Lazy Note: Hey there, Strangers. I'm here with an other requested GrahamScott fic. This was a prompt given by Kiichu on Tumblr. Seeing that I'm still on vacation and everything exciting has already happened, I've got more time to write until I go home. So, here we are, friend. :) I've also noticed that I've been writing in a Nathan sort of POV for the past few stories, so let's work with Warren today.

Prompt: Nathan getting seriously hurt and Warren finding him and helping him out.

Enjoy!

Dumbfounded

by

xLazyxWriterx

Summary: How could he feel such things within a short period of time?

Rating: T

It was not the highest literature he had ever read by any means, but it vanquished any sense of reality within his mind and instead plopped him into a world of uncertainty, desire, and complete heartache.

The cover wasn't gorgeous nor eye-catching, and the title one that he had heard many things about. Was he reluctant? Of course. The hardcover novel in his hands was spoken poorly of by many of his friends, as well as those who wrote of it within reviews. From all he had heard, it was a dark, unrelatable, one-dimensional story with a history of hatred and mistrust. Most barely made it through the first few chapters.

When he had passed by it that morning, it was the name that first caught his eye, and all rumors that he had heard flooded over him. He picked it up because there was a harsh scratch along the dust jacket, and it looked more intentional than un-so. He had ran his finger over the mark, a frown tugging at his mouth. When he turned it over to read the back, it was exactly what he had heard: dark and unrelatable.

He bought it, though. It had been the last copy on the bargain rack, and he knew no one else would take pity on it and give it a home. Was it dumb to feel sorry for a book? No, he didn't think so. Personally, he wanted to see what the hype was about. If he didn't like it, then it would sit on his shelf. At least it wouldn't be ridiculed within the bookstore, even if it was terrible.

It had started off slow, with plenty of doubt yet some curiosity. The style wasn't anything he was used to, but it did intrigue him. The flow of words was jumbled at times, and smooth at others. The more he read the more his curiosity was peaked, his fingers dug into the hardcover and his eyes darted along the disarray of thoughts rapidly. He could understand where the criticisms came from, because it was indeed a hard novel to digest and comprehend. There was times where confusion settled in his chest, and others where everything brightened and became clear. It was as if the novel itself were trying to push him away, but he persisted.

When he reached the middle, reality no longer appealed to him. As someone who enjoyed a wonderful fantasy in the form of a game, movie, or book, he had become familiar with the sensation of forgetting. But, this...this was different. But, how? He couldn't place his finger on it, exactly. It was there, though, within the pages of the novel in his grasp. He searched the words feverishly in hopes of an answer, but all that became apparent was the confusion.

He finished the novel in a little less than three hours. No bathroom breaks, and no other interruptions. He reread the ending line over a dozen times with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, still trying to comprehend what had happened to him in what seemed like such a short time. When he finally found the strength in his fingers, he closed the novel and ran a fingertip along the scar placed upon it. He blinked his tired eyes rapidly, finally aware of how exhausted he was. He held the book to his chest and sighed.

Warren Graham had never felt so dumbfounded over a book. Did he hate it? Yes. And no. But, he felt that his hate stemmed from misunderstanding and his own confusion. He could now definitely see why people hated it, and barely made it through the first couple chapters. Did he enjoy it? Yes. And no.

Warren made it through everything, but he felt...empty? Was that the way to describe it? Unsatisfied? Hm, no... How could he feel such things within a short period of time? This morning, before entering that bookstore, he had been in a content state of mind. He actually hadn't planned on buying anything. He just liked through the new titles and cringe at how expensive they were. And at how poor he was.

Then this damned book caught his eyes, and he pitied it. He actually pitied it. Now that he had read it, he pitied it more. How does that even happen?

Warren set the book on his nightstand, and swung his sleeping legs over the side of his bed. He turned his head back and forth while rubbing at his aching neck, and he stood. All the blood rushed back to his needle pricked legs, and he almost lost his balance. He felt the pressure building in his bladder, and he straightened his shirt out. Glancing up at the clock on his wall, he saw that it read a quarter past eleven. Damn, maybe it had been more than three hours.

Warren exited his room and made his way down the hallway to the bathrooms. The hall was empty, the only light illuminating it being the moon through the windows. Before entering the bathrooms, his eyes caught sight of a figure standing - or perhaps leaning - against the outside of the entry door. Warren didn't give it much thought; it was probably someone sneaking back in.

Warren sighed when he was finally relieved of the pressure, and he washed his hands. His thoughts were jumbled as he absentmindedly dried his hands. When he exited the bathrooms his gaze turned back to the doors where the figure was still there, seemingly unmoved. Warren wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. It was pretty late, after all, and his brain was practically fried.

Before he could turn away and head back to his dorm, the figure moved against the door, the noise startling Warren. Warren squinted through the darkness, trying to make out who it was. He doubted it was an intruder of any kind. The doors weren't locked, so what were they doing? Warren took a few steps closer and saw a head of disheveled hair and something red. The closer Warren got the more he could see, and he could see the figure trembling and he could hear heavy breathing.

Warren reached the door and looked through the window. His dark eyes widened, and he saw the bruised face of Nathan Prescott. Nathan was leaning against he door with his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes squeezed shut and bloodied lips parted in heavy gasps. His nose was dripping onto his white shirt, and his clothes were tousled with his red jacket hanging down his right shoulder. Warren could see the jacket was torn on the left shoulder. His face was twisted in pain, and Warren swore he heard a slight wince with every heavy breath.

What happened to him? Warren's eyes remained on Nathan's face, studying him. He didn't know Nathan very well, but he felt that he knew enough about him to want to stay far away. They guy was the leader of the Vortex club, and an asshole to everyone around him. He had no respect for anyone, and Warren never say him without a scowl on his face. Warren had heard that he dealed in drugs and all kinds of stuff, and that he was a hardcore partier. That wasn't Warren's scene, and avoided Nathan when he could.

Warren wanted to go back to his room and forget that he was seeing Nathan bloodied up against to doors to the boys' dorm, and he almost did. Warren had turned away, and attempted to take a step away, but the heavy, shallow breathing that was faint in his ear stopped him. He bit his lip, and peaked back at the door.

Nathan must have lost his strength because he began sliding down the door, and Warren heard him land with a light thud. Damn it, he couldn't leave him like that, even if it was Nathan. Who knows what happened to the guy, and Warren wouldn't feel right about leaving.

Warren pressed on the door, but it was blocked by Nathan's weight. He gave it a hard shove, opening it and emitting a groan from Nathan. Warren slid himself through the open space, and was hit by the fresh cool air of the night. The moon was bright in the contrast of the dark mass that was the night sky, and it made it much easier to see the surroundings of the boys' dorm.

Nathan didn't acknowledge him, only curled himself up against the door once more. God, he looked like shit. His jacket was partially off, and his shirt was stained with blood. His pants were torn at one of the knees, as though Nathan had repeatedly fallen. His lip was swollen, and his cheek bruised. Some of his light brown hair was matted to his head with blood while the rest remained messy. Warren stood there awkwardly, the sight sending a chill through his stomach. He was not entirely sure how to go about the situation. He slowly knelt down in front of Nathan's shivering figure, and he was hit with the scent of cigarette ash and burning metal.

"Nathan...?" Warren whispered. Nathan stiffened, and peaked an unfocused eye at Warren. That eye was bloodshot, and Warren could see that his other was swollen and bruising. The light blue color stood out against the reds of his eyes, and it slowly closed once more. He leaned his head against the door as if to pretend Warren wasn't there, tightening his arms around himself and inhaling deeply through his nose.

Warren bit his lip, and raised a cautious hand to press against Nathan's curled knee. "Hey, can you hear me...?" Warren asked softly.

"Fuck off." Nathan croaked, and his voice sent a shock through Warren's system. It was like he hadn't had any water for weeks. His lips were dry and cracking, and his tongue darted out to wipe at the dried blood. He hadn't bothered opening his eyes for Warren. He just remained there.

Warren thought about leaving once more. If Nathan didn't want his help, then that was his deal, right? If Warren lacked the compassion he had, he would've. Then, Nathan would sit there for the night, freezing and torn apart. Maybe he would be able to pull himself to his feet and make it to his room, but maybe not. Warren wasn't sure how he had even managed to make it to the dorms.

Warren's legs began to ache from the position, so he leaned down on his knees and reached over once more. He tugged at Nathan's sleeve, and Nathan swatted at him weakly. "Nathan, you can't stay out here-"

"Go away." Nathan's voice lacked the bite it had before, and was replaced with agony. Warren's eyes studied all of him, and he noticed that Nathan's jacket was torn on the right shoulder.

"No," Warren answered, and crawled to Nathan's side. Nathan moved as far away from Warren as he could, pressing himself harshly against the door. His face scrunched up in pain, and he hit it in his shoulder. His breathing became heavier and slow, as though he were trying to calm himself down. He stretched his left leg out, and winced.

God, what the hell happened to him? Warren didn't bother hiding the concern that lingered on his face as he tugged at Nathan's sleeve once more, pulling him to where they were facing. This time, both of Nathan's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and red. He glared at Warren, and opened his mouth to say something, but no words left.

"C'mon," Warren nudged him. "I'll help you to your dorm." Warren tried to make his voice calm and soothing, but it mostly came out as concerned and pitiful. Nathan shook his head, staring past Warren. Warren managed to get Nathan's arm around his shoulders, securing him and readying himself to take the extra weight.

"I'm gonna pull you up now, okay?" Warren asked. "If anything hurts too bad, let me know." Nathan didn't reply, so Warren went ahead and pushed the both of them to their feet. Nathan bit his bleeding lip to keep himself from yelping in pain, and his fists gripped at Warren and the wall to keep his balance. Warren could feel the cold sinking into him and he shivered.

Once fully standing, Warren waited for Nathan to catch his breath. He could feel Nathan shaking next to him, and he realized just how cold he probably was sitting on the cement. Luckily, it didn't seem like his legs were hurt all that much, aside from one of his knees, but Nathan could walk. Warren pulled the door open, holding it with his foot and he helped Nathan through. Once inside the warmth of the dorm, Warren felt Nathan exhale against him. Warren wrapped his arm around Nathan's waist while holding the arm that was around his shoulder, and the two slowly made their way to Nathan's room.

"Where are your keys?" Warren asked. Nathan grunted, using his free hand to reach into his falling jacket. When he found them, they slipped through his frozen fingers and hit the ground. "Here," Warren said, pressing Nathan up against the wall before bending down to retrieve the keys. Nathan kept Warren's shirt in his grip, and his hazy eyes followed his every movement.

Warren met his gaze, and tried to offer a comforting smile. "You okay?" Yeah, it was a stupid question, given the state Nathan was in, but what else was he suppose to say?

Nathan scoffed. Warren's smile faded, and he opened the door, swinging it all the way open. When Warren reached back for Nathan, Nathan released his shirt and dragged his feet inside. Warren followed and Nathan plopped down on his untidy bed while clutching his side and groaning. Warren flipped the lights on, and he could fully see the extent of Nathan's injuries.

Leaving the door open, Warren hurried back down the hall to grab one of the first aid kits from the storage closet. Bringing it back, he was actually surprised to see the door still open. He figured that Nathan was too hurt to slam it shut in his face.

Nathan was still on the bed, rocking back and forth slightly and muttering something to himself. Warren shut the door behind him, and approached Nathan. Nathan glanced up at him, and Warren frowned, setting the kit on the bed.

"Take your jacket off," Warren said as he pulled Nathan's desk chair over to the bed. When Nathan didn't move, Warren reached out. Nathan's still icy fingers gripped his wrist and what sounded like a snarl escaped his throat.

"Don't fucking touch me." Nathan's throat was raw and his eyes hard, puffy. Warren was taken back a bit, and curious of why Nathan would say such a thing when it was him who grabbed Warren. Warren sighed, sitting in the chair.

"Let me help you-"

"Just fucking leave, asshole."

Oh, he was the asshole? Yeah, no, that makes sense. Warren frowned, but reached for the kit anyway. He opened it, and saw the various items. He wasn't entirely sure where to start, so he pulled out the mini water bottle and offered it to Nathan.

Nathan glared at the bottle, and Warren was wondering why he had to be so damn difficult. Warren broke the seal to the bottle, pulling the cap off. "You either drink this now, or you suffer through a dry throat. You're choice." Warren said. After a moment, Nathan snatched the bottle from his hand, spilling some of it. He took a large gulp, and from the sound of it, it burned Nathan's throat and he choked. Nathan coughed, water dripping from his busted lip.

"Slow down," Warren said. "Take sips." Nathan rolled his eyes, but did what Warren said. He continued to sip from the bottle as Warren dug through the kit. He pulled out some bandages, antiseptic wipes, ice pack, aspirin, a pair of disposable gloves, and antibiotic cream. He set the items on Nathan's nightstand, and set the rest of the kit on the floor. He pulled the latex gloves apart, stretching them out before slipping the on. He opened one of the antiseptic wipes before turning back to Nathan.

Nathan had finished the water, and tossed the empty bottle on the floor. His scowl was deep as Warren repositioned himself in the chair. "You're gonna have to come here, okay?" Warren asked, ready for another insult. Instead, Nathan hesitated before leaning forward. He kept his eyes averted down towards his hands. Warren was relieved that he was cooperating; the sooner this was over, the sooner Warren could get back to bed and contemplating the meaning of that damned book.

Warren started at Nathan's forehead, pressing the wipe against the cut. Nathan jerked back at the stinging, and Warren had to grab a hold of his chin to keep him from moving around. He cleaned up the cut, and it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. He rubbed lightly at Nathan's brow, and the scent of alcohol and iron swirled in his nostrils. Warren moved down to Nathan's nose, cleaning the crusted blood from his skin. Nathan's eyes were squeezed shut, and Warren tried to be gentle. He didn't need to hurt him any more than he already was.

Once his nose was clean, Warren tossed the dirty wipe in the trash and opened another. Warren cleaned the rest of the blood that stained Nathan's lips, chin, and neck. Nathan was cleaned up. Well, for the most part. Warren could still see Nathan's hair was matted with the blood from his forehead, but figured the area to be too sensitive, and he didn't want to hurt Nathan.

Tossing the wipe away, Warren grabbed the antibacterial cream. "I dunno if this will sting or not." he said, honestly. Nathan raised his shoulder in a small shrug, and Warren smeared some of the cream on Nathan's cut forehead. Nathan twitched a bit, but didn't show any other signs of discomfort. Warren wondered if the cream was just for disinfecting cuts; the bruises form in Nathan's cheek were darkening and Warren could feel that it throbbed painfully.

Now, what kind of band aid did one use for a cut like that? There were three different bandages, and it made Warren aware of how poor his medical skills were. He made a mental note to become more familiar with the practice. Y'know, just in case his pity gets in the way and he has to patch Nathan Prescott up again. After all, who else would help him? The guy was an asshole...

...An asshole with swollen eyes, a busted lip, a bruising cheek and was still trembling within the heat of his own room.

Warren pulled out a strange looking band aid; it was like two box shapes attached with a line. Warren had seen them before, and he was sure - kind of - that they were used for cuts and helping them heal faster. Probably. He peeled the band aid apart, and carefully secured it over the cut.

Nathan's eyes opened, and they seemed more focused than before. That was good, right? Warren pressed the icepack against Nathan's cheek, and Nathan jumped back, hissing at the burning cold. "Sorry," Warren apologized. "This helps with swelling." Probably.

Nathan snatched the icepack from Warren, and he cautiously pressed it to his cheek, wincing and biting is now bleeding lip. Once Warren spotted the dribble of red, he instantly grabbed a clean antiseptic wipe and pressed it to the puffy lip. Nathan flinched back, as if burned by the touch. Warren's wrist was caught by cold fingers.

"Well, don't bite at it." Warren said, freeing his wrist and dabbing some of the cream on his finger. Nathan tensed under his tough, and Warren could feel his heat - how could his mouth be so warm when the rest of him was frozen? - through his latex gloves. The icepack slipped out of Nathan's hand and landed beside him, and Warren tore his eyes from the split lip and met Nathan's. Nathan inhaled quickly, holding it in his bubbling chest. Warren blinked in confusion at Nathan's sudden surprised expression, and slowly removed his finger. Warren realized just how close the two of them were. After all, Warren had to be close to inspect the injuries in the first place, right?

Warren scooted back in the chair, tugging the latex gloves off and stretching his finger out, all while avoiding Nathan's eye. "Feel any better?" Warren asked.

"No." Nathan replied, his voice much clearer than before. Nathan attempted to lean down on his side before Warren stopped him.

"Wait, here." Warren stood and reached for the red jacket.

"Get out." Nathan grumbled, pulling away.

"No, just hold on." Warren snapped back. "You're gonna be uncomfortable-"

"Who gives a fuck...?" Nathan's voice was exhausted.

Good question. Warren frowned, his patience thinning. He jerked Nathan back up his jacket, pulling it off quickly. Once it was off, Nathan fell back, his upper body on the bed with his legs dangling over the side. Warren folded the jacket and set it on the chair, returning it to it's original place.

It took a while, and with lots of struggle, but eventually Nathan was laying on his bed normally. God, Warren was weary, and his body felt heavy with lack of energy. The second Nathan's head hit his pillow, he was out. Warren rubbed at his heavy eyes, and cleaned up the first aid kit, leaving it on Nathan's night stand.

Warren wasn't sure why - seriously, why? - but he didn't leave Nathan's room. No, he set himself on Nathan's couch that was set on the opposite wall of the bed, and watched Nathan's chest rise and fall. Part of him was afraid to leave Nathan in such a condition. What if he had a concussion or something? Or had a seizure or choked on his own vomit or something else? Warren could of taken Nathan out to seek a doctor, but he was pretty sure that Nathan would've just thrown a tantrum. After all, Nathan Prescott was too good for doctors...

...Probably.

Warren wondered what the hell happened to him? Who would beat someone up like that? Who would beat Nathan up like that? Sure, the guy had plenty of haters who would love to take a swing at him, but that was all talk. When it came to actually physically hurting someone, they would all stick their noses up and refuse. Not only that, but Nathan had power. Well, his family had power. Nathan could probably get away with murder if he was careful enough.

Warren leaned back into the comfy couch, leaning his head back and resting his eyes. He tried to think of his book - that damned book - but his thoughts were clouded over with images of a cowering Nathan; bloodshot eyes, bruised flesh, cracked quivering lips, blood, tightening grip, fear. God, what happened...?

Somewhere in his thinking, he dozed off.

He was roused by a kick at his foot and a harsh, "Hey." Warren felt cramped and stiff, and he stretched himself out before opening his eyes. He looked up at Nathan, who was standing over him. Nathan's expression was blank, his arms crossed. Confused, Warren forgot where he was. He peered at the darkness through the window; it couldn't have been morning time yet, right? When it occurred to him, he jumped to his feet.

"Hey, what're you-"

"Didn't I tell you to leave?"

Really? He was this ungrateful? Warren sighed. "Dude, you should be in bed." Warren motioned to the bed.

"Says who? You?" Nathan scoffed. Nathan turned from Warren, and headed over to his desk. He unfolded his jacket and inspected the tear along the left sleeve, heaving a heavy sigh. He threw the red mess down the floor. "Fuckin' dammit!" Nathan reached to rub at his face, but hissed in pain, remembering his condition.

Warren grabbed the not-so-icy icepack from the nightstand and offered it to Nathan. Nathan ignored the gesture. A very thin line, his patience was.

"I'm trying to help you-"

"Oh, fuck off."

"Really, dude?" Warren snapped. "I could've just left your sorry ass out there to freeze, but I didn't! And you're gonna be an asshole and talk to me like that?" Warren coughed a dry laugh.

"Yeah, I am. What do you want?" Nathan demanded, facing Warren once more.

"What do I want? How about a thank you?" Warren replied bitterly. "It's not that hard."

"Right," Nathan sneered, rolling his eyes. He looked out the window, his expression visibly changing. No longer bitter, but thoughtful. Silence enveloped them, and Warren told himself to just leave. He earned his good karma, and he could go back to his dorm and sleep. His legs didn't move, though. He remained there, glowering at Nathan.

Warren still had questions, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his days pondering what happened to Nathan on that night of confusion. Maybe he could help the guy and he would be less of an asshole. It was unlikely, but worth a shot. He also felt guilty for snapping at Nathan, even though he shouldn't.

"What happened?" Warren asked, keeping his tone soft.

"Just leave." Nathan ignored the question.

"I will when you tell me what happened."

"Fuck off." Nathan's tone was getting stronger.

Warren held his ground. "Why do you have to be like this? Jus-"

"You don't know shit about me!" Nathan exclaimed, slamming his fist down on his desk. Warren just a bit at the sound, wondering if anyone could hear them. The walls were paper thin, but they weren't soundproof either.

Warren let out an exasperated sigh. "So, tell me!"

Nathan's whirled around and took a few steps closer, harshly staring Warren in the eye. "Why? So that you can pretend to care?" Nathan asked, sourly. "Hm? I don't owe you shit, fucker! Now, get the fuck out of my room!" Nathan grabbed at Warren's shirt, and Warren pushed back, finding a sensitive spot that caused Nathan to let out a painful groan and clutch his side.

Warren froze, studying the area that Nathan was grasping. It was close to his left armpit, and it clicked with Warren that he was probably bruised in more areas than just his face.

Warren reached out and grasped Nathan's shoulder. "Look, I dragged your ass in here, bandaged you up, and you're saying that I don't care? Not gonna lie, but I'm a bit insulted." Warren told him, letting go of his shoulder. "Believe it or not, I do care-"

"No, you don't." Nathan cut him off, moving away and sitting on his bed slowly. He continued to clutch his side as he stared down at his feet. "No one gives a fuck."

"Who hurt you?" Warren tried again, approaching Nathan. Nathan shook his head.

"Druggie pricks." Nathan cringed. "Messed up their deal. Pissed 'em off."

"So, they beat the shit out of you?" Warren was astonished. A drug deal? Of course, the dude was involved in all that shit. He dealed around school; Warren knew this, but he was still surprised.

"They like their shit," Nathan stated as if it were painfully obvious. "They don't fuck around."

"...How many?"

"...Three? I dunno..." Nathan rubbed at his temples, and Warren handed him the lukewarm icepack. This time, he accepted it without a fuss. "Bastards..."

"Where?" Warren wondered if he was asking too many questions, but he wasn't going to stop if Nathan would continue to be so cooperative.

"Parking lot." Nathan winced, placing the pack directly over his cheek. Nathan's light blue eyes darted up to meet Warren's dark ones, and Warren could see the shadows cast under them, and the mixture of emotions swimming within. Warren wasn't sure how to take it. "Are you satisfied?" Nathan asked mockingly. He carefully rose to his feet. "Now leave."

Warren furrowed his brows. "Why do you do this? Drugs, I mean. Why deal?" The question caught Nathan off guard; Warren could see it in his expression.

"None of your fucking business, dickhead." Nathan snarled, and Warren felt that he hit a nerve.

"Nathan, look at yourself! You're a goddamn mess!"

"You have some fucking nerve to come in here and-"

"Help you?" Warren cut him off. "When was the last time someone helped you?"

Nathan was silenced, and all that remained was the anger that swam around him. It was bubbling up in Warren's chest. A strange feeling, and Warren couldn't be bothered to think of a way to describe it. It was as if everything held back within his throat was released.

"You were assaulted, Nathan. Beaten! And over drugs! It's not worth it, man. What if I didn't find you? What if those guys came back for round two? Dude, you need to take care of yourself."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Listen to me! Your parents-"

"Don't even fucking go there, motherfucker!" Nathan was on his feet, and right in Warren's face. The feeling was pumping through Warren's veins, and he spoke without thought.

"Your parents can help you!"

"Oh yeah! They can help me, alright!" Nathan clenched both his fists in Warren's shirt, tugging him forward. "'Oh, look at how fucked up our kid is! Just give him another pill and then maybe he'll be fucking normal! If that doesn't work, we'll just lock his ass up until he's fixed! He doesn't have problems! Everyone else does!'"

Warren jerked back against him, but Nathan was so fixed on Warren that he must of forgotten the pain on his body. Nathan held on, though.

"Asshole isn't around and too busy screwing everybody else, and the wonders why I'm fucked up! Can't have that! Not to the precious Prescott name!"

"Let me go-!" Warren struggled.

"You think he cares that I got the shit kicked out of me!? That I'm a fucking mess!? He'd fucking thank them! They saved him the trouble of getting his own son's blood on his hands!" Nathan was shaking Warren now, his eyes swelling and his breathing harsh against Warren's face.

"Stop!" Comprehending the situation was impossible at this point.

"Goddamn! I bet he'd even take it a step further! 'Oh, no! My precious son was hurt by druggies! Let's ALL pull together to make this shithole a better place for our child!' Yeah, use me to sell yourself, you sadistic fucker! It's worked before, hasn't it!"

Warren was dizzy, and all air was knocked from his lungs when Nathan shoved him down on the couch, forcing himself on top. Panic settled in Warren's chest, both from terror and Nathan's fists buried in his shirt. He kicked his legs, but they were secured by Nathan's weight.

"I'm so sick of it! That asshole doesn't fucking know! Those druggie asshole should've just did him a favor and slit my throat! Then he'd never have to look into the eyes of a fucking failure! What's a little more blood!? He could paint the bay red with with his hands alone!"

Wetness dripped onto Warren's face, and it's what stopped his struggle. Nathan was no longer shaking Warren, but tremors occupied his fingers and ran through his whole body. Nathan's eyes were squeezed shut, and he was rocking himself back and forth.

"N-Nathan...?" Warren's voice came out as gasp.

"Everything he touches perishes...everyone...it'll all be red..." Sobs shook through Nathan, and his lip had split open again. Warren rapidly searched his face, breathing heavy.

What...what was this? Warren couldn't digest it - any of it. He could feel the vibration of Nathan through his clothes, and it chilled his insides. Never before had he seen a sight so sad and distraught. It brought on a heartache that seemed familiar, but turned to be more intense. Drops continued to drip on to his cheeks, and Warren's fingers reached out to touch the swelling bruise placed upon Nathan's cheek.

Nathan flinched at the touch, and his red eyes fluttered open, confused and afraid. His chest bounced with each breath, and his fingers released their grip on his shirt. Horror shone through Nathan's expression, and he was off Warren in an instant.

The pressure was lifted, and Warren remained there a moment. Was reality even a thing anymore...? The scene that had unfolded before him became a whispered memory, and he was no longer exhausted. In fact, he never felt so awake. He rose himself off the couch, and saw Nathan sitting on the bed, knees curled to his chest and his face buried within them.

There is was again; that feeling deep in his rapid heart, and once more he was dumbfounded. "Nathan...?"

"Leave." Nathan's voice was muffled by his arms.

Warren shook his head, and stood from the couch on to his needle-pricked legs. He stood over Nathan, and muttered, "No."

Nathan rose his head, his chin quivering and obvious embarrassment playing in his features. "I-I'm sorry...sorry." Nathan choked. Warren's throat tightened, and he reached for Nathan's arm.

"C'mon," he encouraged. "C'mon..."

Nathan resisted, but Warren was able to pull him off the bed and onto his feet. Warren wrapped his arms around Nathan's waist, and buried his face in his shoulder. Nathan instantly stiffened, but soon relaxed into Warren, cautiously wrapping himself around him as well. He grimaced, remembering the pain inflicted on his body. His fingers clawed at Warren's back, and pressed his face into the crook of his neck, sighing.

Warren pulled back. "You okay...?"

A small, sad smile pulled at Nathan's lips. "No." he whispered. His hot breath hit Warren's cheek, and it flushed in response. Warren cast his gaze down towards the blood that was seeping from Nathan's lip, and used his thumb to lightly wipe it away. Nathan's eyes narrowed at him, but not in a glare. When Warren met his hazy gaze, tingles shocked his chest and his stomach tightened. His thumb paused against Nathan's lip, and without breaking eye contact, Nathan pursed his lips against the pad of Warren's thumb. His thumb twitched in response, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He swallowed harshly as Nathan grasped his wrist, lightly this time. Uncertainty rang in his ears, but desire toned it out.

How could he feel such things within a short period of time...?

Warren pulled his thumb away, and replaced it with his own parted mouth. On departure, their lips made a light noise. Nathan's tongue darted out across his lip before pressing back into Warren. He sucked Warren's lip between his own, giving it a teasing nibble. All his nerves were aflame, and he ran his fingers along Nathan's arms to the back of his neck. He pulled away with a sigh, face warm and thoughts scattered.

All sense of reality had been vanquished.

Do they make casts for broken fingers? Because I need ten.

Thanks for reading!

xLazyxWriterx