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chloe-caulfield94 · 6 months ago

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Bay Max has a talk with Other Max

This is going to be a part of a larger fanfic, so if it piques your interest, stay tuned. It's also quite darker than what I usually write, so be warned.

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Max went back to the scene of her crime. The filthy bathroom corner she had showered with her tears five days prior. The filthy bathroom corner that she had cowered in, waiting for Chloe’s heart to be pierced by a bullet. She touched the fire alarm she was supposed to use to save a life, but she had chosen not to. She turned to walk away and she noticed the moustache and glasses scribbled on the mirror. She walked over and touched the graffiti, repeating her movements from Monday.

“You were right. Something was mocking you. It wasn’t the universe, though. I highly doubt the universe is even aware a bug like you is currently crawling on its skin. It was me. I’ve been mocking you” – Max heard her own voice coming from the mirror. She noticed that her reflection not only wasn’t mirroring her movements, but it was even dressed differently – in her usual grey hoodie and pink t-shirt instead of the black dress she was wearing.

Max furrowed her brows. “You again? You told me to sacrifice Chloe. You told me she wasn’t worth my love and friendship. And that spectacle at the diner? All the townspeople accusing me of murder? Bravo. I especially liked Joyce telling me that I’m taking her away from her family if I don’t sacrifice Chloe. But her family is Chloe! Such a nice touch. How twisted do you have to be to even come up with something like that?”

“Why are you making fun of my tricks? You fell for them. They worked. You did what I told you to do”.

“Yes, you bullied me into killing my own best friend. I did what you told me was the right thing to do. Even though by doing so I killed my soul as well. What more do you want from me?”

Her reflection chuckled. “Bold of you to assume you had a soul to begin with. And our talks have never been about me telling you to do the right thing. Have you considered the possibility that I simply enjoy seeing you squirm?”

“Who … what are you?”

“I’m a part of you that contains all of your self-loathing, self-doubt, guilt and resentment. Or … perhaps I’m a demon sent to torment you. You always listen to Samuel’s talks about spirits roaming around Arcadia Bay. You constantly fall for various ‘woo’ you find on the Internet. You’re functionally an antivaxxer. I’m sure you’re more than capable of believing in demons”.

“So what now? You told me I should sacrifice Chloe and now that I did you’re going to say I shouldn’t have?”

“More or less. I’m always telling you things that make you feel bad. But before you say I’m evil, that’s just what I am. You could say it’s my job. I am a part of you that makes you feel sad. It’s not my fault you let me grow so strong. Stronger than all your other parts put together. You know, the nightmare you had when Chloe was hauling your unconscious body to safety was the first time we met face to face. But it was not the first time you heard my voice. No, for years I whispered in your ear. I told you not to return Chloe’s phone calls. I told you to respond to her texts with the most non-committal nothings under the sun. I told you not to write her letters. I told you not to reach out to her even when you already were in Arcadia Bay. And we both know for a fact you wouldn’t have contacted her, ever, had she not saved your ass in the parking lot, don’t we? And we both know that had you contacted her right after you arrived in town, six weeks before she was murdered, her fate would’ve turned out differently and she wouldn’t have found herself on the receiving end of Nathan’s gun. No Storm, no dead best friend, had you just had the guts to reach out to her, you coward. Your cowardice killed people. You could only choose who it killed. But it was fatal nonetheless”.

“So you are responsible for all of this?”

“No, no, no! Don’t pin your wrong choices on me, Max! I only ever highlighted the options you had. But we always make choices as one. All parts of us together. It’s not my fault you constantly follow my advice. Think of me as of an attorney, defending a client who’s obviously guilty. I have to do this. It’s my job. So when the neglectful jurors return a not guilty verdict and the accused is released into the world to commit more evil, whose fault it is?”

“You can’t be a part of me. I‘m not a good person. But you … you’re a monster”.

“If I’m a monster, that makes you a monster as well, at least in part. And I’d say that you’re a monster in full. All your parts are monsters. It’s just that I’m honest about what I am. All your other parts, including the one I’m talking to right now, are in denial. Care to explain one thing to me? Why did you kiss Chloe when she dared you to on Wednesday morning, but then you immediately rewound time and didn’t kiss her for a second time? So you had all the fun of kissing her and she had none of the fun of being kissed by you? You used her body for your own pleasure but you made sure she got none of that pleasure back? At best that makes you a selfish lover. At worst that makes you … an artist. Like Jefferson and Nathan. You like posing others for your own pleasure, you steal moments from other people and you make sure they don’t remember those moments at all”.

“Shut up! I am nothing like them!”

“Oh really? How is what you did to Chloe different than what Nathan did to her? You used her for your own pleasure for five days and then you tossed her away like trash, making sure she would remember none of it. At least he was done with her in a single night. You took your sweet time with her. Oh, and another thing you have in common. You both murdered her”.

“I had to! You said so yourself!”

“You didn’t have to do anything. You chose to do that. You know he’s going to be released soon, right? I give it three years. And then Sean Prescott’s golfing buddies at the Oregon Supreme Court, you know, the ones whose election campaigns he financed, are going to overturn Nathan’s conviction. What a beautiful story they are going to tell! And the media is going to repeat it a thousandfold. A story of a promising, talented, handsome, well-mannered young man from a good family who had the misfortune of crossing paths with two whores. One junkie whore named Rachel, who overdosed despite Nathan’s best efforts to make her quit her drug habit. He probably even performed CPR on her once she OD’d. Alas, to no avail. But it does explain his DNA, if any is found on Rachel. And then there was a second whore. She got innocent little Nathan drunk and she dragged him to bed. A filthy gold digger, who just wanted to lay her grubby hands on his family’s well-earned wealth. And when she tried to violently extort money from him, he simply had to stand his ground. Ooh, ooh! I have idea for another juicy detail to this story! She wanted to extort money from Nathan because she was pregnant! Nathan, being a responsible young man, of course insisted on using protection, but she pricked the condom with a needle, like gold-digging whores do to accomplished men they want to entrap. I mean killing your pregnant mistress is perfectly legal. Haven’t you seen ‘Fatal Attraction’”?

Max vomited into the sink, violently. She had eaten very little that day, so it was mostly bile. It went out of her mouth and nose. She wiped her face with her sleeve. Leaning against the sink, she said hesitantly: “But … those are all lies. None of that is true”.

“Max, of course we both know the truth. Nathan murdered Rachel in the course of a ‘photo session’ he gave her. And he was … extra hands-on with her, wasn’t he? At least Jefferson didn’t insert himself into the pictures. But Nathan … half the pictures of Rachel we found in the Dark Room were of him groping her, kissing her, lying on top of her … I mean no wonder Jefferson killed him. He was furious Nathan treated his adolescent girlfriend that way. And we know why Chloe wanted hush money from Nathan. Because he drugged her and gave her a ‘photo session’ too. And she knew she would get zero justice by going to the Prescott-owned police department. You remember that cop who openly told you, in a crowded diner, that he and his buddies were taking money to look out for little Nathan? We know what she did was the only way for her to get any semblance of justice. That’s the truth. But the biggest problem with the truth is getting people to believe in it. Especially if they were bribed not to. You know, they are not going to use exactly the same story I just told you. No, they are probably going to use something even worse, something even more insulting to your dead best friend’s memory. You can run, but you cannot hide, Max. You can run to a place where the local news from Oregon don’t reach, like a hippie commune in the middle of Arizona. But sooner or later, those news are going to reach you. Hell, maybe you’ll learn of Nathan’s rehabilitation and of the awful crimes of Rachel and Chloe ten years after it makes the headlines here in Oregon. But you will hear about that. I can’t wait to see your face then. I can’t wait to hear how you try and fail to convince yourself it had to happen for the greater good”.

“But … there is evidence. Nathan’s real student record. The photograph of Chloe he kept in his drawer”.

“Too bad you only regained memories of those days you chose to erase today. Had you remembered anything on Monday, you could’ve told someone. But now? Those documents and photographs are long gone. The principal has been on the take from the Prescotts for years. He swept under the rug Nathan’s many violent outbursts and his drug peddling. What, you think he won’t sweep this under the rug? If only out of concern for his own skin? If Prescotts go down, Wells goes down with them. Come on, he let a violent, drug-addled boy attend Blackwell for years, instead of expelling him, like he should’ve. But we know only poor people get expelled, don’t we? Poor girls get expelled for a little graffiti in the parking lot. Rich boys don’t get expelled when they are caught selling drugs and beating other students up. Wells will never let anyone see Nathan’s real student record, the one he kept secret for so long. He will only show the fake one, the one painting a rosy picture of Prescott junior. And the photograph from Nathan’s drawer? Long gone. Taken by Wells himself or some other schmuck on the Prescott payroll. But don’t be too hard on yourself, Max. Who would you have told about this evidence? The insanely corrupt cops, who only arrested Nathan because they found him at the crime scene, smeared in his victim’s blood? They would’ve supressed or even outright destroyed all that evidence, too. You know, to keep those envelopes coming”.

Max kept breathing heavily, as if she was about to throw up again.

Her mirror image kept driving the knife ever deeper into Max’s heart: “Why are you so disgusted with all of that? Those are all consequences of the choice you made. You didn’t want to live with the Storm as the unintended consequence of your rescue of Chloe. And now you don’t want to live with Nathan’s impunity and the desecration of your best friend’s memory as the consequences of your choice not to save her. At some point you have to own the consequences of your actions, whatever they are. And why are you so disturbed at the thought of Nathan’s release? You have so much in common. Two artistic souls? And you already share such a deep bond. To have murdered someone together? To have the same blood on your hands? I don’t know if a deeper connection can be established between two persons. If you start writing him letters now, you can marry him the moment he is released. But I suggest you start writing now. Because there’s going to be a lot of competition. Hybristophilia is quite common among young impressionable women such as yourself. Especially if the murderer is cute and rich”.

Anger overpowered Max’s disgust. She banged her hand on the mirror and shouted: “Fuck you!”

“’Fuck me?’ You’re talking to yourself, Max. What does ‘fuck you’ even mean in this context? Are you announcing that tonight, once you’re all snuggled under your covers, you’re going to touch yourself? Are you going to think about your precious punk Chloe as you do so? Face it, what you felt for her wasn’t love. If you loved her, why did you never say it? She said it twice. She always said it just before you killed her. Because no matter the timeline, you always end up murdering her. And always with her dying breath she confesses her love for you. And you never reciprocate. Why? If you loved her, why didn’t you tell her that? ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this’ is not exactly a love confession. No, it’s what a butcher says to a sad-eyed calf they are about to slaughter. What you felt for her was lust. You realized you were already in your senior year and you wanted to go through a ‘bad girl phase’. And you did. A perfect ‘bad girl phase’. No messy breakup, no clinging. Everything just erased, like your browser history. If you didn’t want to lie you loved her, you at least could’ve told her she deserved your love and friendship and deserved to be alive. When she said she didn’t, you didn’t deny that. And by sacrificing her, you kinda proved her right on that point”.

Max once again banged on the mirror and screamed: “Stop it! I loved her! I still do! You are defiling the best, purest thing I’ve ever felt! That I will ever feel!”

Her reflection’s stern facial expression gave way to a malicious smile. Just like she said, she enjoyed seeing Max squirm. “And we both know why you lust for tall girls with tattoos and bright hair dye. Jefferson’s albums. The ones you loved so much. The ones which drew you to him. The ones which made you wish to be one of his students. The ones he shot in his Seattle days. The ones filled with girls from the local music scene. You loved how he captured them. The difference between you and him is that he grew bored of faux-punk sluts like that and moved on to decent girls from good families. But you continued to lust after low-hanging fruit. At least until you could try it. And when you saw your long-lost friend dressed just like those girls from Jefferson’s albums you’d thought about when touching yourself, you just had to possess her. So tell me, Max. This night, with your hand between your legs, are you going to think about her? Are you going to think about the oh so wet kiss you gave her just before you murdered her?”

“Shut up! Shut up, you monster!”

“I think you’re going to do just fine here at Blackwell. Now that the position of the school princess is confirmed to be vacant, you have a decent shot at taking it. You and Rachel are so alike. You both wanted to fool around with a cool punk rocker. But once you discovered that underneath that thin façade was a real girl, one with her own feelings and other messy things like that, who instead of constantly providing you with cheap thrills actually needed something from you, needed your love and care, you couldn’t throw her away fast enough. I wonder, what’s a more cowardly way of breaking up with someone? Leaving them a scribbled note or murdering them?”

“Shut up. Please, shut up” – Max pleaded quietly with her tormentor.

“Max, why are you even standing here, listening to me? You could’ve walked out that door the moment I spoke up. But you didn’t. Why? Because you know you deserve to hear all of that. You are simply accepting your just punishment. Because even though you want to delude yourself into thinking that you’re an everyday hero who saved their hometown, you know you are the monster. And something even worse. How do you call someone who makes a promise to love and protect another person, but then breaks that promise every single time? How about ‘oath breaker’? That does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Max turned to walk away. She said in a resigned tone: “Enough. Maybe I do deserve to hear all of that, but I can’t take it anymore”.

“If you’re tired of my words, how about listening to someone else?”

Max heard her voice. Not her reflection’s. Her own voice coming from the mirror. And then she heard Joyce’s.

“I wish I was a better friend. I know Chloe doesn’t get many visitors”.

“Oh, Max. You’re Chloe’s best friend for a reason. You’re here exactly when she needs you”.

Max turned towards the mirror again and saw Joyce sitting in her bed. Then the image shifted and she saw William sitting at the table in the Prices’ living room. And once again she heard her own voice.

“William, I just want you to know, that whatever happens, I’ll always be here for Chloe. Always”.

“I know you will, Max” – replied William.

Max’s reflection editorialized: “Had they only known that by ‘being there for Chloe’ you actually meant murdering her”.

The image in the mirror kept shifting, showing her various moments from the week that never was. Max was being lashed with her own words. Bitter, burning tears ran down her cheeks.

“I’m with you to the end, Chloe. You know that”.

“Chloe, you’re priceless”.

“I never want to hurt you! Ever!”

“I always wanted my life to be special, an adventure. But not without you!”

“You are my number one priority now! You are all that matters to me!”

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me. I have to save Chloe!”

“Nobody is going to hurt Chloe ever again!”

The image shifted and Max was once again staring into the eyes of her reflection. Only it was a reflection of her thirteen year old self, in a similar black dress meant for funerals. The reflection said, in a high-pitched, childish voice:

“You don’t have to worry about anything changing. You’re dealing with so much other stuff. You don’t deserve any of this. Chloe, listen. Even if I never … Even if we’re moving for good ... We’re always together, okay? Even when we’re apart. We’re still Max and Chloe. I will always, always love you”.

Her words were punctuated by a deafening gunshot, so loud it made the mirror shake and Max’s ears hurt.

Thirteen year old Max kept speaking: “Because I will never abandon you, Chloe. I'll always have your back”.

Another deafening gunshot.

Her thirteen year old reflection had more to say: “You’re sick in the head, you know that? I said those things because I was a stupid brat and I didn’t actually mean any of that. I didn’t even know what it meant to love someone. But you … It wasn’t enough for you to make false promises to a nineteen year old Chloe. No, you had to go back in time and lie to a fourteen year old Chloe’s face as well”.

Max turned around, walked over to the fire alarm and retrieved the hammer she was supposed to use on Monday.

Walking back to the mirror, she saw her eighteen year old reflection holding a black notebook covered in colourful stickers.

“You really should give it a read. I don’t know why Joyce and David gave their daughter’s belongings to you of all people. That guy Eliot deserved it way more. You know, the one from kindergarten? At least he loved her. In a possessive, jealous way. But he loved her. Unlike you and Rachel. And he was in her life for way longer than you. The next time you’re going through your victim’s belongings, don’t stop at the pictures you took of her. They only show how you saw her. Read her diary instead. Learn how she saw you”.

Other Max opened the notebook and started reading aloud. Max was already next to the mirror, hammer in her raised hand. But when she heard what had been written, she couldn’t move: “The worst part is that even though we haven’t spoken in months, even though she habitually ignored my texts so much that I just stopped trying, even though I know, deep down, that she doesn't care about me anymore and that she probably has all new friends up in fucking Seattle ... I still miss her. If she came back tomorrow and said ‘hey Chloe, want to dress up like pirates and be stupid together?’, I would take her back in a heartbeat”.

Other Max showed Max the contents of the page. “See? And then she drew a heart and added ‘in a heartbeat’ once more. That’s what she thought of you, bleeding out on the floor. How she would take you back in a heartbeat if you just reached out. But you never did. She never saw you after William’s funeral. She never had the chance to take you back in a heartbeat. Because you never came back. And because you stopped her heart from beating. Forever”.

With an unarticulated scream, Max struck at the mirror. An avalanche of glass shards fell into the sink, mixing with bile. Max breathed heavily. Some of the things the other her said were obvious lies. That she didn’t love Chloe. That she was anything like Jefferson and Nathan. But other things … That she had broken her promise. That she had failed her friend. Max desperately wished those things were lies as well.

Her reflection, its voice distorted, as it was now coming from dozens of glass shards at the same time, dealt her a final blow: “Live with the consequences of your actions, Max. Or don’t. I’m fine either way”.

“Oh, I’m not going to live with them. But not in the way you want me to”.

“What, are you trying to tell me you’re going to find your courage and confidence? That part of you is all shrivelled up, almost dead. You’re never going to find her alone”.

“I’m not alone. I have my best friend to help me”.

Max walked over to the corner she had cowered in on Monday. She looked everywhere, but the photograph she had dropped five days earlier was nowhere to be found. She turned to the trash cans, picking them up and emptying them onto the floor. She knelt and started going through the piles of slimy garbage with her bare hands, begging whoever and whatever was listening for the butterfly picture to turn up. It didn’t.

#max caulfield #other max #life is strange #lis #chloe price #pricefield #nathan prescott #mark jefferson #life is strange fanfiction #fanfiction #rachel amber

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imthejudge · 1 year ago

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make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter Seven Word Count: 8,257

Chapter Six

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/120710245

Chapter Seven: improve

The following morning comes all too soon, the night having gone by in a blur. Such as it goes. Warren wakes up feeling… strange. Knowing it’s his last day stuck in the 80s before attempting to travel back home. This uneasiness knotted in his stomach doesn’t come from the anticipation or worry over the feat. Not entirely. It comes from the fact that he can’t convince Nathan to come back with him. And having run out of time to do so.

If only he’d known earlier. Or if there was some way of discovering this before they’d travelled. Before the storm, before the fight in the parking lot, before everything. What he would give to go back, all the way back. Before Jefferson ever got anywhere close to Nathan and the others.

Warren certainly considered it. The temptation to turn the dial to a date before anything happened. But he knows it’s too big of a risk, not being able to voice the idea to Nathan, who he’s sure probably thought of it himself. Both refusing to bring it up, like an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t a possibility, as much as it hurt to admit.

Messing with time, well. It's dangerous. Warren doesn’t even want to dive too deeply into their current circumstance. His mind likely to explode from trying to wrap his head around what being in 1983 might’ve contributed to the future already. To try to ‘fix’ what transpired before the events of he and Nathan’s present in 2013? Warren doesn’t need to go through loop after loop trying to change the future. It’s chaos theory, you know, the butterfly effect and all. Living through the attempt would likely cause them more pain than actual help. And as selfish as it sounds, Warren doesn’t want to put him or Nathan through that. The choices they might have to make… the consequences with them.

So it’s with a dreadful acceptance that Warren starts his day, wanting to push it all far from his mind. But, despite it all, there’s that little, tiny, bit of hope that still lingers. That perhaps it’s not too late yet. That Nathan can be swayed, and that’s what keeps him going. It’s enough motivation to plaster a somewhat acceptable–and at the very least neutral–expression on his face when he and Nathan meet up with Lou at the Two Whales for an early start on their last day.

But even Joyce’s prized smile and his favourite order of Belgium waffles can’t raise his spirits, only managing a couple mouthfuls before he begins aimlessly poking at it with his fork, gaze downcast.

“Uhh, I don’t think so. Warren’ll be the deciding factor.” Warren drifts back to the conversation at the mention of his name, focusing on Lou and Nathan as they eye each other competitively. “You don’t think he’ll agree with me?” Lou feigns a look of despair, shaking her head solemnly. “Sweet, unaware Nathan.” She takes a long sip of the chocolate milkshake she has in front of her.

“What’re we talking about?” Warren looks between the two of them, completely lost.

“Your friend over here thinks strawberry is the superior milkshake flavour,” Lou throws a thumb Nathan’s way with an expression like he’d just tried to convince her that the sun revolves around the earth.

“Yeah, cause it is.” Nathan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the expression so strikingly reminiscent of the version of Nathan Warren recalls before everything that it sends a chill along his spine.

The feeling only deepens when he clues into the fact that he’s going to have to agree with Lou, and therefore disagree with Nathan. “Err, chocolate all the way, man… sorry.”

Nathan tears his eyes away from Lou to squint them further, disgust curling his lip. Arms still crossed, he gives Warren a quick once over. “This explains so much.”

Warren has to stop himself from bursting out laughing and he can see Nathan’s expression has lessened somewhat, too, allowing himself the slightest quirk of his lips. Lou looks between them, shaking her head disapprovingly before she turns away from them and absentmindedly stirs her shake with her straw, “I don’t know what you guys think is so funny, this is a serious matter.” But amusement flashes in her eyes when she flickers them back to the boys’ direction. “But onto actual serious matters, we’ve yet to figure out a way to divert the energy from the lightning strike to Warren’s car. Which, if we don’t do, then all our work will practically be for nothing.”

Warren considers this. He had the idea of potentially finding a metal wire that they could lead from the source of impact–right on the bald head from the statue centering main campus–to where they’d situate his car.

When he shares his idea, Lou nods thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but probably the best option we have as the point of impact is so awkward. We’re lucky it’ll be late in the day, but I’m afraid that as much as that means there won't be any students around to witness us doing this, there is going to be campus security lingering about. And I have a feeling that messing around with the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell in the very middle of campus is going to be like lighting a beacon for them.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” Warren states, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong with their plan.

“I agree,” Lou blinks, fixing her gaze somewhere past Warren, no doubt already going over details in her head. A silence grows, the two of them determinedly lost in thought.

“I need to piss.” Nathan announces spontaneously and tonelessly, straightening up from his seat so fast Warren almost jumps.

As he walks off to the direction of the bathroom Lou shakes her head, an air of amusement still about her. “He’s a strange one.”

“Yeah,” Warren agrees lowly, though not being able to help the little bit of endearment that seeps into the response.

“Are you excited to go back?”

Warren looks up at her from his slumped position, having held his head in both his hands as his elbows rested against the booth table. She’s gazing at him expectedly, her smile replaced by genuine inquiry and a hint of something that Warren can’t quite pin. Though, it reminds him of how his mom would sometimes prod him back home when she was worried over him.

To the future, she means. He hesitates. “Yeah.” No. The instant contradiction of the voice in his head comes as a surprise, almost like he’d been avoiding actually asking that question internally so he’d never fully admit it to himself.

She’s unconvinced, Warren can tell by the way her brows knit together. But she doesn’t say anything more since Nathan’s walking back towards their booth and throwing himself across from Warren once more. They get the bill, which Lou pays without discussion, then they’re leaving the comfortable coziness of the diner to brace for the contrast of the brisk fall air outside.

“Shotgun.” Nathan bumps Warren’s shoulder as they head back to Lou’s car. Warren rolls his eyes, letting Nathan beeline it to the passengers seat while he bends down to tie his shoelace that’s come undone. But instead of witnessing Nathan launching himself in the front seat like he expects once he’s finished, Nathan’s still waiting beside the car door. “Hey nerd, you good?” Nathan asks once Warren catches up.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Warren drops his gaze, hand reaching out for the backseat door handle. Pausing, he lets go of it to set his gaze back on Nathan. “Actually, no. Not really. I can’t stand the idea of going back to the future without you.”

Shock registers on Nathan’s face momentarily as he stares back. A beat passes between them, where that shock morphs into something else, something Warren can’t decipher and just as Nathan opens his mouth to speak Lou pops her head out of the driver's side window to peer over at them inquisitively, “everything okay? You guys coming?”

They don’t say anything. Then Nathan drops his eyes as he turns away, opening the passenger side door to duck inside. “Yeah…” Warren eventually answers once he’s inside the car, too. “Let’s go.”

They end up splitting off from Nathan, who goes back to the dormitories to shower, while Warren and Lou continue back to the school labs for what is likely their last time. Warren finds himself hung up over all these ‘last times’. The last time he’d see the Two Whales in its prime. The last time he’d sleep in Lou’s dorm room. The last time he’ll routinely work on the reactor with the best lab partner he could ever ask for.

The last time he’ll see Nathan.

The hardest one to accept of all.

Nathan. Who has, against all odds, become his friend in the end. There is a twinge of something in his chest. Somehow the term ‘friend’ just didn’t feel adequate enough. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling, really, since it’s accompanied by the realization that if he would try to define it further, it would only hurt more. Because whatever it is that developed between them will be staying right here. Stuck in 1983. Forever.

So Warren doesn’t want to dwell on the thought, no–he outright refuses to think about it further.

But as much as he tries to push it all away Warren has a difficult time concentrating when Lou and him tackle what’s left with fixing the reactor. He finds himself struggling to focus his full attention throughout that morning. Even going as far as zoning out while working on it, sometimes–much to his embarrassment–during crucial conversations with Lou.

The saint that she is, Lou didn’t lose her patience when he’d ask her to repeat something, or when he–not once, but twice–dropped the pair of pliers he brandished when aiding her in lining the interior walls with the last of the new material.

Continuing to fumble into the afternoon, Warren adds it all up to his concern. His mind wholly and inexplicably taken up by a single thing. Nathan . But it isn’t just about his consistent worry over the fact that Nathan said he wouldn’t go back with him, leaving him behind. No, it was just simply…Nathan.

His presence, his attention. That smirk he’d point at Warren when he’d try to provoke him. His eyes, his hands, his hair. The jacket he gave to Warren so that he can breathe him in at all times. Notes of all the different scents that could vaguely be described as who Nathan is, but aren’t close enough to commit to. So Warren doesn’t bother discerning them. He just knows he can’t live without it anymore.

How–as much as Warren has been avoiding thinking about last night–something shifted between them. Something that could be traced right back to the very moment that Warren entrusted letting Nathan carry the reactor in his hands. The trust Warren hadn’t realized he had put in him then, somehow further solidified after last night. Because that was the exact moment Nathan decided to return that trust.

And it’s cruel, really, to have shared such a vulnerable moment together only for the repercussions to become as fragile as paper that he will have to shred to pieces in order to go back home. Repercussions that are, simply put, how Warren has never become so enthralled with another human being before. Completely and utterly invested in Nathan.

And just when Warren starts to wonder when Nathan will show up, the door to the lab opens as the very person saunters in, immediately sweeping his half lidded and dark-circled eyes to meet with Warren’s. And for the third time that day Warren lets the pliers fall from his grasp, the disruptive sound of metal hitting the floor ringing around the space of the lab.

Warren instantly darts to pick them back up, embarrassed, his lab coat crinkling noisily as he does so and further cementing his humiliation.

“Hey,” Nathan nods his head to Warren.

“H-hi,” Warren stutters out in response. What the fuck was that?! A judgy voice that sounds way too similar to Nathan berates internally. Warren can sense himself turning red–from embarrassment, definitely from embarrassment–and swivels on the spot he’s standing to focus his attention back to the reactor Lou’s still busy with.

“Hey, Nate,” she calls to him with a small wave of her hand. And then he’s rounding the lab bench to walk into Warren’s direct line of sight again, precisely the opposite of Warren’s intentions when originally turning away.

But he’s there. And Warren has no choice but to witness in silent horror as he crosses his arms and begins pulling his sweater–Warren’s sweater–up and over his head, exposing the skin of his back as the shirt he wears underneath rides up with the motion. Warren’s drawn to the spot, until his shirt falls back in place, almost hanging off of him, really, and Warren tunes in that it’s the Grease shirt he himself had been using as a pyjama shirt.

Warren’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback by the image. It’s not his shirt. It’s Lou’s. And yet he continues aiming his dumbfound reaction with increasing obviousness at Nathan as if this second layer of clothing that Warren has worn himself is somehow scandalous.

Quickly fixing his face, Warren sends what he hopes isn’t a super noticeable side-eye at Lou who’s stationed across from him on the other side of the bench. She’s still transfixed by her work, to which Warren wastes no time shifting his attention back to Nathan. His hair is still a little wet from his shower, reminding Warren of how it had looked the day they’d first travelled here. The natural texture of his dirty blonde hair starting to come through as it dries. Some droplets that cling to the ends threatening to let go, and when they do they prove to be just as distracting as how they’d been on that first day after stepping out of the storm.

Nathan looks really good.

Warren tears his gaze away, pretending to be busy with a couple of tools that are laid out on the lab bench in front of him.

Nathan’s always looked good, though. He’s always been attractive, objectively so. Warren’s always known that. He supposes that’s what makes a popular guy like Nathan so popular… right? Is Nathan even popular? Warren assumes. Because he’s part of the football team and knows sooo many people. Not to mention his involvement with the Vortex Club, and whatever exclusive club within that club he’s a part of. So it’s easy to conclude how that, along with his obvious looks, makes him desired.

Okay, cool. So why is Warren so hung up on it? Yup. That’s Nathan Prescott. He’s also kind’ve an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as originally presumed. They’ve moved past that, and with all the acquired context, Nathan has turned out to be a completely different person from what Warren initially assumed. Therefore all of this factors as a reasonable enough consequence to Warren being internally occupied over the subject matter that is Nathan Prescott.

But, like, he looks sooooo gooood.

Warren lifts his gaze again, settling on Nathan across from him, now loitering on the lab bench adjacent to the one Warren and Lou work at. He’s always had those pronounced cheekbones, sure, but since when did Warren start paying so much attention to his neck–

“...did you want to take a break?” Lou leans into Warren’s frame of view.

“Huh?” He blinks, focusing on Lou’s tilted head across from him.

She quirks an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at Nathan, then back at Warren with a slightly amused expression. “We’ve been going nonstop, it’s okay if you want to take a break and hang out with your friend for a bit. I can take over.”

“Oh, n–no, it's fine. Today’s the last day, we should take advantage of every minute.”

“There won’t be any point if your brain is too fried, Warren.” Warren gawks at her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “You’ve been working too hard, taking breaks is important, too. We’re basically done, anyways. All that’s left is reattaching the door,” Lou clarifies.

“Ah, right,” Warren only reddens further. “I mean–are you sure? Because I can focus, I swear.”

She rolls her eyes, motioning Nathan’s way with her head. “Go on.”

“So where are we going?”

Warren pushes open the door of the main school entrance, holding it for Nathan and craning his neck to look over his shoulder at him. After triple checking it was okay with Lou to take a break–who insisted–and quickly shedding his lab coat, the two of them were on their way out. “I told you, I just wanted to take a break. And I’m hungry. We’ve been at it since this morning.”

“We driving?”

“Yeah,” Warren steers them in the direction of the parking lot, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time it’s only the two of them since last night, if he’s not counting the very brief morning they shared before meeting up with Lou. Which he isn’t.

Silently, they walk across campus until descending the few steps into the parking lot. “Can I drive?”

Warren comes to a halt in front of his car, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he looks at Nathan, “Uh, sure, yeah.” He lightly tosses the keys he already brandishes in his hands, Nathan catching them effortlessly.

“Where to?” Nathan looks at him expectantly once they’re sat inside.

“Well, I felt bad extorting Lou of any more money sooooo...” Warren twists himself in an awkward position so he can get to the wallet in his jeans pocket, fighting against the seat belt he’s already fastened. “I still have, like, twelve bucks left and was thinking we’d pick up some sandwiches from the gas station?” Nathan’s gaze drops to the few crinked bills in Warren’s hand. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“E-Z Gas it is,” Nathan confirms as he starts the car and begins shuffling around to rearrange it to his liking. Then he’s pressing random buttons that even Warren isn’t familiar with, the irrational fear that his Chevy might explode causing him to latch onto Nathan’s arm to stop him.

Nathan doesn’t react, but Warren jolts and releases his hold a second later, the motion having been instinctive. “What are you trying to do?”

“This thing have any music?”

Warren flips it over to the CD that he has in. It’s a mixtape he’d made himself featuring a bunch of his favourite artists–ironically from the 80s–that he had the intention of lending to Max. He never ended up mustering up enough courage to do so, with how intimidating her music taste is. Giving her a thumbdrive full of cult classic films seemed an easier bet, especially since she’d expressed an interest after that one time they’d nerded out over just about everything they’d ever watched for 4 hours straight.

Nathan rifles through the mixtape, one hand on the steering wheel as he maneuvers onto the street, the windows already down due to a brightly shining sun that’s had the afternoon to turn the interior of the car into a sauna. Warren welcomes the cool breeze that flows in, enjoying the sensation of the sun against his face that he knows is fleeting with the storm bound to roll in later that day.

The sporadic sound of the first few seconds of a variety of songs abruptly stops when Nathan backtracks to one he likes. The familiar upbeat synth tempo of Take on Me by a-ha blasts through the dinky speakers of Warren’s Chevy and flows out of the windows when Nathan dials up the volume.

Talking away I don’t know what I’m to say I’ll say it anyway Today’s another day to find you Shying away I’ll be coming for your love, okay

Warren almost thinks it’s a joke, trying to read Nathan for any indication that he’s mocking Warren’s choice in music. But he can’t find anything to suggest he is, instead all he sees is how he leans back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His hair all over the place from the wind in a way that Warren could never replicate himself because it just looks so cool. Almost reminiscent of a frontman to a band of the current century they’re stuck in.

But most surprising of all is his expression. No ounce of fear nor furrow to mark his usual scrutiny. And even with the consistency having faded in the last couple of days, Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan this at ease.

So, needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay Say after me ‘It’s no better to be safe than sorry’

He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to think too deeply that this is the manifestation of his acceptance to stay. And Warren doesn’t know if he’s hurt more by the fact that Nathan is likely experiencing this sense of freedom for the first time in a long time or that he’s already so readily accepted a life where he’ll never see Warren again.

Or, perhaps, Nathan is simply enjoying a single moment of uninterrupted bliss. Something that Warren is quick to want to join in on. The comfort of listening to a favourite song while driving with the windows down. The laziness of the sun hitting the skin of his arm as he props it up on the window. The current company they share. As if for a second they can hold onto a life that sounds so much more promising than the one offered. Like there is a better end to the story they’re getting.

“Oh, things that you say Is it a life or just to play my worries away You’re all the things I’ve got to remember You’re shying away I’ll be coming for you anyway”

Warren didn’t realize how he’d started to sing along, lowly, but he’s not alone. He sees Nathan’s lips move along with the words. And before they know it, Nathan’s turned it up even louder and the two of them are shouting alongside each other. Hitting the high notes as a duet, both out of tune but neither of them bothered enough to care because their chests hurt too much from belting it out.

“Takeeeeeee on meeeeeee,

Take. On. Me.

Takeeeeee meeee onnnnn!

TAKE ON ME.

I’LLLLL BEEEEE GONEEEEEE

IN A DAY OR,

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They’re both breathing heavily when the song finishes, the silence filled by the rapid intake of air for only a second before they exchange a look of understanding and Nathan presses the back button on the radio console to start the song over again.

Warren almost urges Nathan to forget the gas station and tell him to just keep driving. For another couple of replays of the song? For the rest of the evening? Forever? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want it to end. The hunger in his stomach protests to the idea, so when the same E-Z Gas station they’d visited to get the frozen peas comes into view, it’s with much reluctance that Warren brings up a hand to turn the volume dial down.

They park and go in to grab their sandwiches and some bottles of Coca-Cola, this time passing on the peas. When they return to the car with their stuff, they unsheath their sandwiches from the red and white checkered paper they’re wrapped in and scarf them down sitting on the hood of the car in silence. Leisurely, they sip on their drinks until there’s nothing left to preoccupy themselves with.

After a minute or so passes without breaking the silence, Nathan slips off the hood of the car. Warren has to suppress the panic that rises from within him when he does this, brought back to the last time he’d done the same maneuver. But Nathan’s not running off, no hint of frustration surrounding him like last time.

Warren watches as he, instead, makes his way to the backseat to pull his sweater back on then come back around to where Warren still sits on the hood. Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing Warren with his stare, “let's walk to the beach.”

Before Warren can respond, his body answers for him and he’s jumped off. “Okay.”

The steady sound of the waves crashing on the beach can be heard before the trees open up from where they walk to reveal the expanse of sand. There’s an ethereal look of sunlight behind dark clouds that threaten to rain, casting everything in a weird lighting that almost looks artificially improved. Warren’s acutely aware of the beginnings of the storm that is bound to hit Arcadia Bay soon enough and bring them the lightning bolt to take them home. Him home.

They take their time walking toward the water, their steps awkward from the uneven sand. Warren had been hoping for a chance when it would just be the two of them again, trying to gather the courage to say something that’s been on his mind ever since Nathan told him about everything that happened.

He suddenly stops, looking up from his feet and telling himself now is as good a time as any. “Hey, um. I’m gunna try and stop him, you know.”

Nathan stops, too, only a couple of feet from where the tide reaches. He wears a confused expression when he looks back at Warren.

“Jefferson, I mean. I know you’re going to tell me not to because it will be dangerous but I can’t let him get away with everything he’s done to those people–and to you–it’s not… it’s not right. I’m going to expose him, he’ll be caught for what he did.” It was true, it had been a consistent thought throughout Warren’s mind. Jefferson can’t get away with it. And Warren will do everything in his power to stop him. “My friend’s mom is a lawyer, so that will probably help. And I’ll obviously be super careful, I won’t get involved but I’ll talk to the right people who can investigate it. We’ll find that Darkroom you mentioned and–and he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

Warren’s wringing his hands together nervously. Nathan isn’t facing him anymore, not saying anything as the silence begins to stretch out. Warren’s worried he’s breached the already delicate subject. Almost wonders if Nathan might turn to him in anger or pretend he has no idea what Warren is talking about. To discredit everything from last night due to regret in his state of vulnerability, as if to say it were a mere fever dream Warren conjured up.

Without facing Warren, but instead with his body angled away to face the beach, his gaze distant, he says something in such a low voice that Warren almost misses it, so close to being lost to the waves that crash on the shore. “I never thought there would be anyone who believed me.”

It takes a second for the words to reach Warren, for him to fully understand the weight behind them. Said so quietly, so calmly as if it lessened their severity. But it’s devastating to hear, remembering how distressed Nathan had been when he found him the previous night. Wild eyed and frantic and so scared in his confession to Warren.

Nathan finally turns himself to Warren, his expression taut as though he’s calculating everything Warren just said. “I don’t even need to ask you if you mean it. ‘Cause I think I already know you do.”

“I do. I mean every word of it.” Warren has to try to keep his voice from wavering from the sudden sense of overwhelming emotion that overtakes him. Of course he’d meant every word. Nathan deserves that. And Warren tries not to think how it will sort of feel like avenging him. Because even if Jefferson goes down, he will have succeeded in bringing Nathan down with him, as far as he knows.

“I know.” Nathan repeats, offering a small smile that’s quick to slip away again.

They watch the waves for a little while, Warren finding a strange comfort in the way it steadily lulls and crashes onto the bank. The water darkening the sand as it soaks in, before fading away.

“I’ve… actually been thinking…” Nathan casually holds his hands deep in his sweater pockets, kicking some of the sand they stand on with the tip of his shoe.

His eyes dart to Warren, who can’t help but stare back widely with increasing anticipation and a failed attempt not to make himself sound too hopeful when he lets out a breathy, “yeah?”

Nathan’s eyes skirt away again, and Warren almost thinks he’ll drop whatever it is that he was going to say. Warren wants to curse himself for his inability to act–for lack of a better word–chill.

“I…um… fuck.” Nathan tries. And Warren frowns. It’s not unlike Nathan to act frustrated, but if Warren didn’t know any better he swears Nathan almost seems… apprehensive?

“I–” Nathan tries again, articulating with his hand out in front of him now. Trying, but met with more frustration at his attempt to get the words out. He sighs, dropping his hand and making a strangled, choking type of noise. “And I–”

Warren is having difficulty hiding an expression of increasing amusement, his mouth turning into a smothered frown. It’s definitely a sight to behold Nathan like this. He’s got both his hands in front of him–a development–like he’s invisibly force choking someone. It’s very reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith, the episode of which he’s at the height of his tormented attractiveness, in Warren’s opinion. The comparison makes Warren internally reel back, always having fixated on Episode III Anakin.

Huh. Warren is fully frowning now, not having anticipated the rabbit hole his thoughts are sent down as some things seem to click into place for him–and at such an inappropriate moment.

He pushes the mental Venn-diagram comparing Nathan Prescott and Anakin Skywalker–and what it might mean to him–far from his mind, very far–however difficult it may be–to focus back on Nathan and his continued struggle, apparently not having noticed Warren’s own mental freakout. Thankfully.

“Look. Okay.” Nathan runs a hand through his hair, seemingly collecting himself somewhat. “I was pretty dead-set on staying here, to not go back, but… but things… everything has changed. And honestly–I couldn’t give a fuck about going back, at all–but now, now… you won’t be here for much longer. And when you’re gone I–And for so long I’ve been alone and I’ve been fine with that cause–cause it’s all I’ve ever known! And I don’t know if that’s what I–I… fuck!”

He’s pushed his fingers in his hair again, this time the action is frantic, forcing his head back to look at the sky. Warren blinks, taking in Nathan’s freakout which seems so oddly familiar because–

Nathan’s eyes grow wide, his expression slightly lax as if something’s suddenly dawned on him, “This is your fault! You’ve rubbed off on me, oh my God. I’m fuckin’ doomed. I’ve turned into you–”

Something escapes Warren–he can’t help it–too late to catch it before he realizes it’s a laugh that he’s let out. And in that instant Nathan reels on him, latching onto the gesture. His eyes are dangerously narrowed as his face screws up again “are you–are you kidding me right now?”

The way Nathan looks at Warren, like he could ignite him just from how his gaze burns into him somehow makes Warren crack up even more, he’s clapping a hand over his own mouth and trying hard not to double over. “Nonono, I’m not I’m–” but any attempt of lying is squandered by Nathan getting right up into his personal space and taking hold of his arm to try and pry it away.

“Are you seriously laughing at me when I’m trying to admit I have feelings for you?”

“I’m sorry! I swear I’m–wait, you what?” Warren’s dumbstruck, eyes wide and mind completely and utterly blank. It’s Nathan’s turn to smirk now and before Warren can blink or react in any way or absorb anything that Nathan said, the space between them–that he didn’t realize had grown so close in proximity–is closing, until–

Nathan’s lips crush against Warren’s in a flurry. Chapped and warm, the sensation so foreign Warren doesn’t know how to react. It’s only for a moment, but Warren instantaneously feels everything. Tasting him, it’s bitter, the desperation, the hope, his breath against Warren’s skin. And just as fast as it happened it’s over, breaking apart from each other with a jolt.

They both stand and stare at the other, breathing heavily, before Warren’s reaching out to grab Nathan’s face and force their mouths back together. He has no idea what he’s doing, or if it even remotely qualifies as anything real, his mind briefly thinking of how Nathan is probably way more experienced in this department, but shoving the thought away just as fast because he doesn’t care in that moment, he just knows he wants more, needs more. He’s greedy for it and Nathan seems to be just as eager. Impatient, yet so engrossed that there is no need to be. No need to rush but not being able to help the desperation that so completely consumes them.

Warren has no idea how much time has passed when they separate from each other again, but it comes with a need for air and a sudden question that jumps from his tongue–

“Does this mean you’ll–?”

“Yeah, nerd, I’m with you. We’ll go back together.” Nathan says, sort of exasperatedly, his hair array and what Warren notices is a growing smile that braces his lips. Real and whole and directed at Warren. It reaches his eyes in a way that makes them squint. So foreign to Warren but so full of life, bringing colour to cheeks that aren’t as gaunt or sallow as they once were.

The already heightened elation interpreted from the warmth in Warren’s own cheeks and chest spreads further as a grin widens across his face to the point where it’s almost painful. He compares it to the dance and how he’d felt when he saw Nathan standing in the middle of the dancefloor after showing up. All dressed up, camera pointed, face full of trepidation, and showing up for Warren.

It makes his heart do a little flip, the realization of what this feeling he’s feeling is. And unspoken, he knows it’s exactly the same way that Nathan feels about him. All hesitation and doubt gone. That if there’s anyone in the entire universe that he’d wanted to see in that moment at the dance it would be him. That if there is anyone in the whole world he’d end up stuck with travelling through time it would be him. That if there is anyone to be trapped in an impossible situation, Warren’s glad it ended up being him.

Words can never describe how Warren feels about the circumstances that led them to this exact moment, however fragile and carefully constructed this moment may be. And he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The feeling Warren’s experiencing must transfer physically–perhaps directly beaming off of him and directed straight at Nathan–because next thing, Nathan’s pushing a hand against Warren’s shoulder to knock him backwards, though with no real force. “Alright, ease up.”

But they’re both still smiling like idiots and Warren can’t tear his eyes away from Nathan, the wavy hair that dances across his forehead from a wind that’s picked up around them. How the strong sunlight that threatens to lower beneath the layer of storm clouds casts him in such perfect lighting Warren wonders if his mind might be playing tricks on him by dosing this particular moment through rose-coloured glasses, as if he’s growing nostalgic over it already.

Warren could bask in the happiness that emits from Nathan forever, rooted right to this spot. But he doesn’t have to. He won’t have to mourn this moment because Nathan is coming back with him and they’ll make many more moments like these.

“Come on, I’m ready to leave this fuckass place.” Nathan states eloquently and swivels where he stands, shoes digging into the sand further, before he begins trudging his way back up the beach.

“Yeah, me too.” And this time Warren means it.

Warren’s never been so aware of the way the sun slowly begins to set. Maybe not since he was still a young kid mourning the last few weeks of summer break before having to go back to school. The feeling wasn’t completely different from this, but at the same time it felt like nothing before.

It’s bittersweet, to say the least. The way the water in the bay pulls the sun down until swallowing it whole and dosing the small town into another star-filled night, putting an end to their last day.

“Hey nerd, you gunna help us or are you having a moment?”

Warren’s stood planted on the grass in the middle of the main campus, having zoned out from the view that cascades down to the horizon on the water. He spins around when Nathan calls him out, sending an apologetic and lopsided smile at him and Lou situated a couple feet behind Warren. “Sorry!” Just can’t believe we’re here already…”

Here meaning a mere hour away from when they’re supposed to travel back to the future. No big deal.

It’s started to rain, only sparsely, but enough to confirm the storm that is headed their way. Nathan has his hood on, pulled far over his hair so Warren can only make out the deep scowl he wears on his face. He holds up an umbrella to cover Lou, walking backwards together as she uncoils a thick copper wire from the spool in her hands leading from where they’d secured the end of it to the campus statue’s head.

“Here,” Nathan’s shoving the umbrella he wields into Warren’s hands after he lightly jogs to catch up to them. “Stay with Lou, I’m going to go grab the car and move it to the right spot on the main road.”

Their fingers brush, Warren hesitating with a response. He can’t explain the uneasiness that settles in his stomach at the idea of letting Nathan out of his sight, like something awful will happen in the few minutes they’re apart so close to going back.

“It’s okay,” Nathan says, low so only Warren can hear him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Warren can only nod and watch as Nathan turns his back, “Wait!” Warren calls out, prompting Nathan to face him again. “I want to say a proper goodbye. To Lou. With the three of us.”

Nathan and Lou only stare at him for a second. Then Warren’s outstretching his arms, holding them wide, “Come on, bring it in.” Lou complies and so does Nathan, though not as willingly. But their enthusiasm is quick to change once they’re all in each other's embrace, the grip they hold tightening as the realization that this is it dawns on them.

I’m going to miss this. Warren doesn’t have to say it, and neither do Nathan or Lou. He can sense it the same way as if they did. They’d somehow managed to grow so close after such a short amount of time. The same could be said about Nathan and Warren, but it won’t be the same without Lou. And after everything, all of their work to get to this exact moment… a part of him doesn’t want to leave this behind.

They break apart and Warren clears his throat. “Well,” he focuses on Lou before sending a fist toward the sky. “Don’t you, dun dun dundundun, forget about me…” he sings off-key.

Lou, in return, looks between Warren and Nathan with vague concern and total lack of understanding of what she is witnessing. “Uh…”

“You know, Breakfast Club? Wait, is that not out yet?” He points the question at Nathan.

“Oh my God.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, not even able to look at Warren as he angles himself away.

“Oh. Nevermind.” He cringes internally. And probably externally, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. “It’s a really good movie, though.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Nathan begins to trek across campus in the direction of where they’d parked Warren’s car in the school lot. He may not have been able to handle the overbearing sentimentality, but Warren could swear he heard a sniffle escape him before he disappeared.

Lou, on the other hand, struggled to get back to unspooling the wire, her eyes glassy. “You can’t just make me cry and then leave…” she mumbled out, busying herself again.

By the time they spooled all the way to the campus’ edge and down to where the sidewalk meets the road, Nathan pulled up alongside them. The rain had picked up significantly, causing Lou to almost slip down some of the grass that’s grown muddy, Warren shooting out a hand to help stabilize her.

“We gotta get going!” Nathan calls over to them above the steady shower as he exits the car and slams the door, “a security guy was eyeing me when I left the parking lot and I think he’s headed this way!”

“Shit,” Lou curses, squinting from how the rain beats against the umbrella. “This isn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped and It’s going to be hard to explain exactly what we’re doing. I have a feeling ‘a science project for Mr. Wells’ class ’ isn't going to fly. I have an idea, but I’ll have to make a move right away–”

“–Wait, Wells as in Principal Wells?”

Lou falters, “Mr. Wells becomes principal?”

“Guys–”

“Right, not the point.” Warren rushes the words out. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to cause a distraction in the dormitories, it should buy you two enough time!” She pushes aside the sleeve covering up her watch, “you have less than 15 minutes, it’ll be fine.” As reassuring as her tone is, she can’t hide the worry that flashes across her eyes when she meets them with Warrens.

And Warren recognizes that this is it. “But you won’t make it back again.”

Lou shakes her head solemnly. “No.”

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“For now,” her voice is soft, as is the smile she gives him. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me very soon.”

Warren mirrors the expression. She’s right of course, it will be as if no time has passed. The same can not be said for her, though. Lou will have to wait 30 years before they’ll meet like this again.

“Thanks for–for everything,” Warren stutters out. “I don’t think we could have done this without you. You’re, uh, the coolest mom in the world. But you’re also a great friend. The best, really.”

Lou’s mouth, which is now pressed into a thin line, is set into a frown like she’s suppressing the urge to cry. She wrings her hands around the umbrella handle, fingers turning white with strain. “I’m… I’m really proud of the kind of person my future son has turned out to be.”

They hug again, this time properly and not as awkward as before. When they’re finished she hugs Nathan, too. “I’m glad you two have each other,” she says to him, causing him to look away. “Now I’m really going to go, before this somehow gets weirder.”

She waves over her shoulder at them as she darts away in the direction of the dormitories, angling the umbrella against the harsh wind and rain. The boys waste no time turning their attention to the car where Warren begins wrapping the wire around the antenna at the back while Nathan holds his varsity jacket above them to help shelter against the aggressively growing downfall of rain.

When Warren’s finished he wipes aside the hair that sticks to his brow, checking the watch that Lou lent him. “Okay we have 9 more minutes until impact, let’s get in the car!”

But as Warren straightens back up, the wire that had been pulled taut suddenly goes lax. The copper material seems to flicker, the reflection of the streetlight above catching the droplets that fall from it. Their attention snaps to one another as an understanding passes between them that the wire has come loose on the other end.

Before Warren can say anything, Nathan beats him to it, “I’ll go, you stay!” He yells as he’s already whipping the jacket around himself to pull his arms through.

“But–”

“There’s no time! Get in the car and start it,” Nathan flings the car keys Warren’s way, who instinctively encloses a fist around them in the air.

“I–I caught them!” Warren stares at the palm of his hand in disbelief.

“Proud of you, bud,” and then Nathan’s gone, swallowed by the sheet of rain as he sprints headfirst into it.

Warren has no choice but to dart around to the front of his Chevy and fling himself into the driver's side, forcing the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.

The precious few minutes they have left that creep by in Nathan’s absence are torturous. Warren waits apprehensively, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice and his free foot tapping with impatience. Come on, Nathan, come on. His eyes are glued to the passenger’s side window, barely able to make out anything from the rain that distorts the glass.

Warren chances a glance at his watch. 9:58. 6 minutes.

With nothing else to occupy him, he tries to look through the sheets of torrential rain that aggressively roll over the car and make it almost impossible to hear anything else. He squints, his heart giving a jolt when he sees a flash of red before it’s gone again. A quick glance at the car's digital clock tells him 3 more minutes. The anticipation is killing Warren, making him instinctively reach across the passenger seat to yank open the side door. He doesn’t care when the inside of the car is instantly drenched, all he cares about is if Nathan will be back in time.

The downpour is deafening now, and visibility has barely improved after opening the door. “Nathan?” he tentatively calls out. There’s no response, until he hears a muffled sort of grunt somewhere in the distance. Before he can call out again, there’s a flash of lightning far off–not the one they’d been waiting for, but close enough to momentarily light up the setting Warren looks out to. And to Warren’s utter horror, the still image of Nathan grappling with someone on the ground instills itself into his vision. It’s as if he caught a momentary glimpse of a picture taken with flash to paint the scene in front of him.

Someone’s yelling, and though it’s hard to make out, Warren knows it’s not Nathan. “Did you really think I’d let you get away after what you fucking freaks did to me?! You’re dead! And your friend is next!”

The tips of Warren’s fingers go numb as he feels the blood drain from his face and hands, realizing who it is that has stopped Nathan from getting back, tackling him to the ground mere steps away. “Nathan!” Warren cries out, automatically beginning to crawl across the passenger seat.

“No!” He hears Nathan shout, “don’t! Don’t leave the car!”

Warren freezes, looking back out to where he can see the blurred mass that is Nathan and his father rolling across the soppy grass. A quick glance at the car's interface reads 10:03. One minute. “But I–I’m not leaving you–!”

“It’s fixed! It’s fixed, Warren–you can–ugh–” Nathan lets out another grunt and Warren knows he’s been hit again. There’s a scrambling that can be heard mixed with the downpour and for a brief moment Warren can make out Nathan’s form back on his feet again, booking it toward the car. Warren stares wide eyed, holding his breath when Nathan gets closer and–

He’s back on the ground, his father’s arms wrapped around his legs to take him down again, landing face first. But he’s so close that when he whips back his head Warren can see his face. His pupils are blown out and he looks terrified.

“Give me your hand!” Warren calls out, thrusting his own toward Nathan. Nathan doesn’t hesitate when he complies and reaches up. They’re so close, and Warren stretches as far as he can, until it hurts, until his ribs feel like they might expand and break from the pressure, until the strain is almost unbearable. Their fingertips brush and Warren begins to wrap his hand around what he knows is Nathan’s own.

Please please please please…

But all sensation is lost when a blinding flash and boom takes up all of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Warren clenches his jaw hard as he braces himself, the air on fire around him. And just as fast as it happens, it’s all over.

#another late update lol #grahamscott #warren graham x nathan prescott #nathan x warren #nathan prescott #warren graham #lis #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #thought i should update on tumblr since there's officially one chap left #woooooooo!

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