Warren’s eyes opened to darkness.

Well, not actual darkness; there was this beautiful thing called eigengrau. Still, it was definitely the softer kind of it, meaning that morning was considering showing up eventually. In fact, it probably was morning already; his room was just dark. His laptop screen had gone to sleep, but he could still hear the mechanical whir of fans coming from it. (Well, that and his actual laptop fans.) My God. It was ten (twelve?) hours of a fan compilation, which at this point should’ve been around hour six.

He pulled out his phone, squinting at the brightness. It was 5:03 a.m.

Holy shit. He’d actually slept! Like, real sleep. No dreams about magnets or his teeth falling out (that was Tuesday’s special) or whatever else his brain was cooking. It was beautiful. Beautiful, empty nothing for almost four hours straight.

Of course, he also realized playing a ten (fourteen?) hour fan sounds compilation was a bad idea. The main reason was that his room had an actual fan. It sat in the corner of his room, unplugged since September when he’d convinced himself the noise was keeping him awake. Ironic, he thought. And to think of all the time he’d spent searching for the perfect white noise video… perhaps he had stopped making sense a long time ago.

“Fucking brilliant, Graham,” he muttered, and closed the laptop.

He sat up, immediately regretting it. Not because of the laptop or anything, but because he should’ve at least worn his pajamas before going to sleep. His jeans had left impressive indentations on his legs, and his t-shirt looked like a dishrag. Warren sniffed himself and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Jesus Christ.”

There was a bottle of Adderall that sat on his desk between a half-eaten granola bar and three empty cans of an energy drink whose name he could not recall. He dry-swallowed his dose, grimacing at the bitter taste. His therapist back home had said to take it with food. On the other hand, his therapist back home had also said to maintain a regular sleep schedule, so clearly they were operating in different realities. Yikes!

Well, he needed a shower.

Warren gathered his shower supplies. Nothing too exciting, of course. Towel (one that smelled okay!), soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, and — after a moment’s consideration — actual clean clothes. Not just less dirty clothes, but genuinely fresh ones he had in a plastic bag in his room. Why they were in a plastic bag and not in his drawer was beyond him, but they were neat enough: a navy henley that made him look almost adult and, well, normal jeans.

The hallway was dead quiet, perhaps for obvious reasons. It was lit only by emergency exit signs that cast everything in a rather hellish red. Although he kept his silence, his flip-flops were obscenely loud in the silence. Oh well. Still, it was the perfect time for a shower; he’d have the whole place to himself!

Unfortunately, the dorm bathroom was fairly gross. Not as gross as one could expect, and its smell wasn’t even that bad at this time, but it was empty, which at 5:15 a.m. was all that mattered. Either way, Warren had gotten used to it. He hung his towel on the least suspicious-looking hook and turned the shower to its hottest setting. The pipes released a stream of water that would be either scalding or freezing, no in-between. He stepped under it anyway, finding out that it was the former, letting out an involuntary “fuck” as his body adjusted.

But God, it was good. The heat worked into muscles he didn’t realize were tense, and it helped wash away the film of sweat that had been essentially his second skin for the past week. He grabbed the soap and started the process of becoming human again. It was, well, working.

Feeling the tension begin to melt from his shoulders, he started to hum a little tune that was stuck in his head. It was a good tune. Where was it from again? He could not recall, actually. Maybe it was the main theme of the hit 1992 DOS game KGB, which he owned a copy of. (Well, it was the CD re-release with clips of Donald Sutherland. Many clips actually. They were pretty cool.) Maybe it was a distorted memory of the ten-hour (or however many hours it was) fan video. Whatever it was, it was pleasant enough. He closed his eyes, lathering shampoo into his hair. Wait, what if it was—

“Hey! Cut the fucking concert, asshole. Some of us are trying to—”

Warren jumped, banging his elbow against the tile wall. A jolt of pain shot up his arm. Ouch!

“Ow—shit,” he hissed, peering through the curtain of steam. He could just make out a figure standing by the sinks in the main part of the bathroom. The voice was familiar. Unpleasantly so.

Nathan.

“Sorry,” Warren called back, his voice cracking slightly. “D-didn’t know anyone else was up.”

“Yeah, well, the world doesn’t revolve around you, shitass.”

How Nathan knew it was him from just humming was a mystery Warren didn’t want to investigate. On the other hand, it wasn’t like his voice was hard to notice, at least compared to everyone else in the dorm. In fact, Nathan didn’t say it was Warren; he just noticed someone was there. No need to be Dora the Explorer to find out that he wasn’t alone in the bathroom.

Oh well.

He rushed through the rest of his shower in silence, not willing to interact with Blackwell’s most unstable rich kid. However, he knew at least some sort of contact betwen them, even if visual, was inevitable. A few minutes later, Warren turned off the water and grabbed his towel, drying off with surprisingly quick, efficient movements. The bathroom was silent except for the drip of the showerhead and… well, breathing. Not his, exactly, but he could hear what sounded like harsh, uneven breathing coming from the direction of the sinks. Uh-oh.

Warren pulled on his boxers and jeans, then peered around the corner of the shower stall. Well, it was definitely Nathan there, that was for sure. But now that he saw him properly, he could see that Nathan seemed to be leaning heavily against one of the sinks, and his hand were gripping the edge of the porcelain so tightly his knuckles had turned into a pearly, bloodless white. He was still in a wrinkled black t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair a mess, and his face was pale, almost gray.

Although he could blame the bathroom lights for that, they also revealed the fine sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Yeah, this kid wasn’t doing all right.

The smart thing would be to grab his stuff and leave. Nathan’s problems were Nathan’s problems, and getting involved with anything Prescott-related was basically signing up for drama Warren didn’t need. If he even tried getting involved, he’d probably end up with a nosebleed and a black eye at least. Maybe two black eyes. That wouldn’t be so cool.

But he looked really fucking bad. Like, “about to pass out” bad, if not worse.

“You okay, man?” Warren asked, pulling his henley over his head.

Nathan’s head snapped up, his eyes red-rimmed and wild. “Fine. Fuck off.”

Warren approached him slowly; he had no idea whether Nathan would see him and then bolt or bite. Up close, he looked even worse; he was pale except for some slightly flushed cheeks.

“You sick or something?”

“I said fuck off, Warren. Mind your own—”

“Wait, did you have a nightmare or…?”

“Oh my God, what are you, my fucking therapist?” His jaw tightened. “I don’t need—”

Nathan’s words cut off as he lurched forward, and Warren barely had time to step back before he realized Nathan was vomiting into the sink. The sound was horrible, and the smell immediately filled the small space. So much for a peaceful shower… his own stomach turned in sympathy.

“Shit,” Nathan gasped between heaves. “Shit, shit, shit.”

As he stood there awkwardly, he wondered if he should pat Nathan’s back or run for help or just pretend he hadn’t seen anything. The last option was probably the best, but he couldn’t just leave him be. Sure, if it were the other way around, he was pretty sure Nathan wouldn’t care, and he’d be left to rot in this own vomit. That would’ve been a bad experience. Embarrassing, especially; it would be better to help him out here rather than face any threats for not doing so.

He settled for grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Here,” he offered when Nathan finally stopped retching.

Nathan took them without looking at him, wiping his mouth with shaking hands. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this.”

“I-I won’t. But, uh, maybe you should go back to your room? Or the nurse?”

“The nurse?” Nathan laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “Yeah, great idea. ‘Oh sorry, I’m fucked up at 5 a.m. and had some random nerd take me here.‘ That’ll go over great, smartass.”

Perhaps he had a point; he was pretty sure the nurse wasn’t on duty at school at this time, too. He wasn’t even aware if there was anyone roaming around campus at this time of morning. Warren shifted uncomfortably. He definitely needed to brush his teeth — his mouth felt, well, disgusting —, but the sink was… yeah. It wasn’t the only one, but to be fair, he shouldn’t even have been thinking about these things right now; Nathan was still gripping the edge like he might fall over if he let go.

“Look, let me just… uh, I’ll walk you back to your room, okay? Make sure you don’t pass out in the hallway or whatever.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna leave you here like this,” Warren insisted. “Look, we don’t want to cause a scene. If someone else comes in… just let me help you. I won’t say anything.”

And he wouldn’t; he just hoped this kid wouldn’t die here, traumatize him more than he already was, and change the trajectory of his life forever. That’d be scary.

Nathan looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a second Warren thought he saw something behind all his usual rage and arrogance. Fear, maybe? Although he couldn’t be sure, he could still see that his exhaustion so deep it had eaten through all the pretense he’d seen.

“Fine,” Nathan said finally. “But if you tell anyone—”

“I won’t, Jesus. I barely tell anyone anything anyway. Ask literally anyone.”

He didn’t expect him to, but still, it seemed like Nathan understood.

The walk to Nathan’s room was fairly calm, surprisingly; their rooms were almost in front of each other, too, for better or worse. Nathan leaned against the wall every few steps, trying to look casual but clearly fighting to stay upright.

“This is fucked,” he muttered as he fumbled with his key. “And then you seeing me like this. Great. Perfect.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either. N-no offense, I mean.”

Nathan’s door opened to reveal what looked like a different universe. An actual couch, for starters. A TV that wasn’t from 2002, which was neat. This kid even had a projector and everything, which was really awesome. His posters were framed, not tacked up with putty or whatever. Hell, his room even smelled better — a lot like expensive cologne he didn’t know the name of (and likely never would). It was so fascinating.

“Holy shit,” Warren said before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, yeah, rich kid has nice things. Wow, how shocking.” Nathan collapsed onto his couch, grabbing a water bottle from the coffee table. His hands were still shaking.

Warren should leave. He’d done his good deed, made sure Nathan didn’t die in the bathroom. If Santa Claus was a thing, he’d ensure Warren’s stockings this year would not be full of coal, but instead full of other, beautiful things. Maybe there’d be some coal inside, but it wouldn’t be filled to the brim. If he was lucky, he’d even get a copy of one of his favorite albums, the soundtrack to the hit motion picture Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. A shame he’d left his own copy at home.

But his eyes had landed on something that made his brain short-circuit.

“Wait, is that… is that the 2003 cinematic masterpiece Looney Tunes: Back in Action?”

Nathan followed his gaze to the DVD shelf. Among the Criterion editions and obscure art films sat the familiar orange case of what was objectively one of the weirdest movies Warner Brothers ever made, and probably up there with the weirdest in his collection. What the fuck was Warren staring at it for?

“W-what? No. I-I don’t know how that got there.”

“Dude, that movie is incredible. Like, uh… the part where… you know, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck beat the shit out of Elmer Fudd in the Louvre? T-that’s cinema, right?”

Nathan stared at him. “I have no idea what the hell you’re saying right now.”

“I’m just saying, it’s underrated. I mean, like… the whole Area 52 sequence! T-the casino! Steve Martin as a comically evil ACME executive! The… uh… Walmart product placement! Well-timed, too. It’s so bizarre that I kinda like it.”

“It’s fucking stupid.”

“It’s fucking amazing. Can I… could I borrow it sometime? I- well, my laptop’s DVD drive actually works, unlike literally everything else about it.”

Nathan was silent for so long that Warren thought he’d finally passed out. He was already mentally kicking himself for being so weird. He’d just helped the guy after he puked his guts out, and now he was asking to borrow a DVD like they were friends? It was ridiculous. Sure, Back in Action was a great movie, perhaps one of the best ever made, but wasn’t like he was asking Max or Brooke, who would’ve just sold it to him for a very high price of $3.31.

This was Nathan he was talking about. Was he being too weird? Was he being too nice? It’s not that he wanted to be seen as not nice, but, well, he was dealing with someone he partially feared more than disliked.

Finally, Nathan let out a long, weary sigh.

“Whatthefuckever,” he muttered into the pillow. “It’s yours. Just… give it back later.” He lifted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “And don’t tell anyone. About any of this.”

“Deal. My lips are sealed,” Warren said, as he carefully plucked the DVD case from the shelf. “Thanks, man. And, uh… feel better.”

He grunted and buried his face back in the pillow. “I will. Get out.”

And so Warren headed for the door, with the DVD clutched in his hand like it was treasure. Like diamond… just like in the movie! It was a diamond they were after, right? (It was.) He paused at the threshold, looking back at Nathan, who at that point had curled up on the couch with his eyes closed.

“You sure you’re okay? I could grab you something from the vending machine or—”

“Leave. Now.”

“Right, uh. Yeah. Leaving.”

He let the door close behind him with a click. Warren stood in the hallway for a moment, holding this beautiful, precious DVD he’d borrowed from Nathan Prescott after watching him puke in a sink at 5 a.m. His life was officially too weird for even his dreams to process. Maybe he did need help.

But that’d have to wait. He now had a great movie to watch.

There was a knock at the door.

It was just about 9:15 p.m. Stella looked up from her copy of Bill Bryson’s I’m A Stranger Here Myself, which she’d honestly been reading more as meditation than entertainment, although she had to admit it was a nice read.

She’d finally done it: she submitted her photo to the Everyday Heroes Contest today. Mr. Jefferson had been on her case for weeks, with that whole “you have such a unique eye, Stella” thing he did that felt really genuine. Not only that, he was right; she had not only one, but two unique eyes. But even he would have to admit that the photo she’d sent wasn’t even that good. It was just a candid photo of the school janitor, Samuel, feeding birds behind the dormitory, the morning light catching the seeds as they fell from his weathered hands.

It was fine. Maybe safe-ish, but hardly revolutionary. Not winning any trips to sunny San Francisco, that was for sure. Unfortunately.

“Come in,” she called, shortly after bookmarking her page.

Warren entered looking… fine, actually. He was carrying his laptop bag and wearing actual matching clothes, for once; Stella had to admit they looked good on him.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door quietly. “Thanks for, uh, letting me come by.”

“You said you’d be here early for once. I’m impressed.” She set the book aside, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Slept well last night?”

“Yeah! Well, uh, this morning. For like four hours?” He sat down in his usual spot on the floor, but seemed unsure what to do with his hands. “No dreams or nightmares, I can tell you that.”

“Wow. Should I be concerned? Are you feeling okay?” She was only half-joking. Although she wasn’t exactly worried about this, their encounter had started out surprisingly normal. If anything, it was kind of boring. That was probably a good thing.

“I’m good. Actually, I wanted to show you something.” He pulled out a DVD case with an orange cover. “I just borrowed one of the greatest movies ever made.”

Stella leaned forward to see. “Huh. Looney Tunes: Back in Action? Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a masterpiece!” he chuckled. “Like, the greatest movie of all time… if you exclude the other greatest movies of all time, of course.”

“Did Max lend you that?” If there was anyone with eclectic taste in movies, it was definitely Max. This especially included random childhood favorites that only the two of them would’ve watched. How could they like what Weinstein and the Americans did to The Magic Roundabout!?

Warren’s face did something complicated. “Um, no. Actually… she hasn’t been answering my messages lately. For like a week now, I think.” He picked at a thread on his jeans. “I keep wondering if I said something wrong. I don’t know, I think I might’ve said something that offended her.”

Stella felt her chest tighten. Although she didn’t know exactly why Max wasn’t responding (in fact, she didn’t even know this was going on in the first place), she didn’t think it was hard to guess why. Warren was, at times, really hard to deal with.

“You’re fine, Warren. Max is just… she’s got a lot going on. You know how she gets — sometimes she just goes quiet for a while.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced, though.

She reached into her desk drawer, and pulled out a flash drive. It had some bright colors and looked a lot like a Rubik’s cube. Three of them, in fact. It was cute, she had to admit.

“Oh, speaking of Max, she wanted me to give this back to you.”

Warren’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. My flash drive? I lent that to her like three weeks ago.” He took it, turning it over in his hands like it might explain Max’s silence. It wouldn’t, actually.

“Yeah, well, uh, maybe pick less controversial content next time,” Stella said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Controversial? It was just movies. Like, actual movies. Not even weird ones. Well, mostly.”

“Warren, you had Cannibal Holocaust on there.”

“That’s a cinematic ma—”

“Who the fuck recommends that movie to someone? I mean, seriously,” Stella rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying it’s bad, just… well, you know, too intense. Maybe lead with something lighter next time. Like your, uh… not-so-new Looney Tunes movie.”

“Max asked what I recommended she start with. Ugh, I wish I’d said Brick because it’s accessible noir, but then I went with something else…” At that point, Warren felt worried. Was Max purposely ignoring him… because of this?

“Warren, it’s fine. She just wanted me to return it since she couldn’t find you.”

This was technically true; Max had handed it to her yesterday with a mumbled “give this back to Warren” before disappearing into her room. She had been doing a lot of that lately, apparently.

“Right. Sure.” He pocketed the drive, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, by the way, the Looney Tunes movie isn’t from Max.”

“Who then?” Stella asked, though she was already mentally cataloging which dorm residents would admit to owning that DVD. It was something Daniel would watch, probably. Maybe Brooke, even if she never admitted it. Hmm…

Warren went very still. “Nathan.”

Stella’s book slipped off her lap. She was frozen for what seemed like five minutes, but was actually only fifteen seconds, in total silence.

“Uhh… Nathan. The Nathan Prescott. Gave you… a Looney Tunes DVD.”

“Well, technically I borrowed it, but—”

“Are you two friends now?” The question came out more accusatory than she intended.

“I mean… uh… sort of? Not really? It’s complicated,” Warren tried his best to ignore his hands’ nervous gesturing, failing miserably. “We just ran into each other this morning and, uh, started talking about movies and—”

“Warren.” Stella’s voice was serious now. “Be careful with him.”

“I know he’s got issues, but—”

“No, like, really be careful. I don’t like the look of that guy. He’s…” She paused, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound paranoid, or at least not too paranoid. “I don’t know, I find him weird. Really weird. Maybe not the weirdest in the history of weird people, but way up there.”

Warren nodded quickly. “Yeah, no, totally. It was just a one-time thing. Random encounter. Probably won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Stella could feel the conversation dying. Usually, Warren would fill it with some new concern of his, regardless of her interest in it or not, but tonight he just sat there, looking at his hands. This would’ve been good if she was tired, of course. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.

“Look,” Stella said finally, “Max is fine. She’s not avoiding you specifically, I think. She’s just… dealing with stuff. Life stuff, you know. Many stuff, an unbelievable amount of stuff. Can you believe it? So much stuff.”

Technically, this was true. Of course, the way Stella told him this made it seem like she and Max were the best of buddies, which wasn’t quite true. Sure, she didn’t hate Max, but she was at most indifferent; if anything, it was Kate who brought her up to her a lot. Luckily, the two of them were now enjoying their alone time, which Stella unfortunately was not.

Maybe she wouldn’t be a good therapist. Warren would believe anything she told him, probably. She could tell Warren that Max was a registered Republican (which she totally was) and he’d say something like “Wow, Mad Max likes guns!?” and redirect her to a movie of his choice. Depending on the movie, maybe this wouldn’t be a terrible idea… but still.

“Right. Uh, stuff.” He stood up, shouldering his laptop bag. “I should probably go. Let you get back to your book.”

“Wait—”

“No, it’s cool. Thanks for giving me the drive back. And for the advice, of course. I’ll just… give her space or whatever.”

And he was already at the door. Stella felt a tad guilty, even though she hadn’t really done anything wrong. Right? It’s not like she was keeping the drive for herself.

“Warren, seriously, you didn’t—”

“Night, Stella.”

The door closed with a quiet click.

Outside in the hallway, Warren pressed his palms against his face and let out a long breath.

He’d fucked up somehow. The way Stella had rushed him out, the way she’d dodged his questions about Max… oh, she was hiding something. Protecting Max from him, probably. Had he been that annoying? That clingy? He thought back to all his messages to Max — some movie recommendations, some bad science jokes, his probably-too-long analysis of time travel paradoxes…

“God, I’m a mess,” he muttered into his hands.

Perhaps he was. Maybe he’d pushed too hard. Maybe Max had complained to Stella about him. Oh, God. Maybe everyone was just tolerating him, and he was too stupid to notice. The fact that even Nathan, of all people, had been easier to talk to this morning than his supposed friends were tonight hurt him even more.

Warren started walking back to his room, each step feeling heavier than the last. Maybe four hours of sleep wasn’t enough to fix whatever was wrong with him.