Chapter Text
It’s seven in the morning when Warren wakes up, bright and early with the birds chirping outside his window.
He lays in bed, covers pulled over his head, and groans at the light that manages to invade the microscopic holes in his duvet. He has half the mind to close his blinds, the ones he left open when he hurried to the party yesterday night, trying to sneak past the campus security. Under the warmth of at least a dozen blankets, his body feels light, truly soaking in the afterglow of a night of partying. A delighted sigh leaves him as he pushes the mountain of blankets off, revealing himself to the sunlight seeping into his room; which is when the sharp headache that makes his vision unfocused and his head throb hits him.
“Jesus christ,” he mutters, turning to his Back-To-The-Future themed calendar, squinting at the blue printed numbers. It reads December 16th, a Saturday, and the smell of beer sneaks its way to his nose. He remembers he drank a lot, he knew he shouldn’t have, because none of the fun from the party was worth this nagging pain.
Fun?
He hears the hum of his laptop.
What fun?
The unfinished thought makes him stagger up in his bed, the aching pain greets him and he has to close his eyes to will it away. What did he do last night? He doesn’t remember a lot of it, not after he talked to Dana, but some parts of the night come to him faster than others. He knows he was with a boy, that he rode in his car, and that…
He tries to think. He digs through his big, nerd brain and tries to remember. It must be important, he knows it is, but no matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to figure it out. The small memory journey leaves him tired, he debates on sleeping again, not until he sees the small bottle of pills underneath his pile of jeans in the dark corner of his room. He groans as his head keeps striking him with thumps, there’s no way he’s walking that far, not when he feels like absolute trash. He pulls his knees upward, into his chest, and stares outside his window, seeing none of the boys outside. It looks dead, like most things in Arcadia Bay.
Dead, it rings a bell, dead, dead, dead.
A shiver crawls up his spine, even through the heat he has in the small room. Something was dead, was dying, he could’ve sworn— All and any thought leaves him when his head starts to scream at him, and he resists the urge to slam it onto the nearest wall. He quickly turns his view to the bottle of aspirin he saw earlier, cringing at the throbbing pain his head feels, and he forces his brows together. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, he just wishes the bottle would fly to him, he’s really furrowing his brows together and pulling at the headache he has, it feels like the right thing to do. Nothing happens when he stares down the bottle, not for the five minutes he does it, so he accepts defeat and shrugs his body out of bed, into the direction of the aspirin. He takes four, just for good measure, and they go down his throat dry.
He stands in the same place for some time, just waiting for it to kick in, and when the pain starts to fade, he shrugs on a jacket and starts his day.
A little after ten in the morning, he finds himself walking, more like slugging, his way to the school's parking lot. He types away on his old samsung, leaving his legs to do their job.
Warr_GXP: Yo, MadMax! Get home safe?
MaxC_2013: hi warren, me and kate got back to the dorms safe! how about you? did you leave early?
Warr_GXP: I guess I did XD VTC party was too lame :p I don’t remember anything though, super weird……
MaxC_2013: maybe you partied too hard lol
Warr_GXP: definitely, woke up with a killer hangover ;’( never leaving my nerd prison again
MaxC_2013: aw :( hope you feel better soon,
MaxC_2013: gtg!! I’ll check in later, bye warren!
Warr_GXP: bye MadMax! see u ^^
It’s not a weird conversation, it’s just the fact that his stomach churns in a way he isn’t used to when he gets Max’s replies is what freaks him out a little. He thinks it’s puberty, maybe his body doesn’t know how to react to friends like a normal person after one night of drinking, or maybe there’s something his body knows that he doesn’t. It feels like both his body and mind are working against him, whispering to the other through his veins and blood, passing secrets he can’t seem to remember.
It’s whatever, he refuses to think any deeper, and he really doesn’t think about it again, he can even swear on all his X-Files DVDs, but his feet stop and his thoughts (about normal, teen things, he should add) short circuit when he sees his car missing from it’s usual spot. Everyone else’s cars are in place, no one has left the school yet, except him apparently. His day couldn’t get any more confusing, he just got this car, he really liked it, even if it isn’t the newest, like Nathan Prescotts, he still—
Nathan Prescott. He remembers now, vaguely, but he hears the passing whispers of his body and mind. The party, the body, the drive, the snow, the ringing of his own heart in his ears, Nathan, him. Him. His powers.
No, he thinks, no, no, no.
The powers he couldn’t use this morning, despite his desperate attempts. His breathing is shallow, or maybe he isn’t breathing at all, he doesn’t know. The parking lot is empty of people, the birds are wide awake, chirping their stupid noises into his ears. The powers never happened, he refuses to call them powers, he won’t let himself be any more different than everyone else or worse; more special than everyone else. He needs hot chocolate. It’s what his body, the body who tried to hide last night's events from him, tells him to do. His brain, yes the brain who continues to sabotage him, is telling him to go back into his dorm, away from the cold, back to slumber. His heart, his heart he forgot he had for the past 13 hours, yells at him to go find Nathan Prescott and demand answers. The thing is, Warren won’t do what he knows he should do. He doesn’t want to forget, not really, but he’s not a fan of acknowledging any of it either. Something in him tells him to go to Max, but he never talked to her about any of his issues before! Mostly because he never had serious issues. He does want to hide in his room, but he knows he’ll stay inside there for as long as humanly possible. So, like any boy who just kinda remembered his horrible drunk night, he starts walking to Two Whales. It’s time for a hot chocolate.
The walk is soothing, the diner is probably only a few miles away, so Warren tries to focus on the now and not the then. It doesn’t work as well as he’d thought. Once the small building comes into view, he feels a relief, his relief actually hits him in the face when he opens the door and feels the warm air.
Two Whales is a little empty, but the radio is on and the smell of waffles floods his senses. It’s as close to home as he can get in Arcadia Bay, probably because Joyce is here most of the time, and Joyce reminds him of his mom. Sweet, funny, caring. The thought makes him feel bittersweet, he shakes it off as he walks to his usual booth, the one he’s been sitting at ever since he moved here. It’s all the way to the far right, in the corner, next to the jukebox and the windows. He even carved a nerdy science equation into it, it was definitely his. It was what he was thinking, even as he turned the corner and saw Nathan Prescott there. At his table. The world must hate him, he thinks, as he looks around in disbelief. He will not be kicked out of his booth, not by a Prescott, and definitely not today. Nathan is on his phone, scrolling, his leg is moving up and down probably a hundred miles per hour. Warren takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. Twice, just to be sure. Then he walks, strides over actually, with all five feet and 10 inches of him. He stops in front of the booth, then waits for the other to look up at him.
He waits for a good 3 minutes.
”What do you want? Did you not understand when I said-“
“You’re at my booth.”
Both of them are silent. Both of them stare at the other. Both of them look insanely pissed off.
“So fucking what?” Nathan rolls his eyes and looks down at his phone again, his leg not stopping throughout the short conversation. “I want to sit here. I always sit here.” Warren leans on the table with his arms crossed, not giving up. “Okay? I’m sitting here now, get lost.”
“I’m sitting here.” Its decided, he doesn’t give Nathan a second to say anything as he sits down in front of him, and waves at Joyce. The look on the other's face is nothing short of totally irritated, his leg stopped bouncing, apparently traveling to his twitching eye. Nathan looks like he’s about to reach over the table and smash Warren’s face in, and while Warren would love to see him try, Joyce comes over to the table with a hardly hidden frown on her face.
“Good morning boys, didn’t know you two knew each other.” Her suspicion is laced through her voice, her eyebrows furrowing while she stares at Nathan. “Hi Joyce, we-” “We don’t.” Nathan cuts him off, not at all trying to hide his irritation. The older woman looks between them, her notepad forgotten in her hands.
“Can I ask why you two are seated together? You know, lookin’ like friends.” The accent accentuates the fact that she knows something is off, everyone in Arcadia Bay knows you can’t bullshit Joyce Price, the woman already has more than a fair share of it with her daughter. Warren, although smart, is at a loss for words. He can’t say he sat here out of pettiness, he’s really supposed to be better than that, but something about Nathan sitting in his booth ticked him off way more than it should have.
He averts his eyes to Nathan, who’s looking at him with a quirked eyebrow, lips pursed.
“We- I, um, well-” He stutters, fumbling over his words, seeing Nathan lean back in his seat with a smirk plastered on his face. “Yeah, Graham, why are we sitting together?” The other boy says with an edge to his voice. Warren could practically feel the two pairs of eyes on him. “Project!” He almost yells, looking back at Joyce. “We have a project, for um, for chemistry. Nathan never goes to his classes,” He shakes his head and feigns a smile, “so he wouldn’t know about it.”
The boy across from him is silent, probably fuming if Warren had to guess, but Joyce doesn’t look fully convinced. She gives him one last look and asks for their orders, then leaves with a sigh.
His eyes wander to the table, feeling the engrained periodic element under his fingertips, and feeling the others burning gaze on him all the same. The chattering of the diner makes the silence between them more bearable, he realizes that he should’ve thought about the consequences of sitting here, because the sound of Nathan’s foot hitting the ground makes him want to kick it. Hard. The thought of last night pops into his mind, and he wills himself to not bring it up, to not ask any questions, to just forget it happened at all, don’t talk about—
“Is she okay?” His mind internally screams.
He doesn’t get a response.
“Is she-”
“How the fuck would I know?” The other says, a huff of air leaving him, like if Warren was asking a hard chemistry question.
“You’re the reason why she was even like that! What do you mean “how would I know?” You should know!” A few heads turn their way at his outburst. He tilts his head up, watches Nathan with furrowed brows and a mouth slightly agape. “Shut the fuck up!” Nathan bites out, just as loud, then after a quick look around the diner, quietly adds, “Shut up, Graham. Do you want people to know?” Warren obviously doesn’t, he doesn’t even want to have this problem, and his silence speaks for him because Nathan chippers out a “Efuckingxactly” still leaning back in his booth. Warren can barely understand an ounce of arrogance he has, he knew Prescott’s were bad but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. The sun from earlier is hiding behind the clouds, almost like it doesn't even want to face a Prescott. Warren curses at himself, then the sun, then the universe. It’s obvious that the older boy isn’t going to say anything, not with the way he’s scrolling on his phone and bouncing his leg, so Warrens left to try and piece together the previous night.
The alcohol came first, he knows because he wouldn’t have talked to Nathan if he were sober. He caught him second, which he now wishes he didn’t, that he stayed in his dorm the whole night and didn’t like Max so much to go to a party for her. He picks at a thumbnail on his finger, trying to bring himself to see the next parts as real. The body came third, no, not body, the girl came third. He remembers seeing her hand laying limp in the snow and feeling a deathly chill rattle through his body. A chill creeps up his spine as he remembers, the sting of his finger brings him back to the diner. The drunk girls came fourth, then the powers were fifth.
‘The powers that aren’t powers’ he reminds himself, it was just a strong gust of wind, that’s all it was. He recalls all of it up until they got back to Blackwell, he remembers so much pain in his head but it leaves no clue of what happened. This isn’t something his mind just gets to forget, this isn’t an easy solution in a chemistry experiment or his earphones forgotten on his bed, this is his future and, more importantly, another human’s life. No matter what he does he just can’t seem to remember what came after they left Nathan's car, it’s all like a gap in his memory up until he awoke that morning.
“Don’t think so hard, Gayram, it makes your face look uglier than usual.”
Nathan’s aggravating voice makes Warren snap back to where he is. He’s about to defend his face until he realizes the hot chocolate in front of him. The double take of the diner shows him that Joyce was nowhere to be found, and he sees Nathan picking at his waffles, helping him none at finding out how long he’s been out of it.
“How long has this been here?” He forces himself to ask, regretting it when his voice comes out shaken.
Nathan looks up at him, then purses his lips once more, looking like he’s debating on even answering the simple question.
“Just got ‘ere.” He mutters, his annoyed voice matching his face. “Thought you were some kind of genius, but no, you’re a fucking dumbass.” Warren would take offense, but Nathan can’t talk about who’s a dumbass and who isn’t. He rolls his eyes, picks up the mug, brings it to his lips, and prepares for the hot liquid to touch his tongue. He waits in anticipation, this is what he’s wanted since ten that morning, and if he had to guess it’s about eleven now. The liquid finally makes its way to his lips, he feels something is wrong before his brain does, but the drink has already passed his lips and settled in his mouth.
Cold,
His brain finally registers,
Oh, this is FREEZING.
The cold drink is promptly spat back into his cup, he scrapes his teeth against his tongue to try and get the taste off, desperately trying to also warm his freezing mouth. Chills run down his arms, the frost of the window catches his eye and it does him no help to warm his cold body. The laughs of the boy across from him catch on his ears. He mentally forces himself to not throw the rest of the drink onto him.
“You told me this just got here-“
”Not my fault your ass was in wonderland, why would you believe me?” He snarls, his laugh biting into Warren's cold skin.
“Thought you at least had human decency,” he spits out, “You’re just like your family, inconsiderate and-“
”You don’t know shit about me or my family,” Nathan slams his fists on the table, no longer laughing or pulling faces, and Warren is almost glad to have pissed him off, “You don’t know shit about anyone, go back to se-fucking-attle with your big cities and dipshit nerds!” The drink rattles from the small earthquake Nathan caused the table, which Warren thinks is ridiculous. Nathan is the youngest of a rich, wealthy family. He could buy the diner they’re in if he wanted, the least he could do is show some compassion. Out of the side of his eye he sees a few heads turn, prompting Nathan to shove back into his booth, his fork stabbing into the cold waffles. “I know enough to say you’re selfish.” He grits out, finger tugging off the loose piece of skin on his thumb. He watches the raw flesh spurt drops of red.
”Yeah? I know enough to say you’re a freak,” Warren groans at this, “think I forgot either? No, I don’t know what shit you pulled but-“
“It was the wind, asshole.”
Warren likes to think he’s smart. Warren knows he’s smart. He’s smart in things like chemistry, math, biology, calculus, you know, the things he has rewards in. He’s not so good at english, writing essays, forming an analysis, using his context clues, anything that deals with basic things humans learn in elementary. Doesn’t mean he’s not smart! He just needs more help with it. He guesses not being an English whizz means he’s not good at lying either.
“So the wind picked her off the ground for, I don’t know, a good five minutes?”
”What?” He mumbles, disbelieving. He catches onto Nathan cutting a small piece out of his waffle, coats it in syrup, and looks at Warren. Warren still stares at the sugary waffle, cringing at how gross it’s be to have that fall onto him or how sweet it’d smell up close. His mom always told him not to play with his food, but it’s fitting for someone like Nathan to. The waffle gets more syrup poured on it, it quickly sticks, latching onto the cold food. His body shivers, he tugs his jacket closer.
“Don’t play stupid.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Honestly, he really doesn’t. A sharp glare is thrown his way and he feels a kick to his shin. “I don’t! I don’t remember anything after getting out of your car,” Nathan doesn’t stop looking at him like he's denying he lives in Arcadia bay, “I’m- Honest to god, I don’t!” A throb rolls through his head, reminding him how drunk he got last night, it makes him cringe at his poor decision making. He knows he should’ve been smarter, that’s why he’s in this town in the first place, but here he is, getting into crimes at age sixteen. The thought of his mom crosses his mind, what would she think? She gave him his life, and after sixteen painful years of nerd conventions and a complicated son, she has to deal with him throwing it away. Unwillingly, of course, he would never do this willingly. Drunk Warren is his own force of nature, one that won’t happen again, how does he know? Easy. Sober Warren will make sure. Right after he fixes his mistake with Prescott, maybe he can get out of this with no scratches on his perfect legal record.
“Seriously…” he adds when Nathan is still glaring at him like he’s the dumbest man on Earth. The soaked waffle slides off the fork and Nathan starts tearing the rest of his plain, no syrup diseased, waffle into pieces. He does all of this quietly, still looking irritated and biting out rude remarks when Warren even dares to breathe too loud. Once he’s done, he picks a cold piece up, and throws it at Warren. Hard. ”What the hell, asshole!” The small piece slides off his shirt and into the booth, leaving him more confused than before. “What are you-“ Another piece is thrown at him, slapping him in the cheek, cold and stale. “Catch it, dumbass.” Nathan spits out, kicking him in the shin again, then throwing another piece at Warren. His hands move before he thinks to do so, and he catches the piece in clasped hands. “Are you stupid?” Is the response he gets, earning himself another kick in his shin. “What is wrong with you!” he sighs frustrated, he kicks back, feeling the hair on his neck prick up when Nathan pulls a face and moves to kick him harder. Warren, noticing this seconds beforehand, thrust both feet to meet Nathans, clumsily getting tangled and untangled as they fight. The hard material of Nathans boot scratches against his knee and he hisses in pain, then he kicks Nathan right on his ankle, earning himself an angered Prescott who reaches over the table to grab at his shirt.
A loud cough catches their attention as both of them turn their heads to see Joyce looking at them, along with the trucker she was pouring coffee for, and she does a shaming shake of her head before pointing to the door. Warren feels his face heat up, retreating his legs from the ongoing fight happening under the table. He feels the hands on his shirt let go. There’s a few seconds of silence in his mind, invaded by Nathan's cursed muttering, before he hears a fork clanging and another kick to his shin. Something about it irritates him, maybe the noise or the touch, but it brings his headache back and the throbbing travels to the back of his head. It feels familiar, the dull pain settling into the back of his head, almost like it was always there. Lingering.
”This was pointless, I’m leaving.” He says, huffing out hot air. He’s seconds from getting up when he catches Nathan bringing his fork up, with the disgusting syrup covered waffle piece, and it almost plays in slow motion.
Nathan reels the fork back, towards the side of his cheek, then before Warren can even understand what he’s doing, chucks it off the fork and at Warren.
Warren is a normal boy, he’s always been normal. Sure, a bit special with his smarts, and maybe a bit particular about material he wears, or obsessive with his interests, but he’s truly, honestly, like any other boy.
So he isn’t sure why his hand flings up while his body pushes back into the booth, further away from the sticky food, and why he pulls at the headache he has, imagining he’s tearing it out of his head. His body instinctively closes his eyes and turns his face to the side, preparing to get plastered with syrup.
He isn’t sure why he doesn’t feel it hit him. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t hear sharp laughter from the dick in front of him.
He has an idea why, but he prays it isn’t true.
”No fucking way.” He forces his breathing to still. The thumping of his heartbeat bangs through his chest, but the sound of a breathless laugh makes his eyes fling open. He almost forgets who’s in front of him, he didn’t know a Prescott could laugh without bullying someone. He sees Nathan’s face first, he’s leaning forward with a look Warren can only describe as awed. The thing he sees second is the floating food inches from his face, wavering in the air. It’s silent as both of them stare, one in wonder and the other in shock, because this isn’t supposed to be happening to him. Warren is normal, he only reads sci-fi comics like this, this is what he watched in movies growing up. Warren is a normal boy, he isn’t sure why this is happening to him, maybe it’s just puberty—
“Puberty? Really? Fuck, Graham, how old are you? Twelve?” Nathan mocks, but Warren is still caught up on the floating waffle between them and the fact he was sure he didn’t say that aloud. He can feel the dull pain emerge into a sharp stab, it’s so striking that his breath hitches and he desperately thinks on how to put this waffle down, the longer he holds it the more his head might explode off his body. “How do I put it down!” His eyes scan his surroundings, hoping no one’s looking their way. “How the fuck would I know.” Nathan scoffs, bringing a finger to flick at the object. The moment his finger makes contact with the cold waffle, a spike runs through Warren’s occiput to his frontal lobe, making him groan and push a hand to his forehead. “Don’t do that.” It comes out quieter than he wanted, if he had to guess it’s probably because he feels like his brain has a gash in it. Nathan is born and raised a bitch, so he gets the food between two fingers and pinches. “I said stop!” The movement caused a sting in his head, forcing him to push his hand harder against it. “Stop whining, Graham.” Warren can feel his raised hand shake, but he has no clue on how to let go. Nathan scoots closer in his seat and gives the waffle a solid push.
It’s too much, he registers, as the push makes his head crane back and over the empty space above the booth. He feels a lump of pain spread throughout his body, all the way from his head to the soles of his feet. It thumps throughout his body, and it’s so much that he kicks Nathan in his shin as hard as he can, yelling, “I said stop, asshole! Stop!” The table rattles, the salt glass falling and spreading throughout the table, clinking with the forgotten mug. Nathan’s eyes widen, then close right after as the sugary, sticky, waffle is shot at his face.
Along with the plenty of other pieces that he threw at Warren.
The good thing that comes from this is that the pain has suddenly left just as quickly as it came. It feels so good that Warren lets go of a huge breath of relief, his hand finding its way through his hair in a soothing manner.
The bad thing is that Nathan has him by the collar, with syrup sticking to his forehead, and the cut up waffles left on the mess of a table.
The other bad thing is that Joyce comes storming up, grabbing both by the ear, and promptly throwing them back into the cold. She holds a hand out, waiting for the money they owe, and once she has it she takes a good look at Warren and gives him a disappointed shake of her head. He feels more faint from that than anything that happened in the past hour. “What the fuck, Gayram?” Nathan shoves him into the diner wall, apparently not done with the fight inside. “I told you to stop.” He replies, tiredly, too distracted by the syrup on Nathan’s forehead. Nathan gives him one last look before shoving him harder against the brick wall and letting go, instead scrubbing at his forehead. “Not what I fucking meant.” Warren rolls his eyes, letting his body rest against the cold wall. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a cursing problem? Or can I be the first?” He rubs his eyes, not knowing where to go from here. His car is still at the junkyard, he still doesn’t know how that girl is doing, and he hasn’t solved anything about him or his issue with Nathan.
Nathan curses some more, but suddenly his voice turns less hostile and Warren can tell he’s asking questions. When he doesn’t answer, Nathan swears again and turns to leave. Warren almost misses it, too out of it to understand a thing, but when Nathan is more than ten feet away Warren yells out for him.
“What do you want? Finally gonna talk or what?” Warren already misses the minute of silence he had. “No, I need a ride to the junkyard.” He would usually feel embarrassed or flustered for asking something like a ride, especially to a junkyard, but Nathan leaves no space for him to dwell on it. “Fuck no.” “You can’t just- You have to take me, my car’s there.” The look on Nathan's face is one he’s getting too familiar with, and the thought of any kind of familiarity with Nathan Prescott makes his stomach churn.
“I don’t need to do shit for you.”
“Yes you do. I’ll go to the police.” He argues. “Yeah? Have fun being in jail too, fucker.” Nathan turns to leave once again, and Warren scrambles in brain about anything he knows about Nathan Prescott. An old rumor he heard springs in his brain.
”Okay, I'll just go to your dad. I think he’ll be absolutely thrilled about his son attempting murder and dragging somebody down with him.” Nathan stops walking, planting his feet in the snow. “You won’t do shit.” He hears through the ringing in his ears. “I’ll call right now, his number is plastered all over Arcadia Bay.” It’s true, his point is proven by multiple flyers sticking on a wooden lamp post with bold letters of the Prescott name and a number below it. Boots crunch through the snow, swiftly, and Nathan has Warren by his shirt another time that day.
“You fucking won’t.”
Nathan is inches from his face, Warren drowsily thinks. The syrup is mostly gone but he bets if he pokes at it it’ll stick to his finger. From up close, it’s easy to see the redness underneath Nathan’s eyes, the small scar on his eyebrow, the snarl in his lips, and the handful of freckles. Too bad such interesting features were given to such an asshole.
”Did you hear me? I will seriously fucking kill you, and I’m sure no one would even bat an eye!”
“You couldn’t even get past the killing part last time.” He doesn’t know what possessed him to be so bold, it might just be the frustration he feels around Nathan, because he’s usually kind and… well, not an asshole. “I wasn’t trying to kill anyone, you don’t know shit.” he scoffs at Nathan, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up his throat. “Looked like you were trying to…” “I wasn’t!” His head hits the wall as Nathan pushes him harder against it. “It wasn’t my fucking idea!” Nathan grits out, realizing his mistake and clamps his mouth shut.
”Wasn’t your idea?” He gets no response, just Nathan widening his eyes, looking like a deer in headlights.
A few seconds pass between the two. Warren gets a strange sense of deja vu.
”Take me to the junkyard.” He says, once again. Nathan stares. ”Please?” It comes out before he thinks, his brain suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be a good person even to bad people. Nathan narrows his eyes, his lip twitches as he opens his mouth and closes it again. “Nathan.” He adds, willingly this time, even if the name feels wrong on his lips. He’s starting to get the creeps from the silence.
A few more seconds pass by until Nathan suddenly shoves off and starts walking away, leaving Warren at the wall. He’s still walking when he throws Warren a look over his shoulder that can only mean ‘are you coming or what?’
Warren takes a deep breath, touches his fingertips to the brick wall, and pushes off.
He’s really doing this. He’s really, really, fucked. Utterly fucked.