No one put much thought behind it.
But, really, who would? All that mattered was the fact that he was immortal. The pain and experience of f***ing dying didn't matter.
That's how humans are.
He couldn't really talk. He knew he was a hypocritical, dickish, manwhore who didn't often think of others... but the experience of dying does something to a guy.
It made him realize that he wouldn't be able to hide behind snide and perverted comments for the rest of his life.
His long, long, long, f***ing endless life.
He joked about things, even the things he didn't feel like joking about. Joking about everything made it look like he didn't care.
And, preferably, he'd keep it that way. He had a reputation to uphold.
He sometimes thought, mind you, that people didn't really think about the effort it took to be immortal.
Haha, who was he pissing on? It took no effort at all, well, mentally. But when did anything he do take mental effort? Immortality just kind of happened on it's own.
Exhaustion followed, though. 'Cause, it'd be kind of cliched if he managed to come back to life all the time without feeling anything. It was exhausting and usually left him in a serious state of fatigue.
He didn't show this though. No reason to, really. So what if it was a little tiring? He was sure no one really cared that he was a little down on energy.
The other side-affect, though, was the f***ing pain. Most of the time, it left his muscles feeling as though they had been ripped from his bones, and thrown under a stampede of wild donkeys, and then, like someone had attempted to reattach them using Elmer's glue. And the area where he had been wounded usually hurt like h**l too.
Not pleasant.
The pain part of it all, others did know about. After being impaled the second time, it actually hurt more than it had the first time.
The next day, during their community service work, he had stumbled, a hand flying to his stomach, a small pain filled whimper escaping his mouth. Everyone acted like they hadn't seen a thing. But he knew.
He knew.
From the pitying glances they sent his way, to the multitude of "You feeling 'ite?"s he received that day.
He blew them all off. Remember, reputation to uphold.
He wished, Jesus, did he ever wish, that he wasn't so full of himself sometimes.
A single hug would probably brightened the next ten years of his life alone. Just one hug.
One sign of caring.
One sign.
He knew his friends cared, and they would probably show care toward him, if given the chance.
Which never happened.
'Cause he was a dick like that.
A 'wankah' in the mighty words of Kelly.
A prick in terms with everyone else.
But, he was just a kid still. Barely into his twenties. No idea what to do with his life, and stuck with the responsibility of being immortal.
F*** the world.
Who'd think he, of all people, would one day have a deflated ego.
Him? With a deflated ego? The anti-Christ must be coming!
But, seriously, it wasn't something anyone expected.
He knew it'd happen though. He'd buried too much inside of himself for too long.
Way too long.
He needed a break.
He needed a break.
He needed a f***ing break, G*dD*mm*t!
So one day, mind you, he was still living in the community center, he just broke down.
Dropped his head into his hands with a mighty sigh, drawing his knees to his chest.
So absorbed in himself, he didn't hear the door open, or hear the footsteps on the floor.
However, the group of four incredibly special young delinquents who had just walked through the door did hear something.
A sob. A dry heaving sob.
Coming from the stairs.
Where, if they weren't mistaken, a body curled into a ball, greatly resembling a friend of theirs, was shaking, trembling with the effort of the sobs escaping his body.
Well, s**t.
None of them were good with this... comforting crap.
They sent a nervous glance at one another, receiving nothing more than a shrug in response.
So, in an unspoken mutual agreement, they began to climb the stairs. Quietly. No need to stomp their way to the sobbing man.
At the top of the stairs, the Irish youth they had come to know as a friend had still not noticed their presence, or was not showing that he knew they were there.
And, knowing him, he'd never cry in front of them.
Probably not in front of anyone.
Unsure what to do now, the four stood still, staring at their clearly distraught friend.
Kelly was the first to step toward the man, quietly taking a seat next to him on the cot, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
He started, turning to her with red-rimmed, clearly shocked eyes.
He said nothing. No smart aleck remark would hide the fact that he had been crying.
Kelly simply smiled, a oddly soft smile not seen often on the face of the aggressive British youth, pulling her friend into an awkward hug.
He, not being sure what to really do, awkwardly brought his arms around her to return the hug.
But, fluff was not their kind of thing. So the hug lasted a total of three very awkward seconds.
When the two pulled away from one another, he ran a hand through his hair, now noticing the presence of his other friends. Curtis was leaning up against the wall, Simon stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, and Alisha stood at Simon's side, close enough to tell that the two of them were intimately involved without them actually touching.
He gave his friends an awkward, mostly empty, smile, dropping his head into his hands.
No one said anything, until one decided to break the heavy silence that had settled over the group.
A voice, one that came from a person that would never have been expected to break a silence had it been a month before, spoke up.
"Sometimes, life gets to the point where you desperately need a friend to be there for you. When it feels too depressing to be on your own. When you just need to know someone cares. And there is absolutely no reason to be ashamed of so."
Simon's voice was surprisingly loud in the silence of the community center.
"Thanks... Barry," The now less distraught man muttered, a sincere smile alighting his face. "Sounds just like something a virgin would say."
"But..." Simon began, reverting back into his old self, awkwardly finishing his sentence. "I am no longer a virgin."
"Of course you're not." A smirk. "And I think I felt some hidden, lusty emotion hidden in that hug, Kelly."
"Shut oop, yu dick face." But she smiled, glad her friend was back to his normal self, shoving his shoulder.
"You will never be right in the head, will you?" Curtis asked the Irish youth, slightly shaking his head in response.
"No, he will not," Alisha started. "He'll always be the insane, pervert that we've grown to deal with. But we're still not friends," She told the man sitting on the cot. He smiled, the grin reaching his eyes.
"I think you really do like me, Alisha. How could you not like all... this," He said, motioning to himself, wiggling his pelvic region slightly (which is incredibly difficult to do while sitting).
The group chuckled, shaking their heads.
"Yu'll always be a wankah," Kelly said, getting to her feet, kicking her friend's shin in the process. He yelped, pouting his lips in response, pulling his leg to his chest.
"I feel wounded."
But, in truth, that was the best he had felt in awhile.
Brought out of his slump by one hug, a generous comment, and a few snide ones.
That was all he needed.
The weight lifted off his shoulders, the thought that he was immortal, and homeless, and overall kinda screwed finally escaped his mind.
He was Nathan Young, and life was pretty damn... livable.