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Nathan rolls over in the bed, his nose lightly tapping Warren’s. He breathes in slowly, capturing the scent of Warren’s shampoo in his nostrils. The air leaving his lungs tickles Warren’s cheeks, making his nose scrunch up. His eyes open and Nathan smiles at him.
“Morning, handsome.” Nathan mumbles, kissing down Warren’s jaw.
Warren hums, tilting his head so Nathan can reach easier.
“It’s snowing, like, two feet.” Nathan says, “No classes.”
“But can’t we just...walk?” Warren asks, his eyes fluttering with each gentle peck Nathan places.
“A certain attractive, rich young man might have tipped the scale.” Nathan grins against Warren’s neck.
“You fucking didn’t.”
“Oh, I fucking did.” Nathan says, propping himself up on an elbow. “Now we get to do whatever the fuck we want.”
Warren’s eyes grow wide, and his mouth opens slightly, before he shouts “Snowman!”
Nathan groans at the noise and shivers in the sudden cold of Warren rolling out of the bed.
“Let’s do it! Come on, please!” Warren pleads, throwing his pajamas off and going through his closet. “It’s been so long since I’ve made one!”
“No….” Nathan turns over, staring at one of Warren’s Doctor Who posters.
Warren continues to search through his closet anyway; a heavy jacket lands at Nathan’s feet and startles him. He sits up, scratching his head. Warren is wearing two pairs of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt so far, sifting through the mess in the tiny space for something else to add to his outfit. Nathan leans back on his bed and lets his eyes shut.
“Are you coming or not, fucktard?” he hears Warren ask, and he fights the urge to look down at his crotch because they still haven’t fucked since the Incident. Instead he glances up to where Warren has become almost spherical in the amount of clothing he’s bundled in.
“Mmm. I’ll be out in like, a minute.” Nathan decides, clearing his throat.
“Whatever. I’ll chill --hah!-- with Max and Chloe until you come around. Text me.” Warren says, grinning and sending him a peace sign. He opens his door and leaves Nathan alone in his room.
Nathan stretches his arms above his head and takes a deep breath in. Today would be a good day to risk anxiety for some regular coffee. He looks down at himself: naked, except for some (Warren’s) boxers. Of course, his stomach is still healing, because apparently recovery isn’t always linear (or so Warren says). He’s proud of himself, though. Mildly disgusted that he’s let himself be so open, but then again, it’s Warren fucking Graham he’s exposed to, and the name flows through his head like a melody of a song he hasn’t heard since he was a child.
The more he thinks about it, the more building a snowman with Warren seems like the greatest thing in the world. Nathan rolls himself out of bed and onto the floor. He pushes himself onto his feet and scavenges for wearable clothing.
When Nathan is warm but not bloated, he heads toward the door. He stops right as he touches the handle because he should probably get some snowman decorations. But fuck, what could he use from Warren’s room?
Nathan walks to Warren’s desk and looks at the top. Paperclips (who the fuck still uses those) ? Pencils? A fucking laptop?
The drawers are unlocked, even though there is the option to lock them, for whatever reason, so Nathan looks through them. One is filled to the brim with Happy Meal toys, the next has more pens, a drawing pad, and a laminated hand-drawn periodic table.
The bottom drawer has nothing but a worn notebook in it. Impulse draws Nathan to pick it up and look at it. The covers are black, and on the back in gold cursive, it reads: Tom Marvolo Riddle.
There’s a split second where all Nathan can think is what a fucking nerd. He opens the front cover of the book. Warren’s scraggly handwriting covers the pages, each marked by the day of the week and the date at the top.
Holy shit. It’s Warren’s diary.
Nathan shouldn’t look. He can’t just invade his boyfriend’s privacy, can he?
...Can he?
He turns the book away from him suddenly and covers his eyes with an arm. He can’t.
Oh, he fucking can.
Nathan scrambles to hop on Warren’s desk and opens the book.
February 4, 2011
Mom and dad got me a dog! It’s a husky and her name is Artemis, she’s so--
Nathan flips ahead to last October, when they started fucking.
October 19, 2013
So I was watching Angry Robot Mutants, and Nathan Prescott, y’know, the guy who got two guys to shove me into a locker on my birthday, he just came in my room and watched it with me. He stayed and watched a French movie. Well, when I say watched, I mean we did the do. Holy shit, right?
Nathan feels his stomach drop a little. He totally forgot he did that last year.
October 21, 2013
I feel like Nathan’s like, watching me. It’s probably just me being paranoid since Saturday's….thing, but even when Evan and I had our monthly Kinder deal, I looked kinda behind me, and Nathan was looking at me from across the hall. He didn’t even try to break eye contact.
Nathan snorts. Warren sells Kinder Eggs on the sly? What a fucking nerd. He thought it was something more serious, like he had a rival drug dealer in the school or some shit like that. Nathan flips ahead in the book to the more recent pages.
January 28, 2014
Nathan and I are like, dating. I mean, we have been for a month or so now at least, but like, it’s still so strange. I’m dating the meanest, richest, cutest guy in all of Arcadia Bay. Shit, last year at this time I barely knew I was bi. And then I had that huge ass crush on Max. I never thought that I would be so, uh, taken by someone like Nathan. It feels kind of right, you know? I would almost say that, well, I love him?
“What are you doing?”
Nathan shuts the journal tightly in his hand as a reflex. He doesn’t look up from the floor as footsteps draw closer to him.
“Is--is that my journal?” Warren asks, and Nathan finally gets the guts to look up at his boyfriend. Warren’s still bundled to the neck, but his face is redder than it was when he left, either from the cool sting of the temperature or from his newfound anger.
“I was looking for snowman making material.” Nathan lies smoothly, even though it’s going to do jack shit in his favor. His right foot tingles from where it’s dangling off Warren’s desk.
“And were you successful?” Warren asks, and Nathan can just barely see that the boy's eyebrows have raised under his tobogan.
“...Yes?” Nathan grins in an attempt to get Warren to laugh or smile or something other than just stand there and make forehead wrinkles.
“I knew you were a sketchy dude, Prescott, but I never thought you’d have the balls to betray my trust like this.” Warren says and yanks the diary from Nathan’s hands and the heart from Nathan’s chest.
Warren turns from him and walks towards the door.
“Warren, I--” Nathan says, reaching out a hand for his boyfriend.
“What?” Warren responds, still facing the door.
“I love you, too.” Nathan chokes out. His breathing increases and his heart pounds as he waits for an answer. Warren turns his head slightly to the side.
“I’ve been waiting so long to hear that from you.” he says and leaves Nathan alone in his room.
Nathan stares at the door for an hour afterward, his eyes raw from all the tears he’s had to wipe to keep them from rolling down his face, an undeniable sign of regret. He stands from the desk finally, his legs weak under the weight of his body and what he’s done. Nathan almost collapses on the floor.
It’s such a simple, stupid fucking diary, Nathan muses to himself. He can’t be fucking crying over a stupid Harry Potter replica journal. His fingers twitch. His chest is tight. He has to leave before he destroys something of Warren’s (including himself).
“It’s a fucking diary!” Nathan screams at himself, nails digging into his palms. He’s rabid. He kicks Warren’s desk chair over. So much for leaving.
Nathan takes a deep breath. Two. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and Nathan rummages through them in search of his own. He pulls on his jeans and undershirt, but glances towards Warren’s closet when it comes time for him to put on a shirt.
Nathan gets up from the floor and wanders to the closet, which has been left wide open from Warren’s flurry of excitement earlier. It seems worlds away. There are clothes covering every tiny square inch but Nathan doesn’t see those. His hands reach for a deep blue shirt from reflex and pulls it from the hanger. He tugs it over his head without even looking at it; he doesn’t need to. He knows it’s Warren’s favorite shirt, and he only washes it twice a month for strange sciencey reasons.
Basically, it smells like Warren, like his sweat and cologne and a bit of his chapstick right at the top of the collar. Nathan’s chest swells with each inhale, and his eyes tear, repressed regret shining through.
He finds his jacket under the pile by the bed and slips it on him, gently over Warren’s shirt. He feels like a stalker, walking out of someone’s room with their shirt as a smellable keepsake. But it’s not someone, it’s Warren, though Nathan can feel himself fading slowly from Warren’s thoughts.
“A Diary!” Nathan growls, balling his hands into fists. The hallway is empty, thank God, but it makes him feel lonelier than he has in a long time.
He kicks the wall beside Warren's door and walks to his own room. Nathan falls on his bed and lifts Warren’s shirt above his nose before closing his eyes.
His phone rings. Nathan’s eyes open wide; it’s that dreaded ringtone. He picks it up to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Can you do a pick-up for me?” the smooth voice asks without even greeting him.
“There isn’t a party anytime soon.” Nathan answers, keeping his cool.
“Yeah, but you can plan one, can’t you?”
“I-”
“Great! This Saturday it is. Make sure it’s the biggest one yet.” the man on the phone says.
“Who are you planning to drug?” Nathan asks, his voice growing small.
“Hm, I’m not sure yet. Not very many kids around here seem to be innocent anymore.” Jefferson chuckles.
“Anyway, get the shit and be ready!” Mark hangs up.
Nathan screams. He buries his head in Warren’s shirt and wipes every tear in it until the skin around his eyes is raw. He types in Warren’s name on his phone.
“I’m s-sorry. I need you. Please, please call me or come see me or something, please, Warren.” he sniffles into Warren’s voicemail. “And -- and stay away from Jefferson, okay? Just trust me...please…” Nathan mumbles and hits the end call button before melting into his bed.
His phone buzzes weakly in his hand, dragging him out of sleep. Nathan picks his head up and unlocks his phone. One new message from Warren.
I just need some time, okay? I’m not going to break up with you, I just need time.
Nathan lets out a deep breath, reading the message over again. He didn’t screw it up so badly this time.
He swears to himself that he will change, right in this moment. Everything good he can do for Warren, he will do for Warren. He can’t say the same for other people, because he’s spent too long building his image just to break it down.
“I shouldn’t have told him I loved him.” Nathan mumbles to himself as he turns over in his bed, inhaling the cake batter lip balm from the shirt collar. But he had to. He wanted to.