yo, please enjoy the GrahamScott~~~
I've been dying to give my gay babies some love. probably just a one-shot because I'm rather bad at continuing things, but ya never know.
warnings: profanity, mentions of self harm, brief mentions of suicide, mentions of drug use, alcohol, and obviously hella GrahamScott ;)
The drugs were wearing off.
The good and the sinful kind. (Don't ask which were which.) He hadn't taken his meds in over 36 hours, and the cocaine – hot damn, was it nice, but it sure didn't last very fucking long.
Even on his best days, this wasn't a very pleasant feeling. But add a phone call from dad into the mix, and you get an absolute emotional shit show.
He thought if could only shut his eyes hard enough, or hold his breath long enough, that maybe – just maybe – he would black out, and have the sweet pleasure of avoiding this conversation.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Nathan flinched and tore his cell phone away from his ear as his father continued to scream. "... so embarrassing ... my son isn't going to behave this way... ... how many strings I pulled?"
He didn't return the phone to his ear until the volume of his voice had dwindled from banshee-howling into a dull roar. He leaned against the wall, eyes hardening with every syllable his father spat out. His dorm wasn't a safe place – it couldn't be – because his father was goddamn everywhere.
"Nathan, how many fucking times do we have to have this phone call? I don't pay for you to go to this school so you can dick around and fail all your classes."
"I'm not failing anything," Nathan hissed, his chest clenching fearfully as soon as he uttered the words.
"Don't use that tone with me – since when are you so goddamn disrespectful?" He went on. "God, just once I'd like to get a positive email about you. Do you know what position this puts me in? I hate lying to your mother."
"Sorry." He mumbled, though his lips were trembling with every obscenity in the book. His entire mouth ached from holding in the words. He felt like he might vomit from the pressure.
"I'm afraid 'sorry' isn't going to raise your grades or improve your behavior."
"I know." His throat felt swollen.
"I know, Sir. And what the hell are you doing setting off firecrackers in the school bathroom? I seriously have to wonder if there's a single goddamn thought going through—"
(Bloodshot eyes – fragile heart, threatening to burst – running down the hallway – cackling. Finger tips burning from the fuses.)
(Trevor and Zach had bailed – leaving just Nathan to take the blame.)
("It's cool, bro," Trevor had said. "It's not like you were gonna get expelled. I mean, not with your dad, y'know. You're so fucking lucky.")
(so)
(fucking)
(lucky)
"I don't want to talk about it," he answered gruffly.
"Oh – and you think I do?" His father yelled; Nathan's ear drums felt like they were shrinking into oblivion. "You think I enjoy receiving all these emails about what a disruptive little shit my son is?"
Nathan slid down against the wall, his body trembling. "I-"
"It's fucking humiliating, Nathan! What the hell do I tell people when they ask how my son is doing at Blackwell? 'Oh, fantastic – he's liked by NONE of his teachers, he steals thi—'"
"OKAY!" Nathan shouted, the word scraping against his throat. "Fine! I get it! Wh-what do you want from me?"
"How dare you scream at me like that," His father growled, voice venomous. Fangs sinking in, deep. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can never just shut the fuck up—"
Nathan hurled his phone across the room, his chest heaving rapidly, sucking up all the oxygen in the room. Before long, it would all be gone.
His phone smacked against the wall nicely, the screen shattered all to hell. He let out a strangled cry, the sound so small and pathetic it almost embarrassed him. His head throbbed horribly, like the only way to soothe the pain was to carve it open with a blade and let everything seep out. Blood, brains, all of it. (Or just cut the whole thing off entirely – decapitated corpses don't have problems. You can't yell at someone who's got no head, no heartbeat. Someone who's dead.)
Instead, Nathan sucker punched the wall, wishing to bruise his hands until they were raw and bleeding. He swung his arm back again and again, unable to quit. The wall was his father, that much was clear. Every shot hurt Nathan so much more than the fucking wall—he couldn't put a hole through it, no matter how badly he wanted to.
"Stupid son of a bitch," he snapped. "Asshole. Asshole. YOU'RE SUCH AN ASSHOLE!"
He stood up on shaky legs, stumbling toward his desk in the corner of the room. Several open pill bottles glared at him – still hadn't taken his meds. His hands shot out, recklessly knocking over his once-meticulous set-up. The bottles toppled over, pills scattering the carpet. "I'm not crazy," he said weakly, his heart thudding wildly, the corners of his eyes burning. "I—I don't need ANY of this shit."
Nathan spun around, now face-to-face with the certificate he kept taped on the wall. "The Best Son in the World!" it read. He grinded his teeth, only hearing his father's voice reverberating around his head: Don't fuck it up... What the hell is wrong with you?... You're NOTHING without me, you understand?
A scowl tore his face apart as he snatched the paper from the wall. The sight of his father's faded blue signature nauseated him. Stomach convulsing, he began to shred the certificate, his trembling fingers never stopping until there was nothing left to tear, a pile of crumpled scraps lying at his feet.
But looking at his own destruction only made the wetness pooling in his eyelids overflow—the saltiness biting into his skin, eyes on fire. "No—I—I can fix it," he said feverishly, gathering the shreds from the ground—they fell through his fingers, fluttering lifelessly onto the carpet. His cheeks were drowning now, and he scrubbed at his face with his T-shirt.
You can never just shut the fuck up...
Nathan bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood—dug his nails into his temples until the flesh was screaming—rammed his fists into his own skull until he was dizzy. Anything to suffocate that fucking sound, the same voice that had lived in his brain for as long as he could remember. Even as a child, he would lie awake at night and hear—
Nathan flinched at the knock at the door.
It was almost… timid. Nothing like the obnoxious banging from idiots like Justin and Logan trying to score drugs.
But still.
"Beat it," he snapped. "I'm fucking busy."
"Yo… Nathan?" The voice was rather uncertain. "It's Warren…? You ah, said to drop by at 5:30?"
Shit. Fuck—he had asked the Graham kid to help him with Mrs. Grant's science class. And failing the exam next week wasn't likely to please his father much.
Before he could make a decision, though, the doorknob jiggled, and Warren stepped into the room.
Nathan was sitting on the floor near his bed, knees pulled to his chest and desperately choking down a sob. He didn't make eye contact with the boy standing in his doorway.
"Whoa... Um. I mean, um, do you want me to come back later…? It's just, Evan and I were gonna watch The Invisible Man at eight, so… You know – from H.G. Wells—"
"I know."
"Wh-what?" Warren stammered.
"I said, I know – I've got it in my collection." His voice was hoarse, his finger nails digging into his palms as he spoke. "Just—just sit the fuck down already, would you? We can do this fast."
"Right." Warren shut the door behind him, but then faltered. "Is the couch okay?"
"It's fine." He grumbled, knowing that eventually he would have to get up from the floor. But the thought of any more human interaction made him want to dry heave.
"Hey, uh… you okay there?" Warren asked, his voice softer than expected.
Nathan said nothing – he only pushed himself up, biting the insides of his cheek if only to keep from screaming. He gathered his chemistry textbook and notes from his desk and slumped onto the couch beside Warren.
Warren was watching him with these massive, concerned eyes – what the hell was that? Pity? Fucking hell.
"So... the test is on chapter eight, chemical reactions. Is there any stuff in particular you wanted to review?" He asked, pushing a hand through his dark, wavy hair.
Nathan squinted, rubbing his temples. He hadn't realized he was going to have to speak. "Sections three, four and five I guess," he rattled off in hopes that it would keep Warren busy.
"Oh! That's... half of them. Well – that's okay." He rapidly flipped through the textbook pages. "Section three is on chemical equations, so... let's see...okay. Are you able to write out skeleton equations?"
Nathan nodded his reply. It was more or less true.
"Cool beans. What about balancing equations? Those can be kinda tricky, but as long as you check your work, it's super easy. Here, I'll write you a practice one. Ah... double replacements can get sort of complex, so I—... what are you doing?"
Warren was staring at Nathan, baffled. Nathan had reached underneath the sofa and was now clutching a bottle of Tres Agaves tequila.
Nathan shrugged, yanking off the rubber stopper. "You want any?" he asked drearily, sucking down the bottle's crystal clear contents. His stomach stirred unpleasantly, but the inferno in his throat was raging and blissful.
"What—no." Warren frowned and tried to seize the bottle from his shaking hands. It went more smoothly than he'd predicted. There was no struggle, just – defeat. "Now, come on – what's... going on?"
"I need it." Nathan uttered. His eyes were burning again. "Please."
Warren shook his head and refastened the stopper. "No, you don't. Nathan, look, I… I can't leave until I know you're okay."
"Then get ready to rot in here." Nathan snapped. His fingers twitched involuntarily. "What the fuck do you care, anyway? You just want your cash." He had offered Warren $50 to help him study. What a fantastic idea that had been.
"Forget about the money, man. I was never gonna take it." Warren closed his chemistry book and set it aside. "I know we don't talk, but... you can still – you know, tell me about it. Whatever it is."
"YOU DON'T GET IT!" He shouted, his teeth chattering now. His eyes shiny with tears.
Warren winced, but still moved closer to him on the sofa. "Then help me?" He asked quietly, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand – if just to stop the shaking.
"S-stop pretending to give a shit." Nathan hissed, his face embarrassingly slick with tears and his gaze on the ground. "Everyone just wants money, or drugs, or—" He was breathing erratically now, chest swelling and all his words hopelessly caught in his throat.
Warren scooted closer to Nathan without hesitation. And after some deliberation, he started to rub his back slowly, remembering his mother doing the same for him as a child. Nathan shuddered at the initial touch, but eventually his breathing slowed, and the tears began to dry.
"I hope you don't still think I'm pretending." Warren said, his hand still resting on Nathan's back.
They sat like that for a while – he could feel Nathan's muscles softening, relaxing. It must have been a lifetime since he was allowed to take such deep breaths.
Warren continued to rub the boy's back as he looked around the room. It was a bit of a mess, with shredded paper scraps and pills—pills?—littered all over the floor. The bottle of tequila still stood at his feet. The study session was, undoubtedly, over.
"Are you going to tell anyone?" Nathan asked faintly.
Warren frowned. "You think I'm that big of an asshole?"
He pulled his hand away from Nathan's back after a few minutes. Nathan's head jerked up, and his hand searched for Warren's—he grabbed on, hard.
Warren felt his cheeks flushing a ferocious red, but squeezed back. Nathan was clutching so tightly he thought he was going to crush all the bones in his hand into dust—but if that's what he needed to feel some kind of all right, then it was fine by Warren. Anything was better than seeing him reduced to that - hunched over, shoulders shaking. It was a special kind of torture, although he couldn't quite place why it gutted him the way it did.
"Hey... you're not still interested in that tequila, are you?" Warren asked slowly, his eyes on the bottle now.
Nathan laughed darkly. "Why? You change your mind, Graham?"
"For science," he said, grinning. "Getting drunk is totally a chemical reaction, is it not?"
"You tell me. You're the science geek."
Nathan lay sprawled on the sofa, his limbs tingling, every molecule sizzling erratically.
Warren sat on the carpet, eyes slightly bloodshot, trying to balance one of Nathan's empty wine bottles on his head. He could not, and thus the bottle crashed onto the floor accordingly. Raucous laughter erupted from Nathan.
"H-hey – don't laugh at me." Warren pouted. "Ohh. I know. I bet you can't even name FIVE elements from the pear-odic table."
"Mmm... too easy." Nathan squinted in concentration. "There's oxagon... hy-hy…...hy drium? – What's so funny, Graham?"
Warren was biting his lip in a miserably hopeless attempt to suppress his laughter. "N-noooothing. Keep going."
"I was saying. Kryptonite, tha'one's easy." He said, waving his hand dismissively. "And then—"
"Hey – your hand." Warren frowned. "What happened?"
He was just now noticing the boy's knuckles, scratched and flaming red. Little flecks of dried blood mottled the skin.
Nathan drew his hand away, pressing it against his chest protectively. "It's whatever," he mumbled.
Warren tried using his hands to push himself off the ground. He rose unsteadily, and then stumbled backwards onto his ass again.
Nathan smiled weakly. "Well aren't YOU a bit—" He hiccupped. "Hammered. Need some help, Einstein?"
Warren stubbornly gripped the desk chair for support, and at last staggered onto the sofa. Nathan struggled to sit up and make room for him.
"Lemme see." He urged, gently. Nathan unenthusiastically let his hand dangle at his side.
Warren took his hand in his own, studying the bruises. "S' all swollen," he concluded. He raised the boy's hand to his lips and lightly pecked the battered, rouged skin. "S' better now. Dr. Graham in service."
Nathan wanted to laugh, but couldn't shake the astonishment of being treated so – so – gently. Now too heavy to hold up on his own, he dropped his head on Warren's shoulder.
Warren shut his eyes, feeling the heat in his cheeks when he thought about how much better this was than studying—undeniably quantified by a thousand. For a long time, he was lost in the smell of the boy's hair that tickled his cheek. Honestly, another day, all that fancy hair gel would have been nauseating. But right now, with Nathan's head nuzzled in his shoulder, he didn't mind at all.
Eventually, Nathan nudged his cheek. He looked so goddamn delicate – his face shiny with sweat, blue eyes pleading for something he was unsure of. Mouth trembling.
Warren faltered, but instead of letting his blank mind consume him, he just — he kissed him.
(shitfuc what if he didn't want me to do that—)
Their teeth clashing, tequila-stained mouths, the gnawing and biting of lips – it was hungry.
(where did the hunger come from?)
Nathan put his arm around Warren to draw him closer – much closer. Warren was practically in his lap now, fingers tangled in that goddamn fancy, gelled-up hair.
Warren was certain of the metallic taste in his mouth, and his lungs screaming for oxygen – but he kissed the boy, still.
Nathan kissed so aggressively his mouth throbbed, his teeth stung – but he devastated the boy, still.
Warren had started to suck on his jawline—his neck—fuck, his collarbone—but immediately pulled away when Nathan's hand began to creep up his thigh, the skin under his denim jeans prickling.
"Wh-aaat?" Nathan slurred, eyes fluttering in pitiful (adorable?) confusion.
Warren rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "I'm s-sorry, I just... we – you're—" he stammered. "I don't wanna... take advantage of you. Since you – I mean, we...'re drunk." He furrowed his brows. What had ran so eloquently (sort of) in his mind had babbled out of his mouth rather disastrously.
Nathan shook his head. "Doesn' matter. I'm always..." He faltered, as well. "If 'm not wasted, then I'm just coked up, or fucked up on pills. Never sober anyway." His knee started to bounce.
Warren almost bit his own tongue as he spoke, it killed him so badly. "I just... can't. I'm sorry. But – I don't have to go—if... you don't want me to?" His voice grew small. Shy, even.
Nathan narrowed his eyes, now. "What about your movie date with that hipster douche?"
He smirked. "You sound jealous, Prescott."
"What the fuck ever."
Warren put his hand on the boy's knee to stop it from shaking. "I'll stay – but only 'cause I don't wanna bruise your precious ego." He said, flashing a tantalizing grin.
Nathan rolled his eyes so hard he thought his eye sockets might fall right out – but said nothing in fear that Warren might change his mind. He just couldn't handle that.