gk, you who are my home, 6/9, nc17, brad/nate/ray, 11,626
The first step to overcoming a problem is to admit you have one in the first place. Nate’s pretty sure that’s part of the Alcoholics Anonymous code, or something, but he thinks it’s applicable in his own situation. And honestly, Nate is willing to do anything if it means putting this behind him.
So, Nate has a problem, and his problem is that he wants to get pushed around a little, bruised up and fucked hard until he’s too sore to breathe, let alone move. Only, admitting it doesn’t make him feel any better, and he has to double check to make sure Walt hasn’t come back from his morning lab before he says the words aloud.
It still doesn’t make him feel any better and Nate thinks it might be time to move onto phase two of this plan. He mentally debates the pros and cons of doing this on the couch versus doing it in the privacy of his room, but he thinks it’ll be easier to resist the temptation to jerk off if he has to do it in front of photos of his family and Walt’s. Of course, there’s also the added bonus of Walt being an instant boner killer if he walks in.
Not that Nate plans on getting off during this. This is just a simple experiment. He doesn’t think he’ll need these precautions, but it’s better to have them then to be struck without. Or, something like that, in theory.
Sucking in a deep breath, Nate flips open the lid of his laptop and waits for it to boot up. He has to resist the urge to check his e-mail, because he can do it on his phone at any time and because it would just be an excuse to kill time. He doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant to click open the folder he stashes his porn in. He knows the video and images, has used them to get off enough times in the past to know they’ll work.
He clicks open one of the files and slumps back onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. He’s got his speakers down low, to minimize embarrassment if Walt walks in early, and the cheap porno music plays softly over the tinny speakers. The set is hideous and nothing matches, the bedspread almost enough to kill with its clash of colors, but the men are pretty and pale and Nate can feel a low spike of interest in his veins.
Nate watches the video through its entirety, rubbing himself through his sweats, but it’s not enough. The men are young and flexible and they fit and move together in a way that used to get Nate off so quickly, but his interest is waning by the time they rock towards completion. Even thumbing the volume up to listen to their moans isn’t doing it for Nate.
He’s determined to make this work though, to get his body back on the same page as he is, and so Nate clicks open another video, something shorter and grittier. The moaning is louder, forced and obscene, but it goes straight to Nate’s cock. He slips his hand down his sweats and boxers to work himself up, biting his lip as he listens to the rough slap of hips as the porn plays on his laptop.
And Nate knows without even trying, that the rest of the videos he has saved to his hard drive aren’t going to get him any closer to coming than he is already. He doesn’t bother sitting through the video he’s got open, not when the fear of being caught is a constant hum under the surface of his skin. He just clicks open his internet browser and drops down his browsing history to select a site that he knows will be as close as he’s going to get what he wants.
It’s odd, clicking through pages of videos. The banner has fetish in a pretty script, and it makes something twist in Nate’s stomach. This isn’t want he wants, he knows that just from the reaction he’s getting from the word, but somehow he can’t bring himself to close the tab. There’s something about the thought of seeing these people tied up with intricate knots and bindings that holds Nate’s attention.
He gives up on searching through the archive to find anything without women before he settles on something where at least the man is tied up. The knots are simple but constricting, dark leather against pale skin and Nate thinks, he could never let that happen to himself. He doesn’t trust anyone enough to tie him up.
It should be a sure a sign as any that clearly this isn’t what Nate wants in his sex life right now. He doesn’t want to have a beautiful woman - or man, because Nate has his preferences - wearing tight leather to flog his ass, to fuck him so hard he’s screaming around the gag in his mouth. Nate absolutely doesn’t think about what it would be like to be in that position, helpless and vulnerable and begging for more.
The fact Nate comes all over his fingers before he even manages to get his sweats down his thighs is irrelevant. It’s a fluke, a one off chance, Nate starts to tell himself. But then, lying to himself about it defeats the purpose of this exercise in admitting he has a problem in the first place.
Nate lets his head thump back against the back of the couch, cursing under his breath. So, he’s definitely got a problem, then. The next issue, and the more pressing concern, is that Nate has no idea how to fix this. He stays like that for a while, ignoring the hum of his laptop as the video continues to play, but no matter how much he rakes his brain for ideas, he can’t find a solution for this.
Nate is seriously screwed, he thinks belatedly. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to get better if he can’t move past this, but he hopes to God he figures it out soon because he doesn’t know how he can live like this forever.
- - -
It’s never been an uncommon thing for Gabe to be around the apartment, lounging around on the couch watching movies or with a highlighter tucked behind his ear as he studies with Nate and Walt and some of their other friends for rapidly approaching finals. It used to be he spent most of his time naked and in bed with Nate, but beyond the occasional soft kiss or lazy make out session, they don’t spend a lot of time in that kind of contact.
Nate would feel bad for Gabe’s constant presence, but Walt just waves it off because he’s used to Gabe and he doesn’t care. Besides, between classes and Maria, Walt doesn’t spend as much time at the apartment as he used to. It’s weird, this separation between Nate and Walt. He can’t remember the last time they were both seeing someone at the same time. It kind of sucks, if Nate’s honest. Not that he’s not happy for Walt, Nate just - misses him, maybe.
”You’re moping again,” Gabe says, snapping Nate out of his reverie. He’s got a pen tucked behind his ear, but it’s the morning crossword spread out in front of him, and he flashes Nate a small smile over the top of his cup.
Nate stops tapping at his laptop keyboard to side-eye Gabe. He doesn’t know if Gabe knows what he’s thinking about, that Walt is depressingly absent from his chair on the opposite end of the small table from Nate, or if Nate’s lack of enthusiasm is somehow measurable by the way he types, but he doesn’t like it. “I’m not moping.”
”You’re moping,” Gabe says. He takes another sip of his coffee and reaches out to rub his toes against Nate’s ankle lightly. “I swear to God, most of the time it’s like I’m dating someone with two wives.”
That startless Nate, and he looks over at Gabe proper. “Wait, why do I have two wives?”
Gabe holds up one finger, and slowly says, “school”. Which, Nate is in complete agreement with, because he does spend a lot of time focused on school, but in his defense he’s graduating in a few weeks. He has a lot of work to get done still. Gabe holds up a second finger. “Walt.” Which, okay, might also be true.
Nate bites his tongue instead of admitting any of these things though and taps a finger against Gabe’s crossword. “Sixteen across is Mesopotamia,” he says, turning his attention back to his laptop and tapping at his keys idly. When Gabe just makes a confused sound, Nate spares him a look. “Eleven letter word for the cradle of civilization. Mesopotamia.”
”I don’t even - “ Gabe starts. He makes a small sound and runs his fingers through his hair, bored, maybe, and he nudges Nate’s shin with his toes. “Let’s go do something or get dinner or - “ he doesn’t say leave the apartment and join the land of the living again, but Nate is pretty sure it’s implied. “Nate. We’ve been dating for two weeks and we haven’t gone out once.”
The guilt kicks in instantly, which was probably what Gabe was aiming for in the first place. Nate should probably be annoyed at Gabe or himself for being manipulated so easily, but he can’t quite work up the energy. He looks between Gabe and his laptop, then back at Gabe. “I’m maybe two paragraphs from finishing this.”
”Ten minutes,” Gabe says, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. “Ten minutes and I am leaving to get food with or without you. I’m not coming back if you don’t go and you can spend the night alone and miserable.”
”I can work with that,” Nate says, flashing Gabe a weak smile. “Just sit there and look pretty for ten minutes and then we can go get dinner.” He grins when Gabe makes an indignant sound, but he keeps his attention on his laptop. He glances over when he hears the scratch of pen on paper long enough to see Gabe scrawl MESOPOTAMIA messily into his crossword. Smiling to himself, Nate bites his lower lip and goes back to typing.
- - -
The thing is, Nate doesn’t really know how to date people. He knows how it works, in theory. The movies and dinners and small talk, but he’s never really met anyone he was willing to do all of that with time and time again. It’s not that he isn’t comfortable with anyone, or he doesn’t enjoy their company, but he’s never been with someone where he honestly wanted to make an effort and do the right thing by them.
It’s kind of where the original agreement with Gabe came around. It was easy to slip into that kind of relationship with Gabe, when they already knew and trusted each other. Gabe has always been good to Nate, never pushed him or tried to make more out of what they were doing then there was to make. They were just two friends who could be lazy when it came to finding someone they wanted to fuck.
It’s hard to remind himself that that’s not what he and Gabe are doing anymore. Before, if one of them wanted something, they just outright asked. There was never any need to be coy or flirt, they weren’t in it for that. Now, Nate has to remember that he has to take an interest in Gabe outside the scope of friendship, that he can’t just ignore Gabe for a few minutes or hours (or days) and expect things to be better.
Nate suddenly remembers why he doesn’t like to date people. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do right by Gabe, to make him happy and spoil him. He’s just waiting for something he’s starting to think is never going to happen and it sucks. Nate wants to fall in love. He wants to be with someone and have it mean more than just release. Gabe is never going to give Nate that, no matter how hard they try.
It isn’t any sort of revelation. It doesn’t punch Nate in the gut or make his heart pang in his chest. He’s barely gotten through his sweet and sour chicken, tapping his fork against his plate in time with the annoying pop music playing on the restaurant’s radio, and it just kind of occurs to him.
The only part that comes as any sort of shock is that Nate really doesn’t even want to try. Gabe has done nothing out of the ordinary, nothing wrong or that makes Nate want to put his foot down and storm off. Nate just can’t bring himself to care any more about Gabe now than he did before.
Judging by the way Gabe is looking at Nate over his own dinner, Nate thinks he might have come to the same conclusion. There’s just no - no spark, or whatever they call it in those stupid romantic comedies he used to have to watch with his mom and his sisters - and there won’t be. There can’t, not between the two of them.
Later, when Nate’s done paying for dinner and Gabe is standing outside with a smoke, he apologizes. He doesn’t specify for what, and he watches as Gabe just shrugs his shoulders lazily, what can you do? He remembers in a high school, a girl told him once it doesn’t count as breaking up if you’ve been dating for two weeks or less, because it’s like a trial period. He wonders why that thought occurs to him now, and how he’s going to do this.
”Don’t,” Gabe says when Nate opens his mouth. He reaches up to touch Nate’s lips with a finger, silencing him when he starts to protest. “I don’t want to have this talk here. Let’s go back to your apartment, first.”
”Okay,” Nate says, and he waits for Gabe to crush his cigarette under his boot before they start the walk back to Nate’s apartment. It’s only a few blocks away and it’s only a little chilly, but for all the few inches of distance between them where even their elbows don’t touch, Nate feels like he’s freezing.
They don’t talk and the silence is oppressive, condemning in a way that makes something twist tight in Nate’s stomach. It’s hard to move forward when he knows exactly the kind of conversation is waiting for him as soon as he gets inside, but he needs to get this over with before the guilt gnaws at him from the inside even worse than it already is.
Their footsteps echo in the stairway as they make their way up to the apartment Nate shares with Walt, Nate’s sneakers scuffing on the floor loudly when he stumbles over his shoelace. He shoots a look to Gabe, daring him to laugh, but Gabe just holds his hands up in front of him and smiles.
It helps to ease some of the tension between them, but it doesn’t last long. As soon as Nate’s unlocking the door to the apartment and holding it open to let Gabe in first, the feeling is back. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of his couch. “We should probably talk.”
”I want you to do me a favor,” Gabe says, cutting Nate off. He doesn’t look at Nate when he speaks, shrugging off his own coat and laying it on top of Nate’s, before he ducks down to unlace his boots. “Just one favor.”
Nate watches Gabe as he toes off his boots, frowning. It’s clear Gabe has no intention of leaving right now, but Nate can’t think why Gabe would possibly stick around after. Unless this is no different from before, just another break from friendship to relive tensions and frustrations before they’re back to drinking beer and watching Mythbusters. “What do you want me to do?” Nate asks when his curiosity finally wins out.
”Fuck me,” Gabe says. He finally turns to look at Nate, and at first think it’s just an interjection to something he missed, but Gabe’s fingers are pushing the buttons through their holes on his over shirt and he looks dead serious. “One last time, just so we know if it’s better to call it quits on dating or altogether.”
Nate thinks he knows the answer to that question, but he’s not going to tell it to Gabe. He’s not ready to admit his - his problem - to anyone just yet. It’s hard enough admitting it to himself most of the time. He just watches Gabe as he strips slowly and Nate thinks he owes it to Gabe to do this. He owes it to himself. This is his last chance at proving that he’s not some twisted and depraved sex freak.
Running his fingers through his hair slowly, messing it up, Nate tries to think. He should say no, stop this before they both do something they regret. It’s like they’re at the beginning again, when they’ve both had too much to drink and they can’t keep their hands to themselves. They knew better than to touch, knew they would regret it, but it still never stopped them. Nate needed so much more back then. He still needs, just differently now.
Letting out a deep breath and licking his lips, Nate nods. “Okay,” he says, reaching for the hem of his shirt to tug it up and off. “Let’s do this.”
- - -
They make it to Nate’s bedroom before they lose all of their clothes, stripping as they go and letting their clothes stay where they fall. They tumble onto Nate’s bed, pressed tight together, fingers roaming over naked skin. Nate presses kisses to Gabe’s cheek, his jaw, nipping at his ear before scraping his teeth over Gabe’s jaw. He pointedly avoids Gabe’s mouth, and Gabe doesn’t stop him, tipping his head to the side to give Nate more room to work.
It feels good to be with another person like this again. Nate’s missed the way Gabe’s fingers feel on his back, nails scratching lightly down his spine before he grabs Nate’s ass and tries to drag him in closer. He fits easily in the space between Gabe’s thighs, their cocks rubbing together as they both roll their hips. It’s good, enough for him to swell as they move, and Nate thinks he can do this.
There’s a familiarity in this that Nate is going to miss. He knows Gabe, the spot under his jaw where he likes when Nate sucks, how to twist his fingers when he’s jerking him off and when to crook them inside of him to get Gabe to whimper. Nate knows how much time to spend slicking him up, from the first finger to the third, and he waits for the hitch of breath that means Gabe is tired of waiting.
They move together slowly at first, Gabe’s thighs clenched tight around Nate’s hips and Nate holding himself up on his elbows. It doesn’t give them much room to move, to go harder or faster or deeper, but Nate doesn’t complain, because this is what Gabe wants. This is goodbye, he thinks, and he wants it to be good for Gabe.
Eventually, Gabe breaks, asks for more. Nate pushes himself away from Gabe, grabbing his hips and fucking into him harder. Gabe hitches his legs higher around Nate’s waist, his ankles hooked behind Nate’s back and it’s good. It’s nothing like what Nate wants done to him, but he can give this to Gabe. He thrusts into Gabe easily, sliding deep from the angle and hitting his prostate on every thrust.
Gabe comes with a low moan, working his cock with one fist and digging his nails into Nate’s shoulder with the other. He goes taut, clenching tight around Nate and it’s not what Nate wants, but it’s enough for him to come as well, rocking into him as Gabe tenses up and not stopping even after he relaxes. It’s weak, barely enough to take his breath away, but Gabe is trembling beneath him and Nate’s just glad one of them enjoyed this.
He pulls out slowly, tying off his condom and tossing it in the trashcan by his desk before he grabs some tissues from his drawer. Nate wipes himself off and tosses the box to Gabe, collapsing on his bed and watching the seconds tick by on his alarm clock instead of Gabe as he cleans himself up.
”I guess that’s that, then,” Gabe says, pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking at Nate. He’s relaxed, completely at ease with his nakedness, and Nate remembers how he used to think Gabe was beautiful spread out on his bedspread. He still does, but it doesn’t give him the same warm feeling. “I should go.”
”You don’t have to,” Nate objects, turning to look at Gabe. “I’m sorry, I was just - “
”Nate, it’s fine,” Gabe says, and then he’s pushing himself up off the bed and searching for his clothes. “We should both be studying for finals and writing papers anyways. It was fun while it lasted but we both knew it was going to happen.”
Biting his tongue, Nate flops back uselessly on his bed and stares at the ceiling. “All the same, I’m sorry,” he says, closing his eyes. “I’ve been a terrible friend to you. You deserve better.”
”That I won’t deny,” Gabe agrees with a smile. He pulls on his jeans and makes his way back over to the bed, getting one knee on the mattress and catching his weight with a palm by Nate’s head. He’s half on top of Nate like this, his face mostly shadowed, and his fingers are soft when they touch Nate’s jaw. “Hey. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. You’ll never hear me complaining, though.”
”So we’re over for good then?” Nate asks softly. He forces himself to meet Gabe’s eyes, and he isn’t surprised that Gabe doesn’t have to say a single word for Nate to know that they are. He reaches up to touch Gabe’s hip lightly, stroking his fingers along the bone slowly. “I’ll see you in class.”
”Yeah,” Gabe says. He pushes away from Nate slowly, letting his eyes linger on Nate’s body as he backs away. “You should probably pick up the rest of your clothes before Walt gets back and has a hissy fit.” He steps out of the room, gathering up his clothes and getting dressed as he goes, not waiting for Nate to join him or obey.
Then Gabe leaves and Nate is all alone, spread out naked on his bed and feeling worse than he has in weeks. He wonders how he let his life spiral so far out of control and if he could have stopped it if he tried. He thinks, This is the end and he should be more upset than he is.
Closing his eyes, Nate thinks, in reality, this almost feels like a beginning.
- - -
Nate doesn’t get out of bed until much later, when he hears the door unlatch and Walt stumbles in, talking in hushed whispers on his phone. Nate can’t make out what he’s saying, can’t even tell the intent or his tone, but if Walt’s back already it means he’s been spending way too goddamn long in his bed feeling sorry for himself.
He rolls over slowly, peering over the edge of his bed until he can find where he left his jeans. They’re clear on the other side of the room, which means he can’t quite reach them. He debates just fetching them, but his door is mostly open, and he and Walt are usually very good about the not spending more time completely exposed in the presence of each other than they strictly need to thing.
Tugging his sheet loose, Nate wraps it around his hips idly before he rolls over the edge of the bed and makes his way towards his jeans. He waves his hand in a vague greeting when he sees Walt look up at him, but he doesn’t bother to move to close his door. He just moves far enough out of the way to drop his sheet and tug his jeans on, tugging up the zipper and button but ignoring his belt altogether.
By the time Nate makes it into the living room, Walt has gotten off the phone and is staring at it forlornly. “I am seriously hoping your night went better than mine,” Walt says without look up at Nate. He turns his phone over in his hand and pockets it.
”Gabe and I broke up,” Nate replies. He flops back down onto the couch at Walt’s side, stretching out and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. He squirms until he can melt into the cushions, tipping his head to the side to look at Walt. “Did you and Maria break up?”
”No,” Walt says, shaking his head slightly. “I think you win.”
”I think I win, too,” Nate agrees. He doesn’t say anything when Walt slumps against his shoulder, using Nate as a pillow. Nate just pats Walt’s thigh lightly and makes a thoughtful noise. “Do you want to talk about it?”
”Maria’s a nice girl,” Walt says. He stretches and squirms, moving until he can settle more comfortably against Nate’s side and closes his eyes. “I just can’t seem to balance having a girlfriend and all my classes this close to graduating. In hindsight, not my smartest move ever romantically.”
Nate hums in agreement and pats Walt’s thigh again. “Is she graduating this year, too? You could try telling her that maybe you guys should spend a little less time with each other so she doesn’t wind up dating a college dropout?”
”Fuck you,” Walt says, pinching Nate’s side. It hurts enough to startle a sound out of him and he tries to move away from Walt’s touch, but Walt drops his hand. “I’ve worked too hard to dropout now. Though, with all these student loans…” He lets his voice trail off wistfully before sighing. “She’s a year younger. She’ll graduate next year.”
”Yeah…” Nate says, letting his voice trail off.
”Why’d you and Gabe break up?” Walt asks, rubbing his cheek against Nate’s shoulder and closing his eyes. He sighs heavily, comfortable. “If you want to talk about it, I mean. I know how you are about not wanting to talk about anything ever.”
Nate thinks he should be offended or something, but he can’t work up the energy. Instead he just shrugs a shoulder weakly, the one Walt isn’t resting against, because it’s easier than answering. When it becomes obvious Walt is expecting Nate to say something, he clears his throat. “You know, so close to graduating, starting a relationship with someone wasn’t the best idea ever. I’ve got enough to deal with. I think we’re still friends.”
”Do you want to get drunk?” Walt asks softly. “I think we should still have some UV Cherry in the fridge from Thanksgiving or something. I hate that stuff, but we’ve got to drink it at some point.”
”Right now, all I want to do is sleep,” Nate replies tiredly. “The self-pity drinking party can wait until the morning.”
”I can get behind this plan,” Walt says, yawning widely. He doesn’t move to get off the couch, content enough to sleep pressed against Nate’s side and using his shoulder as a pillow. Walt is warm and comfortable enough, so Nate doesn’t bother fighting it. He just yawns and closes his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep on the couch with Walt.
- - -
It’s easy to forget that he’s supposed to be heartbroken, or at least hurt even a little bit about splitting up with Gabe. Nate has classes to go to and essays to write and more importantly, finals to study for. He still sees Gabe, sometimes, still smiles at him across the table, but Gabe looks as stressed as Nate does as the end of term rapidly approaches.
Nate doesn’t have time for anything that isn’t directly related to schoolwork right now. He isn’t entirely sure how Walt can manage all of this and seeing Maria two or three nights a week, but Walt is starting to look a little ragged around the edges and Nate wonders when he’s supposed to tell Walt to stop.
Walt has a calendar on the fridge, stuck to it with a magnet shaped like Virginia and one like a guitar, counting down the days until their finals. He marks them off every day, chewing on his nails and looking haggard, but he smiles tiredly at Nate before starting a pot of coffee. If this is how Walt deals with stress, it’s certainly way more healthy than how Nate does.
Until one day, all of Nate’s papers are due and he has finals to take, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his life, because this is it. This is his chance at going home in one piece and living out a normal life. Or, as normal as it can be when he’s jerking off to thoughts of being tied up. He has no idea what he’s going to do when he graduates, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t spend nearly enough time studying ninety percent of the information on his finals.
This is it, Nate thinks tiredly, running a hand over his face before tugging at his hair. This is how he disappoints his family by failing these last few classes he needs to graduate. His parents are going to be convinced he should have stayed home for the rest of the semester because clearly the stress was getting to him. They’re his parents, they always know what’s best for him.
Even the few texts from home wishing him good luck and telling him he was going to do awesome did nothing to ease the heavy knot twisting around in his stomach. He tries to rethink his answer but his brain has gone comfortably numb after all the information has passed through it and he can’t even recall if he remembered to write his name on his test before turning it in.
It would be just Nate’s luck to fail his last class and not graduate because he forgot to scribble Nate Fick across the top. It’s like the time he was in third grade and cried to his mom because he failed his spelling test because he forgot to write his name on the top of it when he was so sure he got important and persevere right.
By the time Nate is done, he’s completely exhausted, mentally and physically. He never wants to move from his spot on the living room floor. He doesn’t think he could manage it even if the apartment caught fire. This is where he will die, Nate thinks, spreading out like a starfish and pressing his cheek against a cushion he stole from the couch. This will be his final farewell.
Walt makes his way back from his classes and lunch with Maria eventually and heads straight for the fridge. He doesn’t look at Nate until he’s come back with the bottle of UV, leaning back against the couch from his spot on the floor and screwing off the cap. He drinks straight from the bottle and hands it off to Nate. “Now we wait,” he says ominously.
Nate accepts the bottle when it’s passed to him, feebly trying to drink from it without pushing himself any further up. He manages to get it eventually, only spilling a little on himself in the process. He makes a vaguely affirmative sound and passes the bottle back to Walt. “Now we wait,” he agrees.
- - -
Waiting to find out if they’re going to graduate is one of the worst weeks of Nate’s life. He’s not fearing for his life, which is always nice, but the fear that he’s not going to make it and he’s going to be a disappointment to his family is almost as gripping. They’ve given so much to him, trusted when he said he could do this, that he had to do this. It would be just like him to fail at the last possible minute.
Nate doesn’t want to fail. He doesn’t know what he would do with his life if he had to repeat a semester. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to look anyone in the face and know that they’re wondering how much it must hurt to fall off the pedestal Nate keeps so high for himself.
Nate doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he graduates, either, but that’s not as pressing a concern to him at the moment. One day at a time, he tells himself, which is probably also a motto he picked up from his limited knowledge of Alcoholics Anonymous, but at this point, Nate will take whatever he can get.
- - -
Nate is sleeping when Walt comes to wake him up, bursting into Nate’s room and jumping onto his bed. He’s got his laptop clenched to his chest, a fearful look on his face. “Grades have posted,” he says, biting his lip and squirming anxiously, pressing at Nate until he rolls over and sits up. “Get your lazy ass up, Nate, I need you to check with me.”
It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Nate to come to, blinking away sleep and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He scoots closer to Walt, pressed against his side, the both of them waiting in tense silence for his laptop to load the pages they need.
Walt passes the laptop to Nate to let him check his grades first, chewing on his nails. It’s a habit Nate has no idea when he picked up, but when he makes an idle comment about Walt not bleeding on his bed and Walt punches him in the arm.
Nate passes all of his classes. He stares at his grades for a minute, his heart somewhere around his throat, and he can’t quite remember how to breathe. He’s not thinking about crying or choking up or anything like that. Really, when all the relief and adrenaline is done washing through Nate’s system he thinks the only thing he really wants to do is maybe sleep for the rest of the century.
Passing the laptop back to Walt, Nate curls his fingers around Walt’s bicep in support. A small whimper escapes the back of Walt’s throat and at first, Nate thinks Walt failed and that he has no idea what to say to his best friend right now. He looks at Walt’s grades then, nearly biting his tongue when he sees the scores.
”You’re graduating,” Nate says, tightening his fingers around Walt’s arm and shaking him lightly. “I’m graduating. Oh my God, Walt, we’re graduating and we’re going to be college graduates. We’re going to be respectable adults - “
Walt makes a small sound, snapping his laptop shut and quickly putting it aside so he can tackle Nate to the bed in a bear hug. “We’re graduating,” he says, breathless and awed and maybe a little choked up. “Holy fuck, Nate, we did it.”
Nate’s not entirely sure how they did it, is still surprised they did, but he just makes an embarrassing sound in the back of Walt’s throat and clutches him close. “Jesus Christ,” he says, and he means Thank God.
The now what do we dos can wait until later, until after they’ve called home to share the good news and have calmed down enough to catch their breaths. Right now is for celebrating the fact they made it. Anything else can wait.
- - -
Graduation and the days leading up to are a bit of a blur. Nate remembers meeting his parents at the hotel their staying at and his sisters begging to be allowed to stay with him and Walt. He changes the sheets on his mattress and resigns himself to sharing a bed with Walt for the next few days. For his part, Walt doesn’t even mind. He’s still strung out, and the situation with Maria hasn’t improved any, but he goes to dinner with his mother and Nate’s family to celebrate their accomplishment.
There are a lot of lunches and dinners to be done while his parents are in town. There’s even more packing to be done, and Nate’s just glad their apartment is mostly pre-furnished, because he doesn’t think he’d know what to do with their beds and couch if it wasn’t. As it is, he manages to guilt his sisters into packing the kitchen and living room into boxes except for the bare essentials and he tackles his room himself.
The mindless busy work is good. It gives him something to do to help settle the restlessness in his bones. He’s okay with spending all his time doing laundry and rolling socks, finding out who borrowed what stuff from him and which friend left what movie on their coffee table. It’s an even better distraction from the fact there’s a low ache humming through his system and that he finds himself tensing up for no reason.
Nate is going home soon, back to DC. The place he hasn’t been since Spring Break and he was kidnapped and taken hostage. He knows his parents are expecting him to break down every time they look at him. They’ve admitted coming to Dartmouth to finish the year was a good idea, but it’s the most they want to speak on the subject. Nate has become the elephant in the living room and he doesn’t know if that’s adding to his restlessness or improving it.
There is a small part of Nate that is restless for a completely different reason, though. The hum through his veins has nothing to do with reawakened fear and nervous tension and everything to do with a desire to get laid. Sleeping with Gabe sated that feeling a little, but now that Nate has nothing else to focus on it’s the only thing he wants. He wants to meet a guy who will hold him down and fuck him until he’s screaming, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, would never admit it out loud. Nate just doesn’t know where to find someone like that.
The internet is a many splendored thing, Nate knows, but he’s not sure he’s comfortable Googling the kind of bar he needs when Walt is asleep on the bed next to him snoring softly and he can hear the low murmur of his sisters’ voices in the next room over. It’ll have to wait until he gets home, if he really plans on doing it. The mere thought has Nate’s heart thudding in his chest and his palms sweating, though, so he doesn’t think he has much choice. He wants it too bad not to do it.
Somewhere in the middle of his worrying and packing, Graduation happens. It feels like high school all over again, the same sense of boredom as he listens to speeches made by people he cares little for and the fact he’s itching to get his fingers on his diploma so he can finally get out of here and move on. He doesn’t have Walt anywhere near him to bother, or Gabe, and Nate feels like he’s slowly going to go insane when he waits for that final moment.
And then Nate has his diploma clutched in his fist and he’s being swept up by a whirlwind of hugs and tears, from friends and family and people he knows only in passing. He’s having the life squeezed out of him and his mother is near bawling into his robes. Nate’s smiling so hard it hurts and he wants to remember this moment forever, the way his sisters are both holding onto his arms and his father is looking at Nate like he’s not afraid he’s going to fall apart at a moment’s notice for the first time in a long time. For once, everything is okay again.
- - -
Walt and Nate drive back to DC together, most of their stuffed crammed into the back of the car and the trunk. It’s a long and quiet drive, but it doesn’t feel oppressive. It’s the exact opposite of the drive they took the first time they took this route, only they were going in a different direction then.
This is the end of so many things. Walt and Nate have been together since they were kids, going to the same schools and taking almost the same classes. They’re never going to get that lucky again. They have no choice but to find jobs in different places and move on. They’re not going to say goodbye, because Nate knows Walt will always be his best friend, his brother, but it’s still a sobering thought.
They don’t talk though, almost the entire way back home. Walt hums along with the radio and the low hum of country music and Nate doesn’t say a thing. He sleeps most of the trip until it’s his turn to drive, but he doesn’t change the station. If Walt wants country music, Nate won’t object. Maybe there is some form of latent guilt running through him, but he can’t help it. Nate’s been shutting Walt out. Letting him listen to a few twanging guitars is the least he can do.
- - -
Nate can feel the tightening in his chest the closer they get to DC. His skin is crawling and his stomach is objecting by crashing around, all the way to the point he can taste bile in the back of his throat. It’s a fight not to dig his nails into the armrest and to control himself.
Walt’s been driving for the last hour, since they got close to home and he was too antsy to sit still for any longer. Nate was hoping this would mean Walt wouldn’t notice how Nate was slowly slipping into a panic attack, can feel it edging in along the base of his brain and he’s sucking in sharp little breaths just to be able to breath. Walt doesn’t pull the car over or reach out for Nate, but it’s probably a close thing. “Call your parents and tell them you’re coming home with me tonight.”
Nate blinks in confusion, glancing at Walt. He opens his mouth to object, but Walt’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel and his gaze is steely as he stares pointedly ahead. “It’s too late for you to deal with this shit at home and it’s a lot easier to avoid questions and stares when it’s just me and my mom. Call home.”
”Okay,” Nate says, arching his hips up a little to pull his cellphone from his pocket. He debates calling, but he doesn’t want to listen to his mother try to wheedle into staying at home. He texts her instead, a quick Staying at Walt’s. Be back in the morning. Love you. before turning off his phone and clutching it in his fingers.
Walt doesn’t say anything, biting at his lower lip instead, and Nate wonders what he’s thinking. He’s quiet for a long time, driving them deeper into the city until the streets all become familiar, even in the dark. Home, Nate thinks, but Walt cuts him off before he can say anything. “I’ve got some Jack in my bag. It’ll be warm, but I think you and I have a night of drinking ahead of us.”
”I don’t need to get drunk,” Nate says, pointedly tipping his head away from Walt to stare out the window. He ignores the fact he’s getting the jitters, trying to force himself to remain calm, to breathe in and out nice and slow, and it helps a little. He hasn’t broke down or burst into tears. He can to this. He can learn to control himself.
”Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Walt replies, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel slowly. His whole demeanor changes almost instantly, no longer hard and tense to something else. It’s hard for Nate to say exactly what Walt feels like now, but he thinks tired might cover it. “Maria and I broke up this morning.”
”Walt,” Nate starts, but the platitudes die on his tongue. Walt doesn’t want to hear them any more than Nate did, Nate is sure. Walt doesn’t elaborate though, and Nate’s not sure if he’s supposed to ask why or not. He settles for dropping his head back against his headrest on the seat and sighing heavily. “So far this summer is going off to a great start.”
Walt laughs, something startled and high, but it evens out into something more natural. “No fucking kidding,” Walt says, and Nate can’t help but agree.
- - -
Walt’s mother raises an eyebrow when she sees Nate and Walt standing in the front doorway, but doesn’t say anything beyond “don’t be too loud” and disappearsfurther into the house. They share a look, Walt shifting the bag he grabbed from his trunk further up his shoulder, before they shrug and make their way to his room.
Bailey is sleeping on Walt’s bed when they make it to his room, stretched out across his covers and her feet kicking out as she runs in her dream. Nate takes the bag as Walt passes it to him, then Walt is moving to flop down on top of the Labrador and wakes her up with kisses and scratches. She barks once, startled, before she’s a mess of whines and quick licks of her tongue, weaseling out from under Walt until she can pin him down and lick his face clean.
Nate watches for a moment, smiling. The stupid, choked off giggles Walt is making as the dog attacks his face and the low whines from Bailey are enough of a distraction that Nate doesn’t have to think about the fact he’s come back to DC. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was kind of hoping he’d have moved past this panic attack bullshit.
Not bothering to wait for Walt and Bailey to finish with their hellos, Nate opens Walt’s bag and pulls out the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. There aren’t any cups that Nate can find, so he settles for twisting off the top and drinking straight from the bottle.
Eventually, Walt manages to calm Bailey down enough that she’s content to just lay at his side and lick his jaw, and he props himself up on his elbows to look at Nate. “Considering you’re the one who didn’t want anything to drink in the first place…” Walt starts. He grins when Nate just quirks an eyebrow and reaches out with one hand. “Gimmie.”
Nate hands over the bottle and moves to sit on Walt’s bed, his back against the headboard. It only takes Walt a second to join him, sipping from the bottle and fluffing a pillow up behind him idly. Bailey claims the spot between them, deciding she’s had enough of Walt and starts licking at the line of Nate’s hip where his shirt rides up, his wrist up to his elbow, and Nate is too tired to object.
”Do you want to talk?” Nate asks, running his fingers through Bailey’s fur to scratch her behind the ears. He ignores the quirk of the eyebrow Walt gives him and makes a strange sound, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “I mean, I know you and Maria - that you liked her.”
”It just wasn’t working out,” Walt says after a moment of silence, sipping at the bottle of Jack before handing it back over to Nate. “I think, the more pressing question is, do you want to talk? And I don’t mean about Gabe.” Walt’s gaze is steely when he looks over at Nate, but it’s not unkind, just determined.
Nate’s default reaction is to say no, the word coming out harsher and louder than he means it to. “I’m sorry,” he adds, feeling a little guilty when Walt clenches his jaw. He takes a swig from the bottle, letting the whiskey sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallows and licks his lips. Nate clutches the bottle between his knees and runs his fingers through his hair slowly. “I wouldn’t even know where to start if I wanted to.”
Walt makes a soft, encouraging sound, before he reaches over and takes the bottle back. “I think you just start talking,” Walt says slowly, wiping at his face tiredly before taking a sip. “I just don’t think being home is going to be any good for you if you’re still biting back everything to the point of a panic attack.”
”I know that,” Nate says, shaking his head slightly. “I thought I would be better, that I’d have gotten over everything,” he adds, quieter. He draws his knees up, drumming his fingers against his kneecaps lightly and sighs heavily. He doesn’t have to hold out his hand for Walt to pass the bottle back, and this time Nate drinks a proper shot of it and relishes the burn. “Fuck,” he breathes out.
”Don’t drink so fast,” Walt scolds, but he doesn’t take the bottle back. He settles in more comfortably, smiling when Bailey pillows her head on his hip, and drapes his arm over the top of her. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Walt says quietly. “I just thought that maybe…”
Nate is torn. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not with anyone and especially not with Walt. He doesn’t want people to think he’s broken, to know what happened and think less of him because of it. Especially now that Nate’s slowly becoming - maybe not obsessed, but fixated - on the thought of having that kind of sex again. Nate doesn’t think anyone could possibly understand what he was going through, least of all Walt. Walt is a good person, he wouldn’t judge Nate to his face, but he’s so overprotective sometimes.
On the other hand though, there’s a strange sort of relief at the thought of finally getting all of this off of his chest. He could be done with it, maybe, if he just opened his mouth and told Walt everything that happened. That would be good, he thinks. Maybe finally telling someone would be enough for the anxiety attacks to settle and for Nate to finally move on with his life. Nate just wants to put Spring Break behind him.
Sighing heavily, Nate stops tracing circles against his kneecap and rests his cheek against it instead. He takes a sip of Jack and passes the bottle back to Walt. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, trying to decide if he does want to go through with this or not. He appreciates the fact that Walt doesn’t say anything, just plays with the soft ears on his dog until she huffs at him.
If worse comes to worst, Nate can just blame it all on the alcohol. He can already feel it buzzing through his system, warm and sweet. He can pretend he never said a thing, and if Walt thinks Nate doesn’t remember it, he’s smart enough to know not to bring it up. Not that this is the kind of thing one brings up in idle conversation, anyways.
Then, before Nate can talk himself out of it, he starts to talk. “I went to the gym,” he says, his words coming out in a rush and startling Walt into looking over at him. “I went to the gym, because I was getting frustrated at my parents and because I was worried about Mike and I got yelled at for smoking. I just wanted to burn off a little energy. I didn’t think it would hurt to be on my own for a few hours.”
And Walt just listens. He doesn’t say a thing the entire time Nate is talking. He lets Nate recount being asked for a light and searching for his Zippo before waking up alone and being stuck in a small room for days on end. Nate tells him about the pancakes, the men who had him even though he doesn’t mention their names, and about a well-worn copy of Good Omens.
Nate doesn’t know at what point his voice gets high and his fingers start to tremble, when he feels his heart thudding in his chest and the bile raising at the back of his throat, but Nate can’t stop. He’s started this and now he needs to finish it, because he might break if he doesn’t. His words are rushed, doesn’t even know if Walt understands them, but Nate needs to be rid of them before he chokes on them and breaks down completely.
Nate talks past the tremble in his voice and the tears burning at the back of his eyes. He doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed of what he did, of offering to spread his legs in exchange for his life, and he’s grateful that the only thing Walt does is suck in a sharp breath at the words. He doesn’t know how long it takes to get all the words out, but it seems like an eternity has passed in nothing more than a heartbeat.
Suddenly, Nate just feels cold and small and more than a little broken. He wipes at his face, embarrassed about the fact he’s crying in front of Walt again, but neither of them comments on it. They’re quiet for the longest time after Nate’s done talking, only Bailey moving enough to lick Nate’s wrist in some small form of comfort.
It’s almost as terrifying not knowing how Walt feels about all of this as it was talking about it, but just as Nate’s about to break again, further, probably into open sobs that he’ll be humiliated about for the rest of his life, Walt passes him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and says, “I knew I should have bought another bottle.”
There are no platitudes, no Oh my gods or I’m so sorrys or any sort of desire for Nate to check himself into therapy or a mental home. Just Walt, offering Nate something to drink and trying to smile at him, though the quirk of his lips is broken and small.
It’s enough, Nate thinks, to know that they’re going to be okay. Walt has his back, just like he always has. He doesn’t think less of Nate, and maybe that’s just because the gravity of what Nate told him hasn’t set in because of the alcohol and late night exhaustion, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, when Nate needs him the most, Walt has his back.
Nate’s not alone in this, not anymore.
- - -
It takes a week of the forced normalcy for Nate to break. He’s surprised he made it that long when his parents are treating him like he’s fragile and everyone is pointedly not talking about anything more serious than the weather forecast. It might have something to do with the fact he has Walt to distract him, and Mike, who is okay and cuffs Nate upside the head for choking on his words and his heart thudding in his throat in relief when he finally sees him again.
Nate and Walt don’t talk about what happened, not after that first night back. Walt comes around sometimes, to take Nate away from his family, but they usually just end up at Walt’s place. Nate isn’t entirely comfortable wandering around DC like it was Hanover. There’s still a low level of anxiety that hums under his skin whenever he’s out in the city for too long, whether he’s got Walt at his side or not.
Eventually, though, Nate knows he’s going to have to stop this. He’s already gotten past the most difficult hurdle in all of this, and that was admitting to Walt what happened to him over Spring Break. Now he just needs to figure out how to get the sex thing out of his system. He’s hoping the combination of the two things will be enough of a shock for his system to reset and go back to normal. Or at least, if he can’t reach normal, something more manageable.
It’s easy enough to get on Google and look up the kind of places to go that would help him solve his issues. DC is a big city, there are enough shady parts of town for people with less than the purest of intent to hang around in.
He knows better than to just pick one idly and head out, these kinds of places have reputations for a reason. He spends more time sorting through news reports looking up the legal history of each establishment than he does anything else. He wants a feel for these things, sure, and as much as he wants to go someplace to get this out of his system, he doesn’t want to wind up dead behind a dumpster. It’s DC, it would probably happen.
The hardest part is going to be figuring out how to get there - after he convinces himself to go. The latter shouldn’t be so difficult to do, because just the thought of sex has his heart thumping in his chest loud enough to hear. The problem lies in the fact he doesn’t exactly know how he’s supposed to slip out of the house without his parents knowing and take his car into a part of town his parents would skin him alive for being.
Idly, Nate wonders if this is one of those things he’s not supposed to do because it could ruin his father’s reputation. He can see the headlines now, tearing apart the Senator because his son is a cocksucker who likes to get roughed up. It was bad enough when the media learned about his sexuality the first time.
Leaning back in his seat, Nate stares at his laptop screen as he tries to think. There are so many ways this plan can go wrong and so many people could get hurt in the process, least of all himself. He doesn’t think it’s going to stop him from going through with this though, not when he wants and needs it as badly as he does.
Maybe he’s making a mistake, risking everything on a rash decision, but maybe it’s time for Nate to be more impulsive. The harder he tries to hold everything close and control it the quicker he is to break down. Since giving in and sharing with Walt on a whim, he’s felt better. Nate thinks it’s a trend that could continue, if he let it.
The only way to find out is to just go through with his plan and Nate isn’t going to give himself room to back out, not when he’s so close to finally being done with everything.
He roots through his closet quickly for the jeans Gabe says make him edible and a tee-shirt to go with them. He changes and grabs his wallet, his keys, before slipping into his father’s study long enough to tell him he has last minute plans with Walt, he’ll probably be back in a few hours but he’ll call if he isn’t. Nate doesn’t give his father a chance to respond beyond a vague objection before he’s slipping through the house and making his way to his Volvo.
No one stops Nate from pulling his car out of the garage and drive, so he counts it as a win in his favor. He takes it to mean his father trusts him enough to take care of himself for a few hours, or he, like Mike and Nate’s mother, trust Walt enough to keep him out of trouble. He feels guilty for lying to his parents, for always lying to them about everything these last few weeks, but if this works, he won’t have to lie to them anymore. Everything will be okay again.
Nate takes his time driving around the city, trying to slow the racing of his heart and work out his plan. He knows the name of the bar he wants to go to, knows how to get to it assuming Google Maps isn’t lying to him again. Once he’s there, he just needs to order a drink and find someone who looks like they can give Nate what he wants. He’ll work the details out with them once he gets there.
He spends almost an hour driving around, but he’s glad for it. It gives him a chance to solidify the few details he does have planned in his head and he doesn’t feel as giddy. It wouldn’t be the first time he was turned away from a bar because he didn’t fit the bill of being an of age college student, not even in this town. The only saving Grace is that Walt is usually turned away with him.
There is no Walt this time. Nate’s all alone in the part of the city he’s not supposed to come to, parking his Volvo in a poorly lit parking lot and hoping to God no one tries to steal it. It’s no nicer than some of the other cars here, just cleaner, but Nate’s not entirely sure how long his luck will hold or if he even trusts it to.
Taking a deep breath, Nate gives himself an hour, or one drink, whichever goes by first. If this doesn’t work, he’ll come back another night, when his nerves aren’t as frayed and he’s not as tense. Maybe he shouldn’t have come tonight, when the plan is still so fresh and full of so many holes, but Nate can’t leave now. He’s too close to putting this behind him to turn back now.
Nate closes his eyes and counts to ten, quickly and quietly, before letting out another deep breath. He glances in his rearview mirror long enough to run his fingers through his hair, mussing it lightly, before he’s pushing open the door of his Volvo and stepping out into the night air.
The bar doesn’t look like much and normally it’s the kind of place Nate would avoid at all costs. There is a smell in the air, something Nate doesn’t want to be able to identify. The bricks are grimy and the windows are blacked out, and when Nate pushes open the door to step inside, the air is muggy and dank. He sucks in a startled breath, biting his tongue, and spares a quick glance around to take in the dark furniture and red vinyl before he makes his way slowly to the bar.
There’s a jukebox in the corner crooning out CCR, and if Nate focuses on the low murmur of voices, he can almost pretend this is just any other bar. He orders Jack on the rocks, flashing a small smile at the bitter looking bartender, and is honestly surprised when he’s not carded. He knows better than to complain though and thanks him for the drink before he takes a sip of it. It’s hard not to down the thing immediately, but Nate knows he needs to be level-headed if he wants this to pan out according to his admittedly less than stellar plan.
At first, Nate is left alone. He can feel the bartender’s eyes on him, watching him in suspicion, maybe, waiting for Nate to do or say something out of line. It gives Nate a chance to look around the bar as subtly as he can manage, but he can feel his heart sinking in his chest. The pickings aren’t exactly sparse, per se, but Nate can’t find anyone who he thinks could give him what he wants and doesn’t terrify him a little bit.
It’s just as Nate is finishing his drink and reaching for his wallet to pay for it and maybe consider the night a bust, because his skin is starting to crawl a little and he’s not entirely sure he wants to know the last time the glass he drank out of washed, that he feels someone at his back. There’s a hand on his wrist, stopping him from grabbing his wallet, and a bill drops onto the counter in front of him.
”Let me buy you another,” a low voice rumbles in Nate’s ear, breath hot and wet on the back of his neck. Nate’s body is torn between being scared and turned on, and when he looks up at the man who just bought his drink, he thinks he’s a little more wide-eyed than he should be. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Nate licks his lips and tries to smile. There’s something off-putting about the man, something that makes Nate’s stomach clench in anxiety and his heart thud loudly in his chest. He’s strong, his arms thick and covered in ink, and he watches Nate with unblinking dark eyes. “That’s nice of you, but I should be going now.”
”I said, let me buy you a drink,” the man repeats, his fingers squeezing tight around Nate’s wrist and he sits on the barstool at Nate’s side. He doesn’t loosen his grip when Nate tries to tug away, and his smile widens when Nate’s panic becomes obvious. He gestures at the bartender for a refill and a glass of his own, and the bartender doesn’t say a thing about the way he’s crushing Nate’s wrist.
”Let me go,” Nate says, clenching his jaw and glaring at the taller, older man. “Please,” he tacks on, because it never hurts to be polite, especially when dealing with strangers. He hears Mike’s voice echoing in his head, berating him for not having proper manners, and Nate wonders what Mike would say if he could see Nate now.
”I bought you a drink, the least you can do is stay and talk for a few minutes,” the man continues, ignoring Nate’s request. He tugs until Nate turns, facing him, and trails his eyes up and down Nate’s body slowly, taking in the view. “A pretty thing like you should know better than to come to a place like this all by your lonesome.”
”That’s none of your business - “ Nate starts, tugging at his wrist.
”He’s not alone,” someone else says, cutting Nate off entirely. Nate barely has time to swivel around to see who the Hell would come to his rescue and he almost bites off his tongue choking on air. Standing behind Nate, looking pissed off and ready to snap, is one of the last people in the universe Nate ever expected or wanted to see again. “Let him the fuck go before I have to hurt you.”
The man holding Nate’s wrist is quiet for a moment, but he slackens his grip enough that Nate can tug his hand away and check for bruises. “I was just buying the boy a drink,” he says, holding up his own hands in defeat. “I wouldn’t have touched him if I knew he was yours. You should know better than to let your boys wander around on their own, Person.”
Nate’s head snaps up at the comment of ownership, but before he can object, Ray is digging his fingers into Nate’s thigh hard enough that Nate lets out a small, startled yelp.
”Fuck off and mind your own business,” Ray snaps, and the look he gives the other man is enough for Ray and Nate to be left alone. “Did he drink out of this?” Ray asks, picking up the abandoned glass of Jack and Nate shakes his head dumbly. “Good,” Ray says, and he downs the thing in almost one shot.
For a moment, there’s nothing for Nate to do but stare helplessly at Ray. It’s a fight not to throw up, his stomach clenching and twisting suddenly as he’s brought face to face with one of the people he’d pointedly didn’t think about for the last few months. Suddenly, Nate feels weak and all he wants to do is tuck tail and run home. He doesn’t want to be here anymore.
”Shit, Nate,” Ray is saying, and he almost looks concerned when he reaches out to touch Nate’s shoulder.
The touch is enough for Nate to bring a hand up to his mouth in hopes of stemming the sudden rush of bile up his throat through his system. He manages to garble out a broken ’m gonna be sick before he’s pushing past Ray and out of the bar, back out into the city. He manages to make it three steps towards the sidewalk before he’s keeling over and throwing up.
He can feel the hysteria pumping through his system, choking him as much as his vomit is, and there’s nothing for Nate to do but clutch at a dirty lamppost and sob his way through this, until there’s nothing left to purge and he’s dry heaving. His heart is still thudding in his chest and he’s incapable of catching his breath, and the only thing Nate can think is Why him? Why now? and wonder what he did for his Karma to be so fucked up because he definitely doesn’t deserve this after all this time.
And to think, Nate was doing so well in the moving on and forgetting about this department.
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