title: confession
author: newtypeshadow
fandom: Sky High
pairings: Will/Layla, Warren/Will
disclaimer: The charactes and settings of Sky High belong to their respective owners. None of those owners is me. This story was written for enjoyment, not for profit.
notes: i was trying to write something of them in high school. hopefully it's not too ooc--it's been a while since i saw the movie.

"Does it ever bother you that we're like something out of a Stephen King novel?" Layla asks. The three of them are lying on Will's roof. Will is in the middle, Warren and Layla stretched out on either side.

"What, you mean like Firestarter?" Warren asks.

"Or, like, Carrie. I saw that movie once. It was freaky."

"We're not really like that," Will says through a yawn. "I mean, she was c-crazy."

"Two yawns in one sentence? I think someone's up past his bedtime."

"Shut up, Warren."

"Hey Will, remember when we used to have to go to bed at seven?"

Will shifts, puts both arms behind his head and raises his eyebrows. "We were seven."

"I know, but it was still weird, going to bed when the sky was still light out."

"Yeah." Will smiles. "Remember my mom would read to us?"

"Yeah, but only one story."

"And only if we promised to stay in bed."

"Yeah."

"I never had a bedtime," Warren says after a moment, breaking their reverie.

"Why not?" Will asks.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because my dad didn't believe in caging me."

The other two supers are silent at this. Warren doesn't often speak of his dad, except in passing comments like this. They wait to see if he'll say more, but nothing comes. Finally, Layla says, "What did your mom think?"

"Same."

"Oh."

Warren shifts, closes his eyes. "Don't you have to go soon?"

"I live here."

"I was asking Layla, you dork," he snarls.

"Someone's cranky," she mutters. Will chuckles softly and Warren slaps his stomach.

"Hey! She said it!"

"You're closer."

"I do have to go though."

Will sits up, dusts off his hair. "Ok. I'll walk you out."

"I won't. You two lovebirds have fun."

Layla and Will frown at him. "We're not dating anymore," she says, slipping her green satchel over her head. "You know that. Why do you always act like we are?"

Warren shrugs but doesn't open his eyes. His leather jacket scrapes softly against the rooftop.

"Warren—"

Will stops her with a hand on her arm. They climb in the window and soon Warren hears them talking on the front step. Their voices are low, and he can only hear their esses distinctly in the short flow of words. He hears his name once, from Layla, but other than that he really doesn't care what they're saying. He looks up at the stars, obscured by city lights and a few clouds, and hopes to see a shooter.

Will's head pokes out the window a few moments after the talking stops and the door closes. "Hey Warren, come inside?"

Warren raises an eyebrow and cranes his neck. Will's face is upside down, his hair flopping up instead of down. "Is it your bedtime or something?"

"No. I thought you might want to talk inside."

"I like it out here."

"You said we would talk after she left. Well, she left. It's time to talk."

"Fine!" Warren shoves himself up and climbs inside, bumping Will as he slides into the room. He doesn't apologize. "Whadda you wanna know, Stronghold?" he asks, crossing his arms.

Will sits on the bed and motions to the weight machine for Warren to sit. Warren prefers to stand, and says so in the crossing of his legs as he leans against the windowsill. Will sighs. "Look, why do you keep talking about Layla and me like we're dating? We've been broken up for weeks!"

"You don't act like it."

"It was an amicable break up. Why would we stop being friends?"

"I'm not saying you should. I just don't understand how you could just not be dating."

"What is there to understand? We broke up."

"But you act the exact same way you did while you were dating."

"Well, that was our problem."

Warren stops short. "What?"

"Sit down." Will's voice is tired. He cards his hair out of his face, tugging when he reaches the ends as if to keep it in place. His hands slap his thighs when they drop back into his lap, and he slumps forward. The hair falls right back into place, but he doesn't mess with it this time.

Warren feels bad. He slips off his jacket, hangs it over the end of the bar (650 pounds + jacket), and straddles the bench. "What is it? Why did you really break up? Because I really don't buy that you just weren't right for each other."

"I'm—well, ok. I was right for her. Sort of. But she wasn't right for me."

"Sort of?"

"Sort of."

Will looks anxiously at the door and back at Warren. He sees the open window and shuts it. Instead of sitting down again he paces by his bedroom door. It's the only empty space in the small room. "Do you promise not to tell? I mean, swear on your dad you won't tell anybody? And I'm including your mom and the guys and your cat and especially my parents in this—"

"Will, what is it? I won't tell—you know that. What's your problem?"

"It's not a problem! It's not…It's not." He stops, folds his hands behind his back. For a moment it's like he's not even in the room, he's so quiet, still.

"Will?"

"I'm gay."

"What?"

"I'm—"

"No, I heard you the first time."

Will looks hesitantly at Warren, but the frown on Warren's face is his thoughtful look and gives nothing overtly away. "So?" His voice is strangled, small.

"Oh, it's not a problem. I'm just wondering why you dated Layla in the first place then."

Will sighs and sits back down on the bed in a huff. "I don't know. I really liked her. I still do. I love her. It was just…the wrong kind. Is the wrong kind. I don't know."

Warren's hands go up. "I got it! I got it. Ok. So—no lovebird comments anymore?"

"Right. It's really uncomfortable, 'cause neither of us can say anything at school. And you didn't know yet and I couldn't just come out and—"

"Come out in school."

"Yeah. I mean, what?"

"I was finishing your thought."

Will smiles sadly. "Layla used to do that."

Warren feels awkward. His hands feel big, knobby. He twists his knuckles with his fingers, as if they will offer him the next words to say. "So…how did you know?"

Will's smile droops. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Warren frowns. "You like someone, don't you."

"Warren—"

"Ok, ok. Uh…where am I going to sleep?"

Will taps the floor with his foot.

"Great." And Warren is back to being the slightest bit surly. It is reassuring to Will, because this he is used to, this he can deal with. Warren catching on is something he is terrified of.

But Warren goes to sleep that night without anymore questions, and in the morning Will wakes up to find him quietly reading a comic book from Will's shelf, the X-Men comic he thought he'd lost. Will says as much, and Warren says, "You're just messy. You wouldn't believe half the things I've found in this room."

Will's heart stops.

Because now he remembers where he put that comic. It was right next to his shoebox of memories: friends, clippings, family, all had things left haphazardly in that box. And everything Warren was on top. As it has been for weeks. Will remembers exactly what picture lies on top of the rest: the one of Warren with his arm around Will's shoulder, smiling for once, hair pulled back and head tilting toward Will just as Will's head tilts toward Warren. Will's arm is around Warren's waist. It was taken after they won the Save the Citizen tournament last year, and Will looks at it because of the situation it suggests. Not that it's true, but he wishes much more than he'll ever admit…

Warren doesn't say anything, but his eyes are soft. "I'm hungry," he says finally, breaking the silence.

"Oh. Oh, uh…I can…I think Mom's up." Will crawls off the foot of his bed so he doesn't step on Warren, and opens his door. "You coming?"

Warren is already sliding out of his sleeping bag. His gray sleep shirt has ridden up a little ways, and his stomach is tan as his arms. Will catches a glimpse of hip bone and stalls. When he looks up again, Warren is grinning smugly. Will glares at him and steps into the hallway.

Warren follows, walking close because he can.