scalp, as if you didn’t have the right to unwind. Your food tastes like nothing. The movie you put on in the background doesn’t resonate. 

Throwing yourself into bed, you fall asleep emptier than you’d felt in weeks. 

--

You dream of being warm in his truck, heat funneling from the vents as trees blur by under the moonlight. Quiet music you can’t quite tune into hums you into comfort, and the fuzzy edges of your eyesight soften the glow of streetlights as they pass. You don’t see him, but you feel him, Nathan’s presence upon you like a weighted blanket. Like this, you could melt away, sink into the seat and let life go on towing you along. 

Easy. Safe. 

Nathan says your name like a song. And you turn from the window, expecting to see him there as he always was. A hand outside the window, his other languidly resting on the steering wheel. An expression always stuck somewhere between snark and genuine. Always so beautiful. 

There’s no one there.  An empty seat. 

It’s a split second that changes everything. The world turns on its side, the gravity changing all at once, crushing you and dragging you. Emptiness shreds you from the inside out. It’s dizzying- it’s all consuming. 

Up to the very moment you wake up with a start, eyes flying open, launching upright with your blanket clutched tight to your chest. Your room grounds you, but it reminds you just how hauntingly empty you feel. Realizing you can’t even enjoy your dreams anymore is a sad, sad fact- one that drives you into immediately ripping your phone from your nightstand and checking your socials. 

There’s a fleeting hope that you’ll see his contact there, like a present waiting to be opened. All these terrible feelings would subside and wash away and everything would finally go back to normal. You click the power button, just to find that all you see is your empty background. 

Nothing. Radio silence all around. It’s like being struck. But even in that moment, nothing could prepare you for what you saw when you actually unlocked your phone and scrolled aimlessly through your social media. 

Nathan was online. And active, at that. You don’t think you’ve ever typed a message so fast in your life- fingers moving like lightning over the keys. 

‘nathan!!!!! r u ok??’

Like a dog, you wait there, breath bated. 

Merely a second later the message marks as read, and so much relief floods through you at once that it merely knocks you out right then and there. He’s okay. He’s okay, and he’s online and now he’s going to just clear up this whole mess. Whatever happened, whatever he’s feeling, you would be there with open arms ready to make it all better. You give him a few moments to type, even though every passing second unexplained is more akin to torture than anything else. 

A few moments becomes five minutes. And then ten minutes. Fifteen, and you’re starting to feel that familiar weight resettle over you like a fog, smothering out the embers of hope you’d cultivated. You can’t help it- you message him again. 

‘hello??’

Something like a knife cuts into your chest. Wedges deep, all the way to the very hilt. Reasoning starts to worm its way into the psychic damage you were taking, telling you all sorts of things, trying to cope. 

Maybe your wifi wasn’t working. You turn it off, only to find that even with full bars, your inbox remains empty. Okay, so maybe the first read message was fluke, a glitch in the system. But then it happens all over again. Read. But no response. Not even a typing bubble. 

Your last hope is that your account is glitching. Maybe you could send messages, but not receive them. You pray that you’ve been flagged, or restricted, or literally anything to explain why this was happening to you other than the fact that Nathan was choosing to ignore you. It’s getting harder to breathe by the second, a full blown panic attack mere moments away, knocking at the door. 

With shaky hands, select your profile. 

Not only is everything intact, but you quickly note you're down a post. The cute photo Taylor had tagged you in was gone- your name untagged. Adrenaline flashes hot under your skin, clicking her profile, biting hard at your lip. No, she hasn’t just untagged you. She’s removed the post entirely- and she’s unfollowed you at the same time. 

That knife twists. Hard. 

Your breath stops entirely, And, even though you feel you may already know the answer, you find your way to Hayden's profile. It confirms the truth you were so terrified of- he’s unfollowed you as well. 

Oh god. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You’ve been here before. Bile rising in your throat, your chest growing heavier. The unmistakable agony of a feeling you’d believed you were far, far past. 

Rejection. 

It’s happening again. What the fuck had you done this time? What could you have done that was so terrible, that was enough to toss you out? 

Oh god, how you spiral in bed. How it feels as though the walls are closing in, or the floors dropping out from beneath you. Suddenly you are no longer the person you’d carved out from your past. Suddenly, you’re standing before Kaz and Lance. You are watching your mom fill out your application form to Blackwell, while your best friend tosses her bags into the trunk of her car, wishing you’d get denied.  

Suddenly, you’re back in highschool, surrounded by laughter and the unyielding sense that there was something inherently wrong with you. 

It takes a long while to gather yourself enough just to get to class. Every single atom of your body begged to call to quits now, head back inside where the isolation was safe, but you knew your attendance was hurting even worse. The last thing you needed was to be forced into paying a visit to the school board, pleading your case to a group of uncaring staff members, groveling for another chance at that school you hardly wanted to be at. 

You tell yourself the day will get easier. It has to. You tell yourself, the hardest part is showing up.

But then you don’t even make it to first period. 

The front doors feel unnaturally heavy, and when you push inside, there’s a shift. Like you weren't welcome- like somehow everyone knew there was something wrong with you. Fundamentally fucked up, at the very root of your existance. You wade through, sweating bullets.

Through all the people, you see Hayden and Taylor standing around their lockers. For a moment, the old you takes hold. You stop dead in your tracts, ready to turn tail and run, to avoid all this bullshit and saunter away to lick your wounds in private. To really ruminate on how this happened, what you did wrong. 

But you know you have to talk to them. You need to find out what was happening- if not for you, than for Nathan. And For Nathan is the sole reason you manage to step, step, step, all the way towards them until you’re marched right up to the pair. Taylor sees you first as you split through the crowd, and the look you receive is nearly deadly. There’s nothing behind those eyes you’d come to know. Not an ounce of warmth when you stand before them, drained of all those fuzzy feelings you’d harnessed over the days. 

Hayden physically takes a step back and rubs the back of his neck, as if your very energy were uncomfortable for him. The man won’t even look at you. 

“Hey,” you start cautiously. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Taylor huffs, digging through her locker absentminded, desperate to focus on anything except for you. 

You frown. “...Did I, like, do something?” When she simply shrugs, you instead focus your question onto Hayden, who is still sinking his head down to his shoulders, defensive and so uncomfortable it must hurt. “Hayden, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

No answer. 

Your cheeks have gone rosey red in frustration, your hands have started to shake all over again. There’s a desperation to your tone that drives you insane with shame- the very same tone that you’d cried before. Kaz and Lance haunt you, dance around your mind as your former friends stand before you, still as statues. 

And then you finger the trigger. You dare to shift your weight, eyes falling downcast. 

“Have you guys seen Nathan?”

Taylor slams the locker shut so hard it rattles, huffing.

“Yeah, we’ve seen Nathan.” She forces, a venom to her voice that didn’t match her. “Look. we gotta get to class.”

And then she’s gone. They’re both gone, Hayden following her every move, brushing past you awkwardly without so much as even sparing a moment to say goodbye. As you watch them go, your belly in your guts, he only looks over his shoulder to see if you’re still there in their wake before they disappear into a classroom. 

Just like Victoria. Just like everyone else. Iced out- all alone. All over again. 

You don’t realize you’re walking out the building until the sun hits your skin in all the worst ways. Bright and blinding. The fountain sparkles, the sun is pure overhead. Not a cloud in sight. If it weren’t for the fact you were seconds away from losing your mind out in broad daylight, you’d certainly have enjoyed the spectacular sight. 

Somewhere behind you there’s a voice shouting something you don’t quite pay attention to. Louder and louder, it grows in volume until suddenly it’s directly behind you. Deep, hard, a voice that booms straight from the chest. A voice, you realize, you recognize. 

Fuck.

It’s no surprise when you turn around and see Madsen standing before you. Once again. 

“Now, where do you think you’re going? Class just started.”

You don’t even bother trying to act like you’re put together this time around. The ground feels uneven, your heart is still sunk deep into your gut. It’s hard to even hear him over the way your brain is swimming laps in your own skull. An ache has started in the base of your neck, traveling up, caressing you in the worst of ways. 

“You got an answer for me?” He’s such a fucking nag, glaring down at you as if he really was an officer of the law. “A good reason, I hope.”

“I-..” Still, same as before, hard to wrap your mind around speaking properly. All you can think about is their faces, how it feels to feel everything just… Vanish. Taylor and Hayden’s expressions. Nathan’s room in disarray. The lead up to it all- the moments that had been so fucking perfect before it all broke apart all at once. 

Like seeing heaven through the thick, thick fog of hell. Like you were right at the finish line, just for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Speak up.”

Although you knew, somewhere deep in your heart, Madsen isn’t trying to be the worst ever. It just comes so naturally to him. He can’t help it. 

“I don’t feel well.” Is all you manage. 

“Don’t feel well?”

And god, you really don’t. Everything is starting to hurt, you just want to crawl into your bed and rot until there’s nothing left of you but dust and bones. A wave of anxiety has settled into your stomach, churning it all ways but right, threatening to overflow at any moment. For the first time, Madsen seems to realize something's up too. The man cocks his head, ducks down to get a good look at you. 

“You don’t look well. Have you been to the nurse?”

“No,” You croak. “I just-... I need to go lay down.” Then, quieter, “Please.”

You see the way he bounces his next words around in his head, test-running his sentences. 

“Did you sign out?” 

A shake of your head is all he gets in reply. Pathetic and downcast, utterly defeated. You were sure he was going to write you up. And you’d have to explain to your mom why her daughter was losing her grip, failing at the one thing that had been laid out before her. 

Madsen clicks his tongue. Here it comes. 

“Go ahead and get back to your dorm.” He pulls a notepad from his back pocket, sets the tip of a pen to the paper. His gaze flicks from the paper to your own, expectant. “Give me your name.”

For a long moment, you stare at him in shock. He raises his brows, tapping the pen on the paper. 

“Name.” He repeats. 

So, you give it to him. For a brief moment his eyes narrow, and you can almost read his mind. Nathan’s buddy. But, thankfully, the strike of kindness carries on and he chooses not to press the issue. He simply writes your name down on his writing pad, among other things, and then straightens out. 

“Alright. I’ll give this to the nurse and give you this pass- once. But next time will be different. Got it?” 

You try to say thank you, because truly, you can’t recall a time he’s ever deserved one. But the moment you part your lips to speak, barbed wire straps your throat, tightens like a vice. A boulder forms in the basin of your throat. 

For some reason you can’t quite place, tears prick the corners of your eyes. He stands there, watching the glaze drag over your features, followed quickly by the sharp downturn of your lips. A metaphorical dam creaks under the weight and bows. Embarrassment isn’t a strong enough deterrent, and before you can stop it yourself, that damn splinters until it cracks and gives way. Staring down at the sidewalk, cast in Madsen’s shadow, you cry fat tears that gather in front of your feet. 

It comes on so quick you can't catch up. Everything starts to overflow, spilling from the gathered brim. 

A pressure appears on your shoulder. A broad hand, patting lightly over your shirt. Just as odd as thanking him, you for the first time hear something else among his usually harsh tone. Uncertainty. An awkward olive branch of comfort from Officer Dickhead himself. 

“Go on. Get back to your dorm.” He mumbles. “Don’t worry about today.”

You must look a wreck. You must look like you’re seconds from a total meltdown, if even Madsen can see through you. 

Hands clutch desperately at your face, frantic to gather it all, gather yourself, pull yourself back together before you really lose it. You force a nod, scrubbing away at your eyes as if you could dry them, sniffling sharp, shameful breaths. As his hand retracts, and you try to straighten out. He’s staring down at you as if you’re made of glass- like if he stepped the wrong way now, you’d shatter into a million pieces. 

Honestly, maybe you would. It sure feels that way. Madsen steps away with a cautious waver, tearing the paper from his notepad as he goes. You, however, are left standing there.

You’re free to go. 

The sun is still bright. The sky is still extraordinarily blue and vast. Somewhere out there, someone’s life has just clicked into place, and the world has rewarded them with such an incredible day. You feel out of place. Wrong, like somehow, this wasn’t your reality at all. 

Outside crumbles apart as you disappear into your dorm room, seeking out the familiar comfort of your blankets. You saunter below them as if they’d shield you from it all. But even buried beneath the sea of fabric you still feel the seer of hurt, you still see the looks on Taylor and Hayden’s faces. Echoes of the lovely phone call you had shared with your best friend, who had basked in the glow of your growth. Nathan’s absence is heavier than you can bear. And worst of all, you watch history repeat itself, entirely out of your control. A story spinning itself into directions you can’t even fathom.

Perhaps you never grew from your former self at all. Perhaps you were just dressed differently, or in the right places, at the right times. Perhaps, this entire time, the person you’d thought you had become was nothing but an imposter trying to outrun its misery. 

You are still that person crying into your arms, spending your lunches hiding away in the bathrooms. A coward. Weak, with no resolve, even when you really thought you’d become something else. Something better. The sound of your former self’s footsteps have caught up with you, even after you’d run so, so far away. 

It’s all too heavy. 

The party dwindled down to five, then four. Three an hour before 4am, and then eventually… Two. You and Nathan made a home on that couch, staring up at the decorated ceiling and chattering away about everything you could think to say until the room grew too hazy. By the time you’d both left, the after effects of weed and alcohol already dancing a hangover through your temples, the dawn had breached the darkened sky and painted those far away blues with wings of pink. 

Red blotched through the trees, a crispness to the air that made you shiver in delight. There were probably a dozen partiers passed out, dispersed between the porch and the endless yard. The ride home in Nathan’s truck was spent in comfortable, tired silence, but when he pulled up to the women’s dorm he made sure to offer you kind words.

Rest up. You look like a vitamin D reject.

Poetry, really. You aren’t sure how he does it. And though you festered on that particularly stinging insult while you scrub away your makeup, you can’t help the jittery glee vibrating under your skin. A whole night with him. At his side from start to finish. The moment Hayden had so kindly ruined out on the porch- the feeling of Nathan’s warmth flushing into your own. 

Your heart skitters in your chest. 

If only you’d been an inch taller, or you’d jumped up to meet him a second sooner…

Falling asleep should have been an easy task, but like all things, Nathan made it much more difficult. He swims through the vast ocean of your mind and demands your attention, all the way to the very second you finally doze off. 

-

You get to see him one more time that weekend, this time tucked away in your dorm. The bait was as simple as anything else: a single photo of a slasher movie with a question mark as the only text. Nathan’s response was quick, only a mere minute apart. 

hellz yea. 

He’d be there as soon as ‘deputy dipshit’ had finished his rounds for the evening. And sure enough, at 10:20 pm sharp, there he was tapping away at your window. Sneaking in through the hallway was old news, now. Now he simply rapped at the glass of your own room until you’d slide the drop-window up and let him climb inside. An endless, all-inclusive passage to your humble abode. 

This time around he doesn't fall asleep midway through the film. He snickers when the characters are picked off one by one, remarks how stupid they are for splitting up or overlooking key details. 

Every now and then your phone would light up at the edge of the bed, grabbing your attention long enough only to type a quick reply and refocus back on the film. And every time Nathan would watch you through the corners of his eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“You gonna’ miss the whole movie talking it up with whoever the fuck?” He’d said, a hint of tone that brought back more unpleasant memories than good. Your brows knit as you looked up at him. 

“It’s just Hayden. He’s sending me the pics from the party.” You clicked the images as they rolled in, mostly blurry edged snapshots of everyone beaming with life.

“That’s more important than final girl shit?” 

“I didn’t wanna ignore him, sorry.” The air around him had grown weird, strained. Different than you’d felt before. “Shouldn’t you be happy I’m getting along with your friends?”

“Getting along.” He’d sang, making a mockery of you. 

It hurt something deep you’ve buried far into the vacancy of your ego. A monster that leers through the darkness and pokes its ugly head when provoked. You frowned.

“Yeah, getting along.” You turned to face him, the movie left totally ignored. “What, does that bother you?”

To say friends weren’t a sore spot of yours would be lying. And to say you couldn't already feel his attitude lighting the far end of a stick of dynamiter would be another. Worsened when he leans back and shrugs. 

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I can tell.”

Your phone went off twice, three times in succession beside you, only seeming to add to Nathan’s mounting irritation. Sheepishly, you nudged the phone away further, as if trying to make a point. 

“Do you not want me talking to Hayden?” You asked, tilting your head, trying to refind his line of sight. He fought you- looked away entirely. 

“Talk to whoever you want.”

“Nathan, seriously. Stop being a fucking-” You stopped yourself mid sentence, grinding your teeth together. Only then does he actually re-face you again, eyeing you expectantly. 

“A what?”

“Nothing. Just- stop. Does it bug you?”

Nathan chewed divots into the inside of his lip, staring down at his lap. In the silence, the movie filled the gap, low and tense. 

“You guys really hit it off, huh?”

“He’s cool.”

“You like him?”

“I mean-...” You searched for the words but they failed you. “I mean I guess so. He’s been a nice friend to me so far.”

“Just a friend?”

Ah. That’s what it was. 

And suddenly Nathan looked so much smaller than he had a second ago. Hurt wears him with claws and redness, and makes his eyes seem much more hollow than you know they are. You softened, deflating next to him. 

“Friend, Nathan. What, you think I have a crush or some shit? I just think he’s cool, is all. Him and Taylor both.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, mouthed your words back at you. Cool. 

God, he makes it so fucking hard to be understanding. Your mouth moved before your brain could scramble to save the moment. 

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is your problem?” 

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Clearly.” Leaning into him, bumping him with your elbow, doing anything you could to try and break the chain. Trying to ignore the way he recoiled from your touch. And then you say something that pushes the wrong buttons entirely. Something that toes the line.

“What, you jealous?”

His response came instantaneously, like a knee jerk reaction. 

“Fuck no.”

The tone was rigid. So sharp it could cut, and breathtakingly cold. It was like the water had been dumped over you, or the rug had been ripped clean out from under your feet. 

So maybe he didn’t want you like that, after all. 

The whiplash was almost too much to handle. Your insecurities were almost too much to handle, and by god, how the nerves had been flayed. Seeds of doubt and injured ego furrowed into your soul, sprouted in seconds flat, a wildfire of rejection. 

The angry bitterness grows from your chest. Infects your throat, carries in your voice as you furthered the withering gap. 

“Damn. Okay then.”

His eyes flicker to yours, a split second where the edge ebbs before he swallowed hard and hardened all over again. 

That’s the moment you see the shut down happen in real time. Stiffened shoulders, a subtle lean away you read way too much into. A low weight in your gut. The walls come back up, even if just by an inch. You tossed your phone to the edge of the bed in the hopes it would subdue him but he was steadfast, eyes trained forward. 

Beside you, he felt miles away. The movie becomes background noise to a melody you couldn't stand. 

For the rest of the night the air was tight, and terse. Try as you might to make small jokes, you don't miss the way he forces himself to laugh, hiding his fist is clenching and unclenching beside him. Parts of him ticking that you haven't seen since the start. Then more notable: a nervous tick he gets when he's fired up, a tenacity in his jaw and with grinding teeth. 

You wanted to clear the air, but you fell flat. And you swallowed down that retched feeling and carried it throughout the rest of the movie. 

When the movie came to a gory end, and a part of you hoped he’d linger while the moon was still bright, he simply left just as guarded. 

Did I do something? You’d asked. 

No. Was his only reply. 

Disappointment shredded you from the the inside out. Every second in bed staring up at the ceiling, replaying the events of the night, wondering how it could go bad so quickly. Of course you knew it had something to do with Hayden- perhaps a territorial thing. You knew Nathan’s issues ran deep so you wondered if he was worried you’d leave him behind. Or find someone else more fun than him, as if that were possible. 

Maybe it was the tone shift. Or guilt. 

Or god forbid, seconds thoughts. If there were any thoughts to have seconds of in the first place. 

Maybe it wasn’t even related to you at all. Maybe it was selfish to even assume you were the root of his emotional shift, and you were simply just spiraling in your pity. 

Regardless, the knife only twisted deeper when you texted him see you tomorrow? and received only silence in return. When you doze off into a fitful sleep, you dream of being at his side again, nestled away from all else while the rooms spins into incoherent sea of white noise. 

Morning arrives and scrubs away the tension. You wake slow with a stretch, bones and joints popping in consequence. It would be a lie to tell yourself that the first thing you thought about was the previous night- more specifically, Nathan. So you roll over and check your phone.

srry. phone waz dead. meet me @ the fountain

And just like that, all is right. The world continues to spin on its axis and the temperature rises a notch or two. With it, a smile on your face. It was though the night before hadn’t happened at all, now, gone from your mind in an instant. A part of you gets shoved away, and down, down, down. A part that you that dares whisper: what the fuck was that about?

Moving on was just so much easier. 

Like a happy camper, you find your path to the fountain and sure enough there he is perched at the concrete edge. Behind him the fountain pours buckets into the basin, droplets gathering the morning light and framing that boney outline of his. Standing along the edge chatting away is that sweet girl you’d met at the party- Taylor, who seems to grow even more eager when she realizes you’re headed over. Even waves you over, that bright smile on her face nothing short of welcoming. 

Nathan seems lax again. Less guarded in his safe place, binder sprawled over in his lap per usual, listening to Taylor prattle on and on about how over the weekend she wanted to go see a movie but got stuck babysitting instead. What a drag. Between sentences you and Nathan sneak knowing glances at one another, an air of mutuality cultivated in the dwindling space. 

“So what’d you two get up to over the weekend?” She chirps. “Other than that amazing party. Which, by the by, those pictures you got were totally awesome. definitely insta material.”

“Not much. And I don’t use really post on instagram,” You say, sheepish, plopping down beside Nathan. “But I’m glad you liked em’.”

The moment she opens her mouth to say something, another voice cuts her off. Hayden waves broad, shouting an all-too cheery goodmorning. He always demands the attention- takes up space and owns every moment of it. You lean back on your palms as he fist bumps Nathan, only leaning forward for a moment when he offers you a salute and you salute right back. 

Surrounded by smiling faces, once again right where you belong at Nathan’s side, you start to feel that familiar warmth of belonging in your chest. Even with last night's talk, even when you feel the slightest pressure of anxieties hand on your shoulder. This was your life now, as unbelievable as it may be. 

Really, it was all you ever wanted. 

A lovely conversation ensues, equal parts memories of the party as well as potential plans for the following week. You included. An end of the year party, a totally tame ‘chillout’ at Haydens which you’re sure is just codeword for a basement party chock full of weed and tonics. Regardless, Nathan seems particularly interested, perking up and clicking his binder shut to listen better. 

“You bet your ass we’ll be there.” He remarks, says it like you’re simply an extension of him, an untenable fact, and you know it's true. Hayden all but cheers.

“Fuck yeah. Also, one more thing, after class what do you guys think about seeing a movie? Been a hot minute since I’ve sat my ass down at the theater and got sick on popcorn.”

Like a knee-jerk reaction, you say yes. Nathan, however, doesn’t share the same sentiment. With a brief shake of his head, you raise a brow. 

“No can do,” He scoffs. “My dad’s got me set up with a hot date tonight.”

Something ugly twists inside your stomach. Something that forces you to narrow your eyes, trying to read his expression, understand what the hell he was on about. A date?

Hayden sighs deep and forlorn. “Man, your old man’s still got you seeing that wack-ass shrink?”

Gears turn, and click into place, reminds you that there’s things to Nathan you still don’t know. Things you aren’t privy to- not yet at least. There’s a split second where your mind paints a picture of the moment. Boring blank walls, a therapist scratching away on a clipboard of papers while he sits across the room. 

You wonder what he looks like, scrutinized like that. If he makes himself look smaller, or bigger than he truly was. 

Taylor throws an arm around your shoulder. “Well, us three will just have to fill you in on how it goes then.”

“Sure thing.” Nathan murmurs. 

Taylor and Hayden disperse and jog up the stairs, disappearing inside. A ring of joy still sits true, excited for the movie later on. Mostly excited for the fact that once again, you were invited. And, and, and, you were still invited after Nathan declined. 

Speaking of Nathan, he’s reduced to just staring down at his closed binder, this strange unreadable expression taking over all those angles. It’s silent for a beat- nothing but the sound of sneakers on the sidewalk as students shuffle by and the splash of the fountain. 

You break it, a blade of sound splicing the quiet. 

“What happened last night?” All he does is shrug. You chew your lip, toeing the ground anxiously. “...Did I piss you off or something?”

“No.” He says it quick, rehearsed. Then, slower, “Look, I’m on some new meds and they’re really fucking with me.”

You can't help but frown. “You sure that’s all?”

There’s a certain… Patheticness to your tone that makes you outright cringe. But you can't help it- this moment should be brimming with jests and taunts, playful little insults that never seem to puncture anything beyond surface level. Now, it just seems… Heavy. Like he's further away, or hiding. Reverting. 

Nathan notices it too. Notices how you almost seem tentative to reach him, and he finally looks at you with eyes soft enough to recognize. 

“‘M sure. Promise.”

Desperate to talk about something, anything, you swipe your tongue over your lips and try to sound happier than you feel. 

“Hey, when we were out on the porch and you mentioned wanting to get outta here, were you being for real?”

It catches him off guard, for a moment, you fear he’ll try and blame the alcohol. But instead he shocks you. Always does, it seems. 

With a shrug, he mumbles, “I mean, yeah.”

“Oh, cool… But didn’t you say that it’d be dumb?”

He leans back, brows knitting. “When the fuck did I say that?”

“Back when we were at the junkyard. You said your sister left and all that shit, and she was dumb for it.”

There was a time where he’d prickle up when you’d poke him like this. But day by day he has opened up, taught to push just a little more, just enough. It’s a thrill just as much as its relieving when he concedes under the minute pressure. 

“Can’t act like I haven't been, like, thinking about it.” He starts, staring down at his lap. “I’m starting to think she was onto something, y'know?"

A flutter revels in your chest but you can’t smile, not yet.

“What about your dad?”

Nathan doesn’t have to think about his reply.

“What the fuck about him?”

A grim blooms over your cheeks, the metaphorical chains of his name and his fathers looming presence shattering away in fragments that are destined to wash away at Nathan’s feet. And he sees it too, plain as day, to the point where he even shakes his head and breathes a sighful laugh. 

“You’re fucking cheesing, you know that?” He snickers. 

“I can’t help it. I love when you just-” Words fail you, tongue searching for the right thing to say. “I love when you don’t let him get to you. Cause’ you’re right. Fuck him. Dad or not. And I like hearing that you’re thinking of other shit than just Arcadia Bay.”

Nathan nods slowly, a glint in his eye when he flicks his gaze to yours. “What, you got big plans for me or something?”

Fuck yes you do.

“I’m cooking up some ideas.” You giggle. 

He leans his weight towards you, inches a fragment closer. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Y’know, like..” Before you can get into the meat and potatoes of what your ideal future would be, the school bell rings shrill and awful. It completely destroys the moment, makes you jump a foot in your skin, glaring over your shoulder at the front doors as if the building had eyes to see it. 

“Fill me in later. After you tell alllll about your big movie date tonight.”

“Date?” You scoff. “How about I tell you about mine if you tell me ‘bout yours?”

“Yeah, ‘cause therapy is so riveting.”

“Hey, for nosey fucks like me, it is. Especially-...” You suck in a breath, continuing only when he tilts his head, softer now. “Y’know, ‘specially when it’s about you.”

He blinks for a moment. Once, twice. His eyes fall to your lips, then back up to meet your eyeline. 

“Stalker.” Is all he murmurs. The corners of your lips drag up. 

“I guess so.”

The rolling conversation slows to a stop. A pause. Time itself waits just long enough for the second warning bell to ring just as irritatingly loud as the first. Finally you’re pulled from him, as if invisible hands gripping you tight by the shoulders and dragging you to your feet. He stays where he sits, watching you drag your bag back over your shoulder. 

“By the way, thanks for taking me to that party with you. It was great.” 

“Least I could do. You desperately needed some, how I say,” He pretends to think, tapping a long finger to his chin. “Culture.”

“Ha fucking ha. I am plenty cultured.” You retort, even though you both know it’s a lie. “Sorry you can’t go to the movie tonight- if I knew you were, uh, busy, I would have said no. I hope it’s not weird for you.”

“Just don't have too much fun without me.” 

“There’s only so much fun that can be had at a theater.” 

Nathan raises his brow and shrugs. “You’d be shocked.”

“Knowing you, it wouldn’t be much of a shocker. But.. Talk later, yeah?”

He nods and waves you off, and you go scurrying to the stairs. Before you fully immerse yourself into the day, you turn on your heel and cup your hands around your mouth.

“By the way, good luck tonight!” You call. “Give em’ hell!”

“Always do.” Nathan stands and shoves his binder against his side, leaning all his weight on one side. 

School becomes something far in the background of your busy mind, all of the space taken up by Nathan, as always. He was infectious, and all consuming. Perhaps you were an extension of him, after all, hardly your own person at all anymore. 

Your phone goes off more than a few times. Twice from Nathan, once from Hayden.

hope you like scary movies

Oh, Hayden, if only you knew. 

In a weird way it almost feels wrong to go through with seeing it without Nathan. Scary movies felt like your thing- the first thing you two ever truly shared while learning to lower your guards with one another. And the night before, when Nathan had shut down so badly, you were still anxiously wondering if there were some sort of wound left between you both that needed addressing. But like usual, maybe you were just in your own head. 

Don’t have too much fun without me. 

He’d said it like it’s a joke, but you could damn near taste the jealousy. A feeling you knew all too well, a deep slice to the ego and a devastating case of fomo. A part of you almost debates cancelling the night all together, but as if reading your mind, Hayden’s contact covers your screen again. 

7pm, i’ll pick u and tay up at the girls dorm. stoked for tn!

And that really just seals the deal entirely. You try to sap some of that energy, and while you’re excited for the evening, a pit of something almost… guilty follows you through the academic day.

-

The movie was, for lack of better words, pretty dog-shit. The entire cast was absolutely brain dead, all the way from the token stoner to the final girl wanna-be. Good decision making was out the window, complete with even the most illogical let’s split up! moment in written history. You think a majority of your time spent watching was an even split between laughing and trading glances with Taylor, whispering what the fuck? to each other. 

Hayden seemed rather pleased with it, and spent the ride home defending the films honor to Taylor who openly ragged on it. You listened from the backseat, counting the streetlights rippling through the interior as they raced by. Even though you were becoming well versed in the arts of sneaking through the dorm windows, you couldn’t help but sigh a breath of relief when Hayden rolled into the parking lot before curfew had struck. 

“Best not to rock Madison’s boat.” He remarked, fixing his mirror and offering a white-tooth smile. 

You unbuckle your seat belt as he unlocks the doors. “We all know he’d go down with it.” 

“Hey, before we go.” Taylor chirps, unbuckling just as quick but scooting forward in her seat. She motions for you to move up too, and you do, craning forward between them from the back. In one swift moment she raises her phone and you get little more than two seconds to strike a pose. 

The flash is blinding, but she seems happy with the outcome. You’ve come to trust her judgement. After wishing Hayden a good night and thanking him for the invite, you hop outside. It’s colder now- the air is a chill that reminds you of the season to come. Taylor takes a beat longer, but ultimately joins you before he takes off. 

By the time you get into your room and start to undress, a notification rings on your phone. 

Taylor tagged you in a photo! Unlock to view it now

She’s quick, you think. 

It’s edited up with a cute frame and filter that compliments your skintone, makes your eyes shine with life. There’s even an adorable caption: do you like scary movies? 

It’s a great photo. You’re smiling ear to ear tucked between them, and though you awkwardly hold up a peace sign with two fingers, it’s obvious just from looks alone you were having a wonderful time. 

Giddiness floods like rising water. You had friends again. Joy follows you into the shower, everlasting despite the scrub, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t hate the reflection you see stepping out from the steam in your mirror. 

Nathan’s active and online when you dress in something warm before hopping into bed. Curiosity gets the better of you- it’s been doing that a lot, lately, you realize. And although it takes a moment to convince yourself the worst he could do is not answer, you take a gamble and give Nathan a call. 

Nathan picks up on the third ring. 

“Yo. Calling to tell me all about the dumb shit you just watched?”

You flop backwards into your bed. “Yep. How’d you know it was dumb shit?”

“Most of the junk in theaters is now-a-days.”

“Well, yeah. It pretty much sucked. What about you?”

Nathan’s quiet for a moment. “About the same.”

“So dumb shit all around, then.”  You roll onto your belly, sighing against the comfort of your blanket. “Wanna’ talk about it?”

There's a weight of him on the other end, silence almost uncanny. When he finally answers, he’s quieter.

“Not right now.”

“...Everything okay?”

“S’ fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Seriously. The last thing I wanna do is rehash all that bull. But, uh… I’m good.” He shifts, and you can hear his bed creak underneath him. It’s a thrill at all to realize you recognize that sound. He sputters for a moment, struggles to start his sentence, but it comes out regardless. “Look, hey, I’m sorry about last night.” 

“Oh, uh-...” You’re thrown off entirely, brows knitting. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Last night was just… Weird.”

“Yeah. I just- ugh, I don’t know. I felt like shit about it. I feel like shit about it.”

An apologizing Nathan Prescott was something unexpected. Especially so… Ashamed, almost. Like it physically hurt him to say it- words searing deep lacerations the entire way up and out. For a fleeting second, the bandage you’d slapped over bleeds through. 

You let the sting work it’s magic. And you let it remind you that Nathan was, at the end of the day, neurotic to his very core. 

“It’s all good, Nathan.” You swipe your tongue over your teeth, tasting the nerves you’re shoving down. After sucking in a sharp breath, you make a brave statement. “Just, uh, make it up to me.”

Nathan laughs. It’s a sweet, dumb little laugh, that turns all that fear you’d been refusing to go toe to toe with into some far away mirage. A sound so healing it eliminates all that tension in your shoulders.  

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You grin. “Just did, Prescott.”

“Hm. Whatever, bitch.”

“So that’s a yes, right?” When he sighs on the other end, you lean back on your palm. “I’m serious. There I was all worried I'd fucked up this incredible, enlightening, amazing friendship. You owe me a do-over. And, I want groveling, too.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, maybe not groveling. But definitely a redo.”

“...Deal.”

You toss yourself back against the bed staring up the ceiling, brightened. “Alright. You tell me when.” 

“Sure thing, princess. But you better be ready.”

“I’m always ready.” You’d be lying if you said the petname, as sarcastic as it may be, didn’t make you giddy. Blush blooms dust that ghosts over the rises of your cheeks. 

“That’s what you think. Tell me about the movie you guys saw.”

So you do. You prattle on and on about the worst of it, and even the few moments that had so much potential if the director wasn’t such a dunce. Sometimes you aren't sure if Nathan’s even listening, letting you talk yourself out of steam, but for some reason that doesn’t bother you. Mundanity had become more common between you both as the weeks had skirted by, somehow even more exciting than the times spent clashing like magnets. It felt easy. Undemanding.

Real. 

When you're done, and you’ve talked yourself tired in your warm bed, he yawns deep in his chest on the other end. 

“Tired?” You ask, even when you already know the answer. 

“Yeah. Drained. So I’m gonna’ head to bed,” he starts. “Gotta’ get that Prescott beauty sleep.”

You hate the disappointment that follows. “Yeah, me too. Night.”

He murmurs, night. 

It’s the first time you’ve both formally ended the day. When he hangs up, you can’t help but feel that emptiness in your chest, the silence overtaking all else. Eventually it becomes so overbearing that you have to roll onto your belly and unlock your phone, trying to find anything to fill the void. Taylor's post is already flooding with likes, and a few comments roll in asking where their invite was. 

Scrolling by, you see a few from Victoria. Tasteful shots of town and the beach, and then an outfit she was planning to wear to the all exclusive end of the year party Hayden had mentioned earlier. 

Another post catches your attention as you roll down the aisle of pictures. This time from a name that seems to just keep popping up, like it was fate. 

Your friend from high school. Along with it comes the memory of the mental note you’d made to reach out to her, and for a moment, you almost don’t honor the promise you’d made to yourself. But then you force yourself to gather the courage it takes to select “bf4ever <3”s contact. Oh god, how you cringe when you realize it’d been so damn long since you spoke with her last. It’s almost enough to deter you right then and there. 

It takes all five seconds to write, hey, what’s up?

It takes even longer for you to finally press send after hovering your finger over the button like an idiot. 

The second your phone audibly tells you the message had sent, you’re clicking it off and tossing it to the edge of the bed, like distance would protect you from any negative response. A part of you doesn’t even know why you’re so worried. Another part of you says she probably won’t even answer at all. 

Odds are she’s probably asleep, or busy partying it up, or maybe she simply wasn’t interested in you any m-

It lights up, vibrating almost instantly. In a second flat your phone returns right into the palm of your hand. 

bf4ever <3 is typing a message. 

Roaring to life, your heart lurches in your chest when the text bubble pops up. Then it’s gone again, disappearing, before reappearing. Over and over again, as if she wasn’t sure what to type. As if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer at all. Already your emotions run wild, like you had no right to even remind her of your existence at all. 

Just as you tell yourself this was a bust, your phone comes to life in your hands all over again. Her contact floods the screen, all pixels recreating the face you had longed to see for a year now. 

With shaking hands, you answer. 

“No fucking way.”

Her voice pierces through all the worries like a lance. Rips through the veil and drags you right back into reality, right back into her aura. Not quick enough though, before she speaks again, lower this time. Hesitant, almost. 

“Uh… hello?”

Your mouth runs dry. “Uh- hey.”

“Hey! Long time no talk!”

Her voice sings to you just as it always had. Happiness radiates through the speaker, grabs you by the shoulders and shakes away all that ugly doubt you tormented yourself with. The tension softens up at the touch. The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding leaves you in a single, hearty sigh. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. It’s been crazy since I got here.”

“No worries, girl! It’s a two way street, after all. It’s been wild over here, too. Did I tell you I moved to Cali? I’m like, fifteen minutes away from San Diego!”

The corners of your lips upturn, eyes staring up the ceiling absently. “That’s like, what, four hours with the traffic?”

“Or a two hour walk!” She beams, and suddenly, you hope California realizes how lucky it is to have her. After a humming pause, she starts again. “So what’s blackwell been like? Everything your mom ever hoped for?”

Ouch. She always clocked that. 

You shrug as if she can see it. “It’s been… Interesting.”

“Make any friends?” 

God, you’d have to be a total moron to not pick up on the way her tone is cautious. Hopeful, but cautious none the less. You’re sure she’s expecting a big fat no. 

“I did.” You start. “And then, I didn’t. And then I did again! So there’s that.”

She damn near sighs in relief. 

“Well that’s awesome! What happened in the middle there?”

“Just, like, some stupid shit. I made these two buddies- Kaz, and Lance- and they were pretty cool. They were really the only ones I could vibe with for a while.” 

Although it’s old news at this point, there’s still… Somber to it. Makes your expression fall when you remember the excitement you’d felt when they’d asked you to hang out for the first time. Graduation from classmate-acquaintances into actual friendship was often something you fell flat on, but they seemed happy to have you. 

Your very first friends at Blackwell. 

“...Go on.”

You almost don’t want to. Because it hurts, still, like a wound that never properly heals. The hideous scald of rejection after the night Tate had tried to assault you. The day what little social life you had did a total 180. 

“I uh, well,” Lip caught between your teeth, you chew away at the soft skin there. “They took me to some party and this guy was hitting on me like crazy. Buying me drinks, chatting me up, the whole nine yards. But, surprise surprise, he just wanted pussy.”

“They always do.” She scoffs on the other end. “As for your friends, let me guess, he was one of their exes?”

“No, actually. I honestly think that would have been easier to deal with. He ended up trying to take me home and didn’t really wanna take no for an answer. They were all upset because he went and told everyone we slept together and they thought I lied to them about my whereabouts after I left.” A stone mounts in your belly. “...And when I tried to explain that the dude hitting on me was a total creep, they didn’t really believe me. It was weird, honestly. Sometimes I feel like they were just… looking for an out.”

“That’s stupid. Fuck those guys. You kicked that guy’s ass for harassing you, right?”

You want to say yes. You wish you could say yes. 

“No, um, I mean, I was kinda fucked up. You know I'm a lightweight and I had a bit to drink, so…” For some reason you clock in overtime to glaze over the fact that you were roofied that night. As if it’s embarrassing, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. You hated the thought of worrying her, or having to admit to the fact that at one of your first ever parties was an absolute fucking nightmare. 

“So…?”

“This other guy stepped in. Really kicked his ass good, too. Took me back to the dorms and everything to make sure I didn't puke in my sleep.”

“Oooh, and whose this guy?”

Warmth floods your cheeks at the mere mention. “Nathan.”

“Nathan. I like that name. He go to school with you, or…?”

“Yeah, he goes here. His dad actually owns, like, some kind of realtor firm or something. His families kinda’ a big deal around here, I guess.”

“Oh, so he’s rich, huh? Look at you!”

This broad, dopey smile worms its way over your face, followed by the flush that starts at the mounds of your cheeks.. Being teased about a guy is totally foreign, and you physically shake your head to fight off the fluster. 

“I think it’s one of those ‘my parents money, not my money’ situations. But, yeah, they do have money.”

“I’m happy for you, girl. Look at you go.” She’s practically singing her praises, alive and electric on the other end. “Now tell me about these new friends of yours. The ones that came after those two shit-heads.”

“Oh, yeah! They’re actually Nathan’s friends that he introduced me to, but I think they like me. Especially this girl named Taylor. She’s a lot of fun.”

She reminds me of you, you think. Your friend hums out something happy and bright. 

“Taylor! Is that the girl who uploaded that picture of you tagged on your instagram earlier?”

“Yeah, that’s her!”

“Oooh, so is that guy next to you Nathan? What a looker.”

“No, no that’s Hayden. He’s really cool.”

“Hayden, okay, okay. What about Nathan though. Is he fine?”

Tomato red pulses through your face, but there’s no denying the truth. “...Yeah, he’s pretty hot.”

“Yes!” She cheers. “Oh my god, get it girl! How long have you been seeing him?”

“Well, we’re not exactly seeing each other.” Somehow you grow even redder, hotter to the touch, a scorch flaming your skin fanning by the very second. “We’re just kinda’ hanging out right now.”

“Hanging out, and…?”

Curse her ability to just know things. 

“And,” You start cautiously, forcing the words from your lips. “...We kinda, like… Sleep in each other's rooms, sometimes.”

“You dog!”

“No, no, that’s really it! We haven't even gone on a date or anything.”

“Yet.” She exclaims. “This is so awesome. You know, I always worried about you and your love life. You never really seemed to give a shit about dating or anything like that.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess I just never really met anything worth it, y'know?"

“Oh, I get it. Trust me. So tell me more about Nathan, your hot, rich, not-boyfriend who you share a bed with.” She pauses.

Wringing your fingers together, you shrug. “He’s really not my boyfriend. Sad, I know. But, uh, he’s funny. Kind of an asshole, sometimes. But funny.”

“What guy isn’t an asshole sometimes these days. How’d you meet him?”

That little nub your teeth chew in your lip grows larger, bothered time and time again. “Well, what’s kinda’ funny is that when I first met him, we really didn’t get along. When I say he can be an asshole sometimes I really mean it. He’s got a pretty bad reputation and when we first started talking he thought I was fucking around with him. It was a big, giant mess.”

“What kind of reputation we talking?”

“Like… The kind of reputation where you really don’t want to get on their bad side.”

“Woah. A bad boy? Is this really you I’m talking to?!”

“He’s not a bad boy! Like I said, he just has a bad reputation. He’s honestly really… Nice.”

Now you’re really lying. Because you know, deep in your heart, that Nathan’s earned that feedback through the hard work and labor of being a total dickhead. A spoiled rich dickhead. Yet you still feel like a school girl twirling her hair, recounting the memories of him.

“Sounds like a total movie. Maybe I should enroll in Blackwell and get me some action, too.”

You bark a laugh. “Good luck. Other than Nathan, the dating pool is pretty lacking. Not that I care. Sometimes I feel like mom went out of her way to pick the school with the least possible chance of derailing her grand plans for me.”

“Well, here you are anyways. Total bummer about Nathan being pick of the litter, though. Your girl needs some serious action, and soon, at that.”

“I mean, I could probably set you up with that Hayden guy I mentioned. And I’d fucking love it if you came. But, honestly, I couldn’t do that to Cali. I think you belong there, as much as it pains me to say.”

“Yeah, you got me there. I think if I went anywhere that dropped below 60 degrees I’d turn into such a mega-bitch.”

And you have to laugh, again, because you can see it. That fiery attitude that never seemed to simmer away, only grew into something more tangible and wild. 

“Alright. So,” She begins, but her tone falls into something almost serious. Enough so that it makes you lean forward, listening intently. “...This Nathan guy. I know you said you guys aren't really dating, but… You serious about him?”

For a second, your tongue swipes over your lips in thought. A million thoughts strike you all at once- but a couple stand out among the sea of it. The laughter you both shared, the white-hot rage that poured from you in volcanic streams that somehow only he could tap into. 

Your brain's instinct to pick apart your emotions fights with the present. Saying it out loud held such fervent gravity- like somehow saying it outloud made it real. Not just a long, drawn out inner monologue that often paired with your apparent need to psychoanalyse the world around you. Real. An uncharted territory where your racing thoughts gathered and bunched into the center and spelled out everything your body knew before your mind did. 

“I, uh…” Then, the worlds fumble from you quick, as if desperate to get out. As if they’d been clawing to the surface this entire time. “I think I’m in love with him.”

The weight lifts. Love becomes a physical thing that sits beside you in your bed. 

“I’m so happy for you.” She says. “Man, I’m so proud of you. This is awesome. You’ve really opened up.”

“Had to eventually, right?” 

Her bright, airy laughter on the other end reminded you why you both clicked so well. She was always something burning so bright, like the uninterrupted sun. You, something else entirely. Like the moon desperate for an ocean of its own. Even a thousand miles away you could feel the warmth. 

“You’ll have to keep me updated on Nathan.” She harps.

“I will. How’s Cali been treating you?”

“Oh girl. You have no idea.”

“So tell me about it.” You flop backwards into bed, the blankets swallowing you whole. 

Now it’s your turn to listen. From start to finish she fills in the gaps of all the unknowns, all the days spent apart from her. Her life outside of San Diego, her studies and her aspirations. Passion seeps through the line like sap, with it the stories of the highs and lows of California. 

Horror stories of junkies lingering like zombies on her walk to Uni reminded you to be grateful of Arcadia Bay’s quiet yet not-so-humble demographic. But then she sends you photos that make your very soul yearn- gorgeous oceans and skies that almost seemed too perfect to be real. 

Laying in bed, the night closes in on itself, lost in her world and living vicariously through her stories.