n8-shaw

[n8-shaw]

JACOB ELORDI The Narrow Road To The Deep North 1.01

[n8-shaw]

The look that Nate flashed in the direction of Link made it clear how very little amusement he had regarding their comment. "Still here," he answered flatly, not too enthusiastic about that. Be it the still at Ogden or the specific here of speaking to Link was anyone's guess (it was probably both). "Did you need something?"

CLOSED STARTER

who: @n8-shaw where: near accommodation on campus

it wasn't difficult to spot nate shaw from a small distance, especially if he was towering over everyone else. he watched him walk for a little while, almost forgetting how unfairly attractive this man is every time, and trying to decide whether he wanted to stop him for a conversation or not. in the end, he did.

he flicks the end of his cigarette away as he walks towards him, waving him over. "i was starting to get worried about you, pookie. haven't seen your face for a number of days, and people going missing in ogden has become a much bigger concern." he says with a small upturn in his lips. nate has always been a challenge to get info out of, but that didn't mean link would stop trying.

[n8-shaw]

"Hate Greer. Hate each other," Nate paused, shrugging up a shoulder. "Think more people already feel that way than will admit it, though." A surprisingly astute observation for someone lacking emotional intelligence in the the droves that Nate did. He paused for a moment, tapping his fingers against the table in front of him before he sighed, leaning back in his chair, letting it tip onto the back two legs. "Seems like w'ere fucking if we go along with it, but even more fucked if we don't," he said, balancing for a moment before letting the chair clatter back to the floor. "Reckon they'll get off my case if I just give them some generic name that could be anyone instead of someone specific?"

Ollie raised his head again, hand falling down onto the table in front of him with a 'thunk' as he looked over at Nate. "That's so fucking true, bro," he said, shaking his head. It was something that in the midst of everything he'd forgotten about. Greer wasn't the sort of person who went around spreading everyone's secrets about. There was a reason why everyone trusted her. There was a reason why he trusted her. She knew some shit about him, and he hadn't worried about it because he knew she wouldn't have said anything. "Fuck. I fucking hate G so damn much. It really does more more feel like that they're trying to get us to all hate Greer. And I know that she wasn't perfect, and that there are people around here who had bad experiences with her. Fine. But is this something she would have wanted? I don't know… I just don't know what we're supposed to do about it."

[n8-shaw]

Nate couldn't help the slight flinch from Rhiannon's hands reaching out and slapping into his chest, his spine straightening out as she reached for him, pulling him back in. He let her - hands almost reaching for her again, almost giving in. Until she began to speak, her lips brushing against his before her words fully registered.

With that, the spell shattered, Nate pulling back from Rhia despite her pulling him back in, despite her lips brushing against his again, hi hand immediately reaching up to scrub over his face. "Except that's not true, is it?" he said, not looking at her as he spoke, the words a low, quiet hum in the dark between them, barely audible over the din of the party. "It's never been me. You chose everyone else," he continued, a brief look of hurt flashing over his face as his eyes darted towards her. She had chosen other people over him more than once, she had made it clear to him what her priorities were - and it would never be him. He had crawled after her more than once, and for why? So she could reject him time and time again? He couldn't do it again. "Why would I do that? Why would I when you have made it clear you would never do the same?" Nate asked, turning away from Rhia as he pushed back on her assertions, his hand reaching out for the doorknob, resting on it, though he didn't commit to leaving her behind - not yet, at least. Though he was also certain if their positions were reversed, she would have done so without even a backwards glance, the sweep of his eyes over his shoulder belying the tension in his posture.

She barely registered the wall at her back—only Nate’s body, hot and solid, pinning her in place like gravity itself had shifted to center on him. Her breath hitched as his hand slid down her curves with the kind of reverence that made her dizzy, like he’d memorized her, like he owned the map of her body and was tracing every line he’d missed. A tremor coursed through her as her thighs parted, hips pressing forward, desperate to create friction, to tether him to her in the only way she knew how. Her hands trembled against his belt, driven by instinct, by every sleepless night that had ended with his name buried in her pillow, her mouth, her pulse.

She had dreamed this. God, how she had dreamed this. Nights wrapped in sheets and shadows, chasing fragments of him through sleep, waking with the ghost of his touch still burning along her skin. She had imagined his hands, his breath, the weight of him pressing her into some other world where everything made sense, where love wasn’t a wound but a home.

And now, he was here. Real. Warm. Hers.

Then, he pulled back.

His head lifted, pulling the moment apart, leaving her in the wreckage of her own longing. Her pulse pounded in protest. His head turned, his heat withdrew, and the silence roared. Her body, once alight, now ached with absence. She grabbed at him, knuckles white against his lapels, as if she could drag time backward with her bare hands. Her hands struck his chest, once, then again—as if she could jolt him back into the dream. “You don’t,” she said, the words soft and bitter, full of heartbreak. Her hands hovered, uncertain, before curling against his collar. “Nate,” she whispered, the sound thick with desperation, sweet and breaking. She reached for him again, fingers threading up his neck, pulling his forehead to hers like she could fuse them together—skin to skin, soul to soul. “I need you,” she breathed. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. It’s always been you for me,” her voice trembled with devotion, with the kind of helpless surrender that comes only after someone gave their heart away and never got it back.

“It’s only you for me,” she whispered again, like a prayer, as if repetition might make it real for him, might make him believe it. “So please,” she begged, her lips brushing his with the fragility of a last chance. “Please choose me. Tell me you need me too.”

[n8-shaw]

A twitch of his lips as they tread once again on familiar ground - speaking wasn't what he was wanted for. No, what the upper class wanted Nathaniel Shaw for was far simpler. Physical and nothing beyond. He let out a huff of a laugh as she closed the distance between them, before angling his head to kiss her, hand sliding to her waist as he leaned over her, pulling her into him just ever so slightly. It's not like they had much longer in here - may as well enjoy the time they did.

That was where he was wrong. She couldn't - wouldn't - allow herself to admit such a thing. No matter if it was true. No matter if, in reality, it held zero consequences. To the best of her knowledge, Nate had not spoken a word of their previous tryst to anyone (a display of good grace she had not been expecting, frankly), but her entire sense of self was riding on being able to position herself as someone who did not want. To be wanted, sure, that was fine - that did not indicate any sense of vulnerability or longing on her end, but to want? Henrietta Astor was above such things. In theory. In practice, all she can do is to whisper: "I need you to stop talking," before pressing her lips to his.

[n8-shaw]

"Nah," Nate said, one corner of his lips twitching upwards. Not a smile - definitely not. "Like I said. You're just that bad." With that, he reached out, clapping Jesse on the shoulder before he walked away, hands in his pockets. Whatever. They weren't friends or anything.

END.

Pathetic.

It was funny. From the mouth of his father, the word lashed and bruised, left indentations on his soul. From Nate, it drew a laugh out of him, one hand sliding through his hair, mussed with sweat from the fights he'd sorely lost. A silent and unacknowledged moment of camaraderie slipped between them and Jesse leaned his head back against the wall, the corners of his mouth curved only just. "Nate Shaw, the altruist." But it wasn't a comment meant to needle; it sounded like an acceptance.

[n8-shaw]

Nate stayed silent, his head tipping backwards ever so slightly more again, chin lifting as inscrutably dark eye stayed on Rhia. "Start with nothing, so seems like it would just be the same old shit," he said, tone flat, yet casual in the way he answered her. No big deal - because it was just the same old shit. He was used to it at this point. Having nothing was what he expected.

One of his hands lifted, ruffling at the hair at the back of his head, breaking eye contact again as Nate returned his gaze somewhere off in the distance. What a pointless question. He didn't want anything. He had dampened that down, let it be beaten out of him long ago. Wanting only left him yearning for what he couldn't have. After enough of it, it'd turn anyone empty. He had been taught through bloody knuckles and broken fingers, scratches marring him as he tried to hold on, losing what he had grasped over and over as it was ripped from his grasp, - wanting wasn't for people like him.

"Rhia," he said, the words a soft, near plead to stop this conversation. How was he supposed to answer her? Admit that even deeper than his discontent with the word friend was the fact that, no, he didn't think she was a shitty one - it wasn't about her at all. It was about him. He didn't think about her being a bad friend, because that would imply she cared about him.

And she had proven she didn't.

Rhia providing any sort of friendship - and more, like they had for so long balanced on the edge of - would require her to care about him, to care for him, and he knew that she didn't. He wasn't going to explain to her why he was bothered only for her to brush it off, or to walk away, or to turn her back on him and what he had explained to pursue some rich dude again. It had happened enough times - he had gotten the message. No need to continue doing it.

"It's not about being friends," Nate said in a low grunt finally. Not an answer nor a denial of her question. "I just don't want to get into it right now, right here, like this. It's...whatever. We can talk about it some other time." Not that they would. But hopefully pushing it off to an undetermined future would at least bee enough to get away from the topic.

She pressed her lips together, trying to step into Nate’s nihilistic mindset, to see the appeal of rebellion through his eyes. For a moment, she almost understood—the bitter satisfaction of refusing to play by their rules, of making them choke on their own cruelty. But then the doubt crept back in, as it always did. Every time she came close to abstaining from this so-called game, the fear of losing everything she’d clawed for pulled her back.

“What if that leaves you with nothing?” she asked, interjecting the silence. It was an honest question, one that—if he could answer convincingly—might just shift the course of her life. But expecting Nate to offer some deep, reasoned explanation was foolish. He was a person of action, not poetry. And that was something she had always admired about him. He didn’t need elaborate justifications or grand philosophies. His convictions were lived, not spoken. It made him powerful in a way she wasn’t used to—not in the passive, submissive way she had been taught to navigate life, but in a way that demanded respect.

Then she noticed it, his refusal to meet her eyes, a slight but deliberate rejection. Nails clenched deep into her palms, her gaze darkening as she processed the meaning behind it. “What do you want then, Nate?” she pressed, her voice strained, almost pleading despite her best efforts to sound composed. It was a question that haunted her for the years they’d known each other. What did he want? And had she ever been capable of giving it to him? With Nate, there was no certainty. One day, his feelings seemed undeniable, and the next, he had locked her out again, leaving her shivering in the cold.

Sometimes, she could almost swear he did it on purpose. Was he trying to hurt her now?

His correction did nothing to soften the wound already inflicted. She felt the sting of rejection settle in her chest, familiar and cruel, and too deep to heal in a moment’s notice. But beneath the ache, something else simmered—an anger that curled hot in her stomach, an urge to lash out and make him see how wrong he was. Instead, she swallowed it down, her voice turning quiet, heavy, “You must think I’m a real fucking shitty friend if that’s what you believe.”

She wanted to storm off, to retreat from the humiliation of being dismissed by the one person she had never been able to let go of. But it was Nate. And for all the ways he hurt her, she couldn’t walk away from him.

[n8-shaw]

Nate eyed Jesse for a breath, before he gave a curt nod, his chin tucking towards his chest for the briefest of moments - the motion one that could've been missed if someone wasn't paying attention. Plausible deniability. "I'll keep that in mind," he said gruffly, turning back to his phone after a moment, not wanting to acknowledge any sort of how that made him feel, nor why he may change his mind. He appreciated the offer, but he didn't want Jesse to realize that. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain it didn't matter what he wanted, sure neither of them were comfortable with the understanding that was continuing to grow between them. But it was there regardless.

END.

He supposed he understood. Would any of his meticulous planning even matter if he wouldn't be able to watch the destruction he left behind? Probably not. Still, Jesse couldn't help the twinge of disappointment he felt when Nate told him no. It made him wonder if he'd ever really be satisfied. If his big hit back would ever feel like enough after everything.

He didn't say any of that, though. Instead, he lifted one shoulder and let it drop in a casual shrug. "Makes sense," he said after a moment. There was another long pause, Jesse stroking his fingers over his bottom lip as he thought. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant, like approaching a wild animal. "I have a lot of resources, you know." Another casual shrug, like it didn't really matter. "In case you ever change your mind."

[n8-shaw]

Nate didn't bother replying to Rocco at all, just angling his chin up slightly in some sort of a nod, one side of his mouth angling up ever so slightly in a smirk. Not an agreement, not an acknowledgment of the bitterness in the word - though Nate understand. Fuck, did he understand. But the point remained that he was just here to help Monty get in and out. He highly doubted indulging in that conversation with this dude would help with that at all.

As soon as Monty was pulled into towards his dealer, Nate stepped forward, brow lowered as hissed words were exchanged, absentmindedly - rote memory, perhaps - cracking his right index knuckle by pressing the finger down with his thumb, prepped and ready to step in. He didn't get a chance, though, as prepped as he was to swing, Monty stumbling backwards and bumping into his chest before it turned into a fight.

He should've been relieved - but really, Nate felt the slightest sense of disappointment as they moved to get out of the door. He could've used a good swing on someone.

Instead, Nate found himself back in the driver's seat, a hint of adrenaline thrumming through him from the entire encounter causing the question taking a moment to sink in. When they did, Nate let out a short laugh, shaking his head at Monty. "Sure, mate," he said, reaching back out to fiddle with the volume on the radio again. "I'll drive."

END.

"Off-season," Rocco scoffed, laden with such disdain that it was obvious he held some sort of jealousy over missed opportunities in his past, or just plain hatred for Ogden. Both were equally possible and understandable. Noticing their glacial slide towards the exit, he barked out quickly, "Hold up!"

And Monty froze in place, feet glued to the nasty carpeting, glancing back to watch as Rocco headed into the kitchen. He could've told him to sit and stay, called him a good boy, and Monty would've done exactly that, even while humiliation wicked through his body. It was precisely why Rocco kept him around, even with all of his recent fuck-ups. It was also why he returned with a gallon bag in hand, stuffed with several smaller baggies, various substances already parceled out. Baggies on baggies on baggies, Monty thought to himself, grinning as his anxiety dissipated, my life should be sponsored by Ziploc. No sooner than he got a grip on the bag, Rocco was yanking it back, making him stumble closer, and warning, "Don't fuck me."

Monty laughed. For no good reason, he laughed in his face, unable to help it. "Dude, c'mon, you're really not my type." That was a joke. It was meant to be a joke, but Rocco was looking about ready to deck him, Nate's looming presence doing little to help. Self-preservation struck like lightning, Monty's body moving ahead of his brain, tripping over his own feet and knocking into his friend in his haste to turn and make it out the door. "I'll see you next week, man! Promise!" Except that he really wouldn't, because the Hamptons getaway would monopolize the rest of break, leaving all this to conveniently be next year's problem. He may have sucked at managing his money, but Monty was a whiz at avoiding deadlines.

A slippery trip back to the car had him going boneless in the passenger seat, bags dumped in the footwell and body doubling over. He relished in the feeling of blood rushing to his head, undoubtedly making his face go red when he finally summoned the energy to glance over at Nate, still hunched forward, smile surprisingly lax for someone who mostly felt like puking. He shouldn't've drank so much at Frank's. "Wanna carpool to the Hamptons?"

[n8-shaw]

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

[n8-shaw]

A twitch of the corner's of Nate's lips, a flash of a smile accompanied by a laugh, before he shook his head, the amusement disappearing nearly as quickly as it had shown up. It's not that he thought that was the solution to their problem, nor that he'd actively attempt...but wouldn't it be nice if the universe or fate or god or whatever higher power there was (he leaned towards none, personally) decided to solve things that way for him? Would certainly take more than the weight of answering this stupid question off his shoulders. And it would absolutely end better for them than going to the police, the very idea of that enough to make anyone choose Ollie's later solution. At least in Nate's opinion, which, yeah, wasn't exactly sound when it came to neither any kind of authority nor the will to the live. "Yeah, no," he said as his expression neutralized. "Wouldn't recommend involving the cops myself," he continued blasély, glancing over at Ollie. "But you're right that it's fucked. And Greer...knew how to keep her mouth shut. She wouldn't want all this shit going on in her name." 

Oh. Ollie didn't like that. He didn't like that they both got something probably really terrible. He looked distressed a moment, and nodded his head. "No, yeah, I'm with you…" He'd been trying to come up with something in his head. How was he supposed to deal with this? He really didn't know if there was some sort of line he could ride where he'd technically be doing what G said while not actually doing what G said, like he had during New Years Eve. Ollie grabbed his phone and turned it off, looking and making sure Nate's wasn't out either -- maybe being a bit paranoid but you could never be too cautious. "Honestly? I've kind of been thinking of going to the police. And I know that's a terrible idea," he added quickly before Nate could react, "for so many fucking reasons. And I won't because I don't fucking trust them. And G would probably get me fucking expelled or some shit. But I don't know what to fucking do. I really don't fucking know. Maybe I'll just k--" Ollie cut himself off immediately, lest we have one suicidal bitch suggest to another suicidal bitch that may be the solution to their problems. Instead he sighed dejected, and shrugged his shoulders. "It's fucked either way. So, I don't know."

[n8-shaw]

Nate backed Rhia further, pushing her until her back hit the wall, his knees pushing between her thighs so she was pinned in place by him. One hand ran down her body, brushing along her side from her jaw to her waist, grasping at her, clutching at her like she was something like he might be able to keep.

The brush of her fingers against his hand, her lips returning to his - he wanted to lean into it, to continue the moment, but he kept coming back to her words. Because that was what it all came back to, wasn't it? Him wanting this. It's what it was always about. He stilled as Rhia's mouth moved against his skin again, brushing his cheek, brushing against his lips, her teeth scraping against his bottom lip before she spoke again.

I want you.

Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. But what Nate knew was that when it came down to it...she didn't want him enough.

He groaned, pulling back from her, his head lifting and tipping backwards so he was looking over her head, even as he kept her pinned against the wall, his height at least allowing him to stretch out of needing to look at her, to see her face. "Don't," he said, the quiet word barely audible, even with the door shut behind them blocking out a decent amount of the noise from the party. He had said she didn't have to pretend - but what he should've said was that he didn't want her to. That he'd rather she was honest with him, that she admitted that she would always be looking for something that he could never provide. "Don't do that," Nate muttered, fingers loosening and tightening against her side as he fought with the urge to take a step back - should he, should he not. He never knew with her, one day guaranteed to provoke one reaction and the next the complete opposite.

While expected, his silence still weighed on her like a question long pondered but never answered. How apt, that even now, prepared to lay her soul bare to him, he remained an enigma to her. Her courage seemed to deflate with every second that passed that he didn’t speak. Then she blinked and he was on her, hands wrapped around her in that familiar, intoxicating way. Rhia felt faint, her knees threatened to buckle and send them tumbling to the floor. She fought to stay standing, clutched both his hands in a desperate attempt to prevent him from untethering himself from her. For the first time in months, Rhia’s chest heaved and her lungs filled completely with air and she found she could breathe with ease, finally. She was grateful to be alive and breathing, and wrapped in Nate’s arms. His forehead tilted and rest against hers, the gentle movement from Nate sent a stabbing pain through her chest, her heart. Tears slipped silently from her eyes and then came relief. Finally, her mind quieted and all that existed for her was the love they shared. How silly they were to deny it.

His cautionary warning, his final attempt to offer her an out before they were entangled again broke her heart. Along with the heartbreak, she suspected she finally came to understand where Nate was coming from, what motivated his behavior and influenced his attitude toward her. All this time, Rhia assumed her affection for him may as well have been carved into her forehead, a constant proclamation of her devotion to Nate. She loved him before he ever even saw her, practically from the moment he offered a brutish acquiescence to her request to sit beside him. She had always loved him, and believed her love plain to all that witnessed it. It was obvious to everyone in the world what she felt but her beloved, who convinced himself their intimacy existed solely in his head. It occurred to her then she’d likely found herself in a similar predicament, and he’d find her just as blind and naive to learn about her own doubt regarding his affliction for her.

They were both stupid, simply put. Stupid and foolish and incommunicative idiots. She wasn’t angry or irritated having learnt the truth, only grievous of the precious time they wasted when it would have been better spent together... but he’d given her his answer. Her fingers squeezed the hands that rested on her neck, and in a swift movement she leaned forward and kissed him. She sucked his lip greedily, fingers raked and tugged at his hair, daring Nate to come closer, fall in deeper with her. Her hunger for him couldn’t be satiated, and the longer she kissed him the more desperate she was for more of him. All of him. Nothing existed but her lips and his, and she took joy in taking her time rediscovering his. Her kisses eventually softened, she drew them out until she was pressing gentle, lingering reminders of her adoration into his lips.

Only after she pulled away did she answer him, “I won’t. You don’t have to pretend you don’t want this, okay?” she pleaded with him, grazing his knuckles with her soothing fingers. She leaned in again and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the movement so gentle her lips barely grazed his skin. “I want this,” she reaffirmed in a steady, assured voice, caressing his head to her collarbone. She pressed another few kisses to his cheek, then caught his lip in between her teeth. “I want you,” she whimpered against his lips, though she stopped just short of kissing him again.

[n8-shaw]

Nate let out a quiet hum, stepping towards Heni, his hand reaching out, one finger brushing under her jaw as he tipped her chin up to ace him. Henrietta...and Charlie? Now that was a twisted fantasy Nate wasn't going to let himself think too long about, though there were a few seconds there that he was sorely tempted to. But focusing on that would derail the game he was otherwise playing with her. "You tell me," Nate said, his voice a low rumble, just barely tip-toeing across the line in flirtatious with his teasing. "You can admit you still want me, Henrietta," he continued, an eyebrow arching up. This, this he could be confident about, no fear of rejection - there was a pattern, a precedent that had been set after all. With her, with the woman like her. "Even just physically."

He was right. On both points. There was something about Nate, a certain, awful sense of je ne sais quoi that irked her. To blame it on their circumstances would be too simplistic – after all, why would it matter to her that the pool boy existed at the same school as her? She was not some rich bitch stock character. Maybe he saw something in her, understood some deeper aspect that she was desperate to keep under wraps. Or maybe he just gave off the perception of seeing her. Either way, being around Nate felt unsafe in a way that had her on guard. For what, she did not know.

"Why should I care?" The words are breathy, barely above a whisper. "I'm not deluding myself into thinking that finding someone physically appealing means I love them. I mean, fuck, look at Charlie."

[n8-shaw]

Nate let out a short laugh, giving a short shake of his head. "Nah," he said, leveraging an appraising glance on Jesse for a moment before he shrugged up one shoulder. "It's just getting a bit pathetic, mate," he said, his eyebrows raising up minutely on his face. "Reckon I can't watch it for much longer, and if I feel bad for you...'magine everyone else must. So really I'm doing them a favor." Th sarcasm was tinged with a side of amusement, one he had surely never addressed Jesse Hart with, but it was easier to be facetious than to admit any sense of...wanting to help. Nah. He wouldn't be owning up to that anytime soon.

Jesse didn't hide his surprise at Nate's offer, his eyebrows raising as he was, for once, stunned into silence. He and Nate, for longer than Jesse liked to admit, had existed in this weird liminal space where they were neither friends nor enemies. There were times— very few, maybe, but times all the same— where Jesse enjoyed their sparring as more than a way to punch down if he wanted to feel better about himself.

"So, what you're saying is, you wanna kick my ass but you want it to be consensual." He was joking, obviously, but the offer sat strangely in his chest. He was... touched? "I could be into that. Do we need a safe word?"

[n8-shaw]

Nate leaned back, eyes distant as he thought for a few moments. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about revenge, about enacting the pain his father had twofold in return. But if he could do it from a distance, without even having to see him...would it even give him the satisfaction? If a tree fell in the forest, and no one was around to hear it, and all. 

"No," he finally said, shaking his head. "If I don't see him, don't get to dish it out myself, don't think it would really...count, you know? Wouldn't be the payoff I wanted." Nate paused for a moment, one side of his mouth quirking up in a bitter smirk. "Plus, would be too like him to find his way outta it. Would need the guarantee of seeing it done."

Jesse wasn't sure why he felt this sudden desire to share what he'd been up to, the things he'd been orchestrating in the background for years without telling a soul. Some days it was the only thing that kept him going, knowing the payoff would be worth it. And the only way to protect that payoff was to make sure he was the only soul that knew a thing about it. Or at least, enough of the puzzle to understand the picture.

But it was knowing Nate knew that same feeling, that he ran himself ragged with these underground fights to hit back at the one thing that would never feel it that just... he didn't know. He wanted Nate to know what it felt like to land a good one.

"What if you could? Without even having to see him?"

[n8-shaw]

The moment lingered for a breath of awkwardness, Rhia's coughing lapsing, Nate's hand still hovering over her back before he let it fall back to the couch. He shifted slightly as she slumped back into the cushions, the movement having put them too awkwardly close to his arm being slung around her - there was a former ease in the position that he no longer could bring himself to find, to caught up in what it meant and what she would want from it. Nothing he could give her, he was sure.

Nate stiffened imperceptibly from her questions, looking at the tv despite not having any idea what they were watching, bowing away from her foot pricking into his side. "Nothing's been going on with me," he said, shrugging up a shoulder. "Just...swimming. Figh - figuring out what I'm supposed to do next year. Trying to save up some money." He quickly cut off when he was going to mention fighting, remember Rhia's less than pleased reaction when she had been aware of his...extracurriculars. "Busy, I guess."

His arm hovered awkwardly just behind her back, and she was unsure if she was supposed to lean into it or merely pretend she hadn’t noticed. What would Nate have wanted? She couldn’t say. Before she could decide, the moment passed and his arm dropped. She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in her chest. “It’s alright,” she reassured. She had a feeling that wouldn’t put his perceived guilt to rest, and again she wondered if she was even capable of doing so. She tucked a hair behind her ear and sunk into the couch, painfully aware of the tension between them. “No, it’s alright. Wouldn’t want you to miss the movie,” Rhia said lightheartedly, knowing she was barely paying attention to it herself. Somehow, she didn’t believe this was solely about the spliffs.

“So,” she began, clutching her knees to her chest with her body turned toward Nate. “Tell me the latest. What’s been going on with you? I feel like we haven’t done this in, like, forever,” she said, adding an air of cool, casualness that was certain to not come off as such. She extended her foot to poke his side, coaxing him to just relax. Maybe it was her own anxiety she picked up on. “It’s okay. You can say you missed me,” she teased, despite her lack of certainty on the subject. He seemed just fine without her.

[n8-shaw]

Nate grasped the man's hand as he reached out to dap him up, unfazed by the greeting - on the contrary, he was oddly at ease in the situation, scuffing his way into the house behind Monty. Watching his friend speak to the woman on the couch, Nate hovered in the doorway, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned in the door frame, eyes flickering between the screen and Monty and the girl. He was almost envious for a heartbeat, wishing he was blazed out of his mind and playing a video game without responsibilities, reminded vaguely of some of his summers back home.

Of course, that brought it's own host of resentment, Nate giving Monty a brief nod as soon as he tapped him on the elbow, taking a step back to go wait in the car, though...that plan quickly was stopped, Nate immediately recognizing the look on the face of the man who came out to greet Monty.

"Cheers, mate," he said in greeting, letting his accent slip through more strongly as he lifted his chin, going back to his faux relaxed position in the door frame, pretending he wasn't paying attention to the situation going on in front of him, eyes on the screen of the TV again, though every muscle in his body was taut, recognizing the situation Monty had dragged him into a bit more intimately than he wanted to.

At least the money was quickly slipped into Rocco's pocket, Nate glancing back towards Monty, about to indicate they should leave, though the question from the dealer came before he had a chance. Turning his gaze towards him, Nate lifted one shoulder, mind clicking through a few options of if he should be truthful or not. "Not so much," he said finally, shrugging his shoulders. "Athlete. Plenty of guys on the team are, hence..." he paused, nodding towards the pocket the money had just disappeared too. "Save it for the off-season mostly myself."

After the answer, he shifted his eyes back towards Monty, quirking an eyebrow up. "Speaking of..." he drawled, a hint in his voice as he tipped his head back towards the front door, not sure what Monty's etiquette was here. Didn't exactly what to come right out and say let's get the fuck out of here, but wanted to leave the opening - because it's not like he wanted to stay, even as reminiscent of plenty of situations he considered relatively normal this was.

By the time Nate was out of the car and catching up with him, Monty was already being let into the house by a guy that he couldn't name, but was talking a mile a minute and moving to dap up Nate as he entered next, as if he'd been there plenty of times before, too. He glanced back, shooting Nate a clueless shrug while wandering towards the living room. Not a single overhead light was in use, save for the fluorescent bulbs buzzing away in the kitchen, leaving the space dark and moody, the television becoming a technicolor spotlight on the woman sitting on the couch, dressed only in a sports bra and sweats.

"Hey, Rissa," Monty greeted, bending down in the same second that she reached for him, head turning just far enough to press a kiss to his cheek. Her glazed eyes didn't stray from the screen. "Glad to see Vin's still alive and kicking." Was that Fast Five? Or Fast & Furious 6? There was really no way to tell. He joined her in watching a muscle car explode, standing beside the arm of the couch, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. "How's the old man?" Marissa's response was a questionable grunt that had him frowning -- no further explanation needed. The minutes were already ticking by, an anxious twitch settling into Monty's muscles as he glanced to the hallway and then Nate, stare only lingering for a split second. He wanted to get out of there, to have this done and over, because he just couldn't stand for this to be one of those nights where he got stuck waiting around, rotting on the couch or giving so-and-so a ride, not making it back to campus until sunup all because Johnny had another great fucking story to tell. He regretted dragging Nate into this, starting to turn towards him, tapping his elbow, "Hey, man, if you wanna wait in the car, I think --"

As if on cue, Rocco manifested, barreling out from the back bedroom while greeting, "Long time no see, fuckface." But his focus quickly zeroed in on Nate, face pinching further while sizing him up. "The fuck is this?"

Monty jumped in with a false casualness he couldn't fully pull off, grinning tightly, "He's the only reason you're making any money tonight, dude." Produced out of thin air, he pressed a crisp stack of twenties totaling $300 (suspiciously his ATM withdrawal limit) into Rocco's palm, hoping to appease him. While he began diligently counting it, Monty babbled, "Everything's kickin' off this weekend. End of the semester, y'know? There's a huge party on campus we gotta get back for, and the roads are slick as shit, I thought we were gonna die comin' out this way. He's actually supposed to be hosting, so…"

"Uh-huh," Rocco drawled, either not buying it or just not interested, but when he folded the wad of cash and pocketed it, Monty knew it was a good sign. Time had been bought, an internal register cashing out, interest undoubtedly added to his bill. "You a big partier?" Rocco asked Nate, surely bristling that he had to look up to meet his gaze.