I decided to try my hand at writing a Nave
that's been developing in my head for
quite a while now. This story has nothing
to do with The Double-D Dare verse.

Rave belongs to Kirakurry and Nat belongs
to CandyAcid! Enjoy~!


Old Habits Die Hard

Chapter One

Written by l0velyfe


"Can I buy you a drink?"

Nat grinned smugly, leaning his elbow on the marble counter as the busty blonde giggled flirtatiously. She fell for Nat's charm – as expected – hook, line and sinker. After downing her Cosmo, she pulled him out onto the floor. They danced; she grinded against him, he groped, she whispered dirty nothings into his ear over the beat of the music. Admittedly, Nat was disappointed when she left for the bathroom without him, but he figured he would score tonight nonetheless. And he had to confess; sex at home in his own bed was better than a blowjob in a cramped bathroom stall. Nat was quite satisfied with himself, having picked up such a hot babe without his right-wing man. Kevin would have come along, had he not been so busy with Double Dee. Nat brushed the twinge of jealousy off. He wasn't really into the whole relationship scene anyway. Why deal with all the emotional trauma when he could just have sex and say goodbye in the morning?

He sat at one of the tables, lazily sipping his Sex on the Beach, eyes roaming around the bar. He came to this place often – not as often as other places, but often enough to recognize the regulars. It had been a week since his last visit, though; mid-terms had come and gone now, and he was halfway through the first semester of his senior year. At the lethal age of 21, he no longer had to fake his ID to get into bars. It was a Friday night, and a whole weekend of freedom lay ahead of him.

"Hey handsome."

Nat grinned at the blonde, sipping his drink as she sat down and began to ramble on about her roommate. Nat nodded when prompted, half-listening as he eyes drifted across the bar freely.

A double-take was in order. There, across the bar and behind the counter, was a lanky brunet. Nat continued to stare. The hair was wrong; it was longer with streaks of teal, and back in a ponytail that curled around his neck to lie on the front of his shoulder. The stance was somewhat familiar. But there was no mistaking the scowl upon his face. Nat studied him for another minute, watching the fluidity of his movements and the annoyed expression that crossed his face when a customer made a comment directed at him, obviously flirting.

"You wait here, babe. As soon as I get back, we can blow this joint."

Leaving the blonde contented with her fruity drink, Nat crossed the dance floor, weaving between swaying bodies. Much to his liking, the brunet didn't notice his approach. He was busy mixing another drink, eyes downcast. Nat stalked up to the counter and leaned against it coolly.

"Let's you and me start a rave, yeah?"

Grabbing the bottle of Cognac, Rave poured it into the glass aggressively, livid. Fucking relentless assholes that had nothing better to do than harass the bartender. He had half a mind to add a dash of arsenic to the shithead's drink. 'Too bad I don't have any.'

It was at that moment when he felt a presence in front of him, at the bar. He prepared for another dumbass pick-up line, and one certainly came, but it was not the same voice. This voice was familiar, yet Rave could not place it right away. At the sound of his nickname – a name no one here knew – his head snapped up.

And who would be standing there at the bar but Nathan fucking Goldberg.

He was maybe an inch taller, now eye-to-eye with Rave. His sense of style really hadn't changed; he wore a disgustingly bright pair of red skinny jeans and a white V-neck shirt, complete with pure white Converse. His hair was roughly the same length – and, of course, the same obnoxious fucking color. He'd pierced his left eyebrow since Rave had seen him last... How long had it been, exactly? Three years?

"Goldberg." The same monotone, same bored and slightly agitated expression. Nat grinned. 'Some things never change.' "What the fuck are you doing in my bar?"

"Your bar? Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you'd bought the place." A lazy smirk perched itself upon his lips, and Rave grit his teeth. The fuckface was mocking him. "I've been here lots of times in the past few months and I ain't never seen you here."

"That's because I just started working here, numbnuts," he snapped, sliding drinks across the counter for the waitress to take to the floor. "Better pay than the coffee shop."

"So," Nat tapped his chin, "you're a student by day and a bartender by night. Sounds like a lot of work."

"What's it to you?" Rave hissed, growing tired of Nathan's persistent, probing questions.

"Aw, come on, James. I'm just tryin' to catch up with an old friend..."

"We haven't spoken for three fucking years, Goldberg. Why start now?"

The harsh words and tone combined with the glare shot his way made Nat wince. He was silent for a moment after that, watching Rave mix various drinks. Golden-brown eyes lifted to him questioningly. Why was he still here? With an exasperated sigh, Rave nodded his head in a direction across the floor.

"Your girlfriend's leaving."

Nat turned to look over his shoulder. The blonde, evidently tired of waiting, took the offered hand of a tall-dark-and-handsome and followed him to the floor. Nat turned back, smirking.

"She's not my girlfriend. Just someone I was gonna take home."

Rave's lip curled in distaste as he wiped the counter clean of a few spilled drops of alcohol. When he made no further comment, Nat decided to venture out on a limb.

"You got a girlfriend?"

A sour chuckle slipped from his lips. "Yes. His name is Samuel."

Nat smirked slightly. 'Shoulda seen that comin'.' "How long've you been seeing him?"

"We've been engaged for six months."

Nat wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it definitely wasn't that. 'Ouch.' Yeah, maybe Rave had always been there in the back of his mind, and yeah, maybe he'd always had some gay fantasy that they would eventually meet each other, hook up again, and live happily ever after. 'Plan B. What's Plan B? Fuck.'

"Well, we should meet up sometime. Have coffee or something."

Rave lifted lustrous eyes, examining the teal-haired man, and Nat prepared himself for a violent rejection. It never came. Instead, Rave sighed and snatched a napkin, then pulled a pen from the pocket of his apron. Nat leaned over the counter, trying to see what Rave was scribbling. The brunet shoved the napkin in his face, and Nat scrambled to grab it before it fluttered to the ground. Ten digits were written on the white paper.

"Call me whenever. I'm off on Sundays and Mondays."

The coy expression on Rave's face could have just been Nat's imagination, but he let himself have the moment of belief.

"See ya, Princess."

Leaving a probably-seething Rave at the counter, Nat turned and sauntered to the exit of the bar. Truth be told, he owed that tall guy his thanks, because now, he didn't think he could stand having anyone else in his bed but a certain snarky brunet.