That Lingering High

Breakfast

The boy's dorm is always very silent in early hours of the morning. A calming, orange filter bringing this usually mischief-ridden hall, to a tranquil hault, as well as illuminating the slow-moving dust in the air. It's during these hours that Nathan is able to think abroad and clear his head of yesterday's incidents, whatever they shall be. They're almost always bleak memories that he actually remembers, like the consistent yelling, bleeding, and crying. None of the good moments; if he even had any that day.

The blond normally starts out with telling himself, "Today is a new day." That the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and any that normal person should appreciate that kind of thing; although, he thinks people say that kind of stuff just to be all artsy and "down-to-earth". But on this particular morning, Nathan begins with forgetting the previous night's awful dream. Disregarding every last detail embedded into his already damaged mindset to figure out a way to get himself out of bed. As torturous images of that nightmare plague his eyelids, he hears a small knock at his door. Nathan figures someone had heard him talking aloud, so he decided not to answer.

"If you're going to ignore me, I'll take this coffee elsewhere."

That voice is recognizable but has no face yet, leaving Nathan to ponder if he should open the door or not. He decides its best if he lets the other go on his way to a different dorm, keeping silent in hopes of reciprocation. Sadly, that does not come. The male outside his door becomes impatient, or at least that's what it sounds like considering how loud and exaggerated that sigh was Nathan just heard.

"Okay, I lied. Your name is on the cup, I can't exactly give it to anyone else. You liked that peppermint one, right?"

Now, he's confused. Who in their right mind would remember such a small detail like that? Nathan pushes himself out of bed and past piles of discarded papers, bed springs making notice of his movement. His excuse for those failed attempts at art? An artist can't draw without motive, for which he has none. Whoever is behind this door will just have to deal with his messiness if they are to enter. On that note, Nathan unlocks and cracks open the door enough for him to look out of it, faced with someone he wouldn't have expected to ever grace the front side of his door with their presence.

"Warren? Really? It's 6:40, what are you even doing up?"

The energy in Nathan isn't enough to power any string of rude comments, leaving him in this passive state of mind at the moment. Once he takes his pills, those rage induced outbursts should commense. So casually, he opens his door the rest of the way, seeing no threat in the brunet. But despite that fact, Nathan's body stands still in the doorway, eyes glancing at Warren, to the coffee cup with his name on it, and back again. The aroma of peppermint calms his nerves, causing Nathan to give the other a very soft and tired expression.

"I just-..I-I felt terrible about spilling that coffee on you during Bio. My hands weren't connecting with my brain properly and your project got ruined. This is sort of a peace offering? It's shitty, sure. And I didn't exactly know how much sugar you wanted in it; or if you even wanted any at all? So I took my best shot at recreating the smell."

Warren held out the steaming cup in his hand, dainty fingers avoiding the hot surface underneath the cup protector. His demeanor portrayed a similar relaxed feeling that made Nathan just as serene as the coffee smell allowed him to be, if not more. He guesses that its because Warren is an actual human and not a liquid. And, to the brunet's surprise, Nathan pivoted around and walked to his couch without locking, or even closing the door. A silent welcome into his dorm, which Warren took happily.

"You okay with a little secondhand smoke?" Nathan asked, sitting himself down and sliding out a small, metal box from under the low coffee table. The other gave him a quick nod after closing the door and taking the seat right beside him, making Nathan jolt a bit when he looked back. He believed the brunet to be sitting too close, scooting away ever so slightly and resuming his routine, self-diagnosed, wake-up medicine.