Set out on a narrow way

The kid's first words to him are "you can't sit there," which normally would piss Brad off, maybe to the point of shoving the kid off his own chair. It's the kind of crap he's heard before, whenever his family moved and he went to yet another school.

But that kid doesn't sound like other kids, he sounds earnest and calm and he's smiling. Not the smirking kind of a smile, or the uncertain one people get around the new kid. He sounds like he likes Brad, even though they know shit about each other.

"Why?" Brad asks, deciding the kid deserves the benefit of the doubt before Brad decides if he's a retard. The smiling could be a hint.

"Jenna sits there and she's weird about it. She's gonna make a scene and you seriously don't need that on the first day," the kid says and nods. "I'm Nate. There's an empty seat in the front row," he adds and catalogues Brad's grimace. "Or you can have mine. I don't mind."

It's a good seat, in the middle of the window row, far enough from the teacher not to be called on too often but not all the way in the back where they always suspect you. Plus, window. Brad opens his mouth to say 'yeah, sure' and says "No, front row's fine" instead.

Jenna turns out to be weird about everything, including the kind of paper she gets to draw or the pen she uses or whatever else. Brad cranes his head to look at Nate, who catches his eye and nods.

During the break he fishes out the pack of Skittles out of his backpack and shares them with Nate. Even the yellow ones.

*

Nate likes English and doesn't like math but Brad decides they can be friends anyway, especially since Nate isn't retarded about it and can actually do his math homework quickly and efficiently.

"It just isn't very interesting," he says with a shrug and Brad shakes his head but doesn't comment. He's sure Nate will come around.

He has a Transformers pencil case and they get into a long discussion about the cartoon and act out Brad's favourite scene during the break. Brad likes Ironhide the most, followed closely by Huffer, and he argues with Nate about Mirage for a very long time, until Nate's eyes are wide and clear and his voice gets really soft.

"Yeah, okay," Brad says. "The invisibility thing is super-awesome," he adds and grins back when Nate beams at him.

When Mom comes to pick him up he makes her invite Nate over for Friday pizza and she looks at him strangely, ruffles his hair and keeps smiling all the way home. "I'm glad you made a friend," she tells him.

In Brad's last school she kept on asking if there really wasn't anyone Brad could be friends with. He told her all the kids there were retarded, but that didn't go over well. Now, he just shrugs, it's not that he made a friend, it's just that Nate's not an idiot. Even though he doesn't appreciate cool things, like math and Ironhide.

*

In April, Nate decides he wants to become a detective. He reads Emil and the Detectives and then he and Brad devour anything connected to the subject, spend their Saturdays lifting fingerprints off the furniture and practicing lockpicking. Nate isn't very good, but Brad's parents become slightly concerned by the ease with which Brad disarms the locks.

Nate bothers his older sister until she gives in and checks what's required of a candidate to the police academy. She looks on bemusedly as Nate prepares a to-do list.

Brad wanted to become a race cars driver, but he looks on Nate's list and decides that he's going to do that, too. Can't let Nate go and join by himself. Brad's seen the tv shows, he knows how it goes, you need a partner to watch your back and Brad doesn't trust anyone else.

Most people are morons.

*

The summer after the 4th grade, Brad locks himself in his room and refuses to come out until his parents agree not to send him to his grandparents for the first two weeks of July.

Brad loves going to visit his grandparents, that's not the point. Grandpa Jim has an old car in the garage he's been fixing for as long as Brad remembers and he lets Brad help, shows him how the engine works and explains what every tool does. He doesn't mind when Brad gets the motor oil and dust all over himself. And Grandma makes the best pies in the world and serves them with ice cream.

But Nate's going to camp in July. He's going to spend three weeks near some stupid lake without Brad, and Brad had promised to teach him to stay for a long time under water, something Nate's scared of, and now Nate might be learning it without him.

Brad's mom spends two hours on the phone with Nate's mom and when she comes up to Brad's room and gently knocks on the doors she looks like she's holding back a smile. "Beth says Nate staged a mutiny, protesting camp," she says.

Brad peers at her from over his book then ostensibly turns back to it. "It's a stupid camp."

"I'm very sorry you feel that way, because we've decided you're going," Mom tells him. "Your grandma said it's okay if you visit them in August this year. She invited Nate, too."

He knows it's going to be the best summer ever.

*

They have their biggest argument over a treehouse. They were to build it mostly on their own, with a bit of Nate's father's help. They've been planning the whole thing for months, revising the plans from what they wanted to what was actually doable and didn't resemble a Death Star.

They haven't thought as far as to discuss in whose garden it was going to be, and the thing blows in their faces like it does resemble a Death Star after all.

Brad gets on his bike and rides away, and they don't speak for days. At school, when Brad needs one of his books back from Nate, he tells Kevin to tell him. Nate purses his lips with annoyance and starts saying something but seems to rethink, shoves the book at him and walks away.

His Mom starts worrying on Monday, asks him if everything is alright on Tuesday and goes for the full-blown Inquisition on Wednesday. Brad eats his dinner in grave silence and goes upstairs without a word.

Nate's waiting for him on Thursday morning, sitting on the porch with his bike on the side on the Colberts' lawn. "This is stupid," he says, standing up, hands shoved into his pockets. Brad shrugs. He wants them to be okay already but isn't sure what to do. "I was thinking that tree," Nate adds with a tilt of his head and Brad nods slowly.

"Yeah, okay."

Nate nods back and picks up his bike, hesitates. "I'll race you," he offers and Brad scrambles to pick up his own bike while Nate rides down the path and into the street.

"Cheater!" Brad yells after him but he can't hold back a laugh.

*

In the 6th grade Nate goes on a trip to DC, goes to see the White House and the Capitol and comes back with a new plan and a new to-do list.

Brad thinks that if anyone else told him they were going to become the president one day, he'd tell them they were full of crap. But he knows Nate can do pretty much anything he wants.

"What am I gonna be?" he asks and Nate's expression flickers, like he's feeling guilty he hadn't considered it.

"You can be the Vice President," he says quickly. It's a good effort, Brad thinks, and for the next week or so they devise plans for what they will do when the aliens attack the White House. Their White House has secret tunnels and well-placed air vents.

The next time Brad's Mom is watching the news and they show the president, Brad pays close attention. There are the Secret Service guys all around the car, looking kind of cool with the glasses and the coats and the wires behind their ears. And Brad thinks that he could do that. Have a cool coat and a gun and shades and make sure that nothing ever happened to the president. He could do that.

*

Nate kisses a girl for the first time at Emma's 13th birthday party, when they play seven minutes in heaven. Brad refuses to play on principle, the principle being that the game is really stupid, but Nate is too polite to say the same.

And besides, Emma practically drags him into the closet. All the girls really like Nate, probably because he's always polite and listens to them and all and has green eyes and nice hair (Brad has sisters, he hears things).

"So, how was it?" Brad asks later and he's more curious than he thought he'd be.

"Okay," Nate shrugs. "Want to come over tomorrow and check out my new computer? I know you'd like to complain about it."

"Sounds like fun," Brad nods and doesn't call him on the change of topic. Nate keeps biting on his lip thoughtfully and Brad just rolls his eyes.

*

The summer before high school they go to Brad's grandparents in August. It has become a tradition. Grandpa bought an entirely new engine for the car and Brad spends a week busying himself with it. Nate mostly hangs around and hands him the right tools, holds things when he's asked to and tries not to break anything. Machines clearly don't like Nate, it's quite funny.

Nate makes two new lists that summer. One of them is the outline of classes and the extra-curricular activities that would give him the best chance of getting into the colleges of his choice, and then into the law schools. Brad keeps wanting to ask if he's going to color-code that too, but mostly he just looks on fondly.

The second list is the bucket list of everything they want to do through high school. Brad helps with that one, adds smoking weed and getting a speeding ticket, among other things, and Nate stares at him pointedly but writes those down too.

They do the first thing on it on that very day, sit in the attic's window and smoke their first cigarettes that Brad stole from the pack his Grandpa hides from Grandma. Nate coughs up a storm before he calms down, Brad feels like puking his guts out but he keeps his cool, mostly, swallows the rising bile.

Nate's lips look strange around the cigarette and Brad stares for a moment before finally putting his away, Nate following suit.

"If we can't handle this shit it's going to be pretty pathetic when we try with weed," Nate tells him after a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"We have a good few years to practice."

"And get a lung cancer in the process, great plan."

"Don't be a chickenshit," Brad mutters but he's not planning on repeating the experience for a long time, maybe even not ever. Shit, the whole smoking thing might look cool but is just disgusting. He still feels a little like vomiting, what's up with that shit?

*

"I can't believe you're taking Latin," Brad shakes his head with disdain. "Who the hell does that?"

"People who want to get into their choice of college, hopefully early admission, and go into law school?" Nate's flipping through his textbook. They didn't even get proper homework in any of their classes, there's no reason for all this, but Nate gets peculiar about his studying.

And by peculiar Brad means completely insane.

He bounces the basketball against the bed. It shakes under Nate, who sends him a reproachful look but closes his book obligingly. "What do you want, Colbert?"

"For you to take your nose out of that book, Fick. Second day of school, I know you're screwed up but at least try and hide it for a little longer, or you'll never get chicks."

"Your worry for me is truly touching," he shots back but stands up anyway, stretches and catches the ball when Brad bounces it again. "Fine, come on. I guess I can take a break to kick your ass."

"I suppose you could try," Brad nods magnanimously.

The try-outs for the basketball team are coming up. Nate isn't sure he wants to try for it at all, but Brad reasonably points out some athletic achievement would look good on the college applications. Nate counters with running track, which Brad shoots down as just not fun at all.

"Fine," Nate says before he looks up, his eyebrows raised in something like a challenge. "But only if we both make the team, it's not going to be fun without you either."

Brad nods and reaches out and they shake on it. He tries not to let it show that it sort of made him feel warm inside, he's not a fucking girl.

*

Brad divides his time between school, basketball practice, and the less-than-half-time job at the computer store he took because he's saving up for a motorcycle. With what he earns he'll be able to maybe buy one in fifteen or twenty years, but he counts on the good will of his parents, once he convinces Mom they're not death traps.

Nate divides his time between school, basketball practice, debate team, student council, school newspaper, and the volunteer work at the local community center, because Nate is a fucking robot who has one of those energizer bunnies batteries stuck up his ass and doesn't know when to stop and relax.

It's a good thing he has Brad, who drags him out of the house on Saturday afternoons, when Nate insists he should study, and makes him go to the movies and see something where stuff explodes a lot, or insists Nate comes over and plays computer games in which stuff explodes, or just helps Brad with his experiments, occasionally with stuff that explodes but mostly with computers and other contraptions.

"Are you building a robot?" Nate asks suspiciously one day, eyeing something electronic that looks like a head, propped up on Brad's desk.

"Why would I? I have you," Brad says around the wire he holds between his teeth. Nate reaches out and half-heartedly swats at him.

Sometime after Christmas, Nate starts dividing his time between school, basketball practice, shitload of other things, and Madison.

Brad has nothing against Madison; she's on the debate team with Nate, has calculus with both of them, has curly blonde hair and a gap between her front teeth that is more adorable than not, and she doesn't talk in a high-pitched voice, toss her hair, or pretend to be less smart than she is. So, Brad's fine with Madison and the fact of her existence, he'd just prefer if her presence didn't infringe on his time with Nate and didn't influence the movie choices when they go out as a group.

"Madison wanted me to check if she pissed you off with something," Nate tells him one Thursday afternoon, when the meeting of the student council has been cancelled and they're using the time shooting hoops on Brad's driveway.

Brad shrugs. "No idea what she means."

"Alright," Nate nodds and easily steals the ball away from Brad, steps back and dribbles it absently. "To be fair, though, you spoke maybe two words to her yesterday."

"Jesus fuck, Nate, if I wanted to be having conversations like this, I'd find a girlfriend myself."

Nate laughs and attempts to toss the ball over Brad's head, but Brad hasn't grown two inches in the last couple of months for nothing. "Pick one and break the hearts of the rest of the school? That would be interesting."

Brad rolls his eyes at him and lands a perfect toss. "For a given value of interesting, sure. Tell Madison we're fine. I'll even talk to her about weather or some shit, and fulfill my social obligations."

"Don't strain yourself on my behalf, Colbert," Nate says and pats him on the back. Brad's not sure why he wants to shake his hand off.

*

The summer after their freshman year is the first one they spend apart. Nate gets into some kind of special project thing, for the future leaders of America or the X-men, Brad's not quite sure because he tunes it out the moment Nate tells him.

Well, fine, he doesn't, but he can pretend all he wants that he does, can change the subject and act like he doesn't care at all. Nate lets him get away with it and in turn pretends it doesn't bother him. They don't argue, not at all, but the conversations for the few weeks before Nate leaves are strained and stilted, over before they begin or on subjects neither of them cares about.

"I swear, you need couples therapy," Rachel tells Brad after a mere week of witnessing it when she comes back from college.

Brad raises his eyebrows at her. "I'm sorry, I don't take advice from people who are clearly uncapable of doing laundry for themselves."

She brought two sacks of laundry home. Brad wonders if maybe Berkeley spend all the laundromat money on women's studies courses or whatever the fuck. It would make some sort of sense, he supposes.

The evening before he's due to leave, Nate comes by and they watch Die Hard and eat pizza. Brad's still pissed, a little, that Nate would just leave him like that, break their summer tradition, but at the same time, he's pissed at himself for wanting that, for acting like this is about him and not Nate's future.

Even Die Hard doesn't seem as awesome as usual.

"I should go, early morning," Nate offers and Brad nods, turns off the tv on the credits and walks him outside. On the porch, Nate hesitates.

"Try not to take over the world ahead of schedule," Brad tells him. "And for fuck's sake, have some fun, it's holidays," he adds dryly.

Nate nods and steps forward, pulls Brad into a hug just this side of awkward. Brad's not sure what to do, he stays still for a moment and then lets his hands fall to Nate's back.

"Take care, Brad," Nate tells him and gets on his bike, rides away into the darkened street. Brad doesn't watch him, just turns and walks back inside the house. If he leans against the doors for a moment and sighs, well, it's between him and the doors.

*

"Brad, phone," his Grandma yells and Brad doesn't move from under the car, just waves at her.

"I'll call back."

"It's Nate," she says and thankfully doesn't laugh when he scrambles out and hits his head in the process. Well, she smiles and pats his cheek, and this could be worse. She hands him the cordless and disappears back in the house and Brad breathes out and runs a hand through his hair, pushing them back, before he says anything.

"How's the evil overlord camp? Learned how to pick your guards yet? Remember, they need to be stupid enough not to try and take over but smart enough not to be fooled by an average five years old."

"I'll keep that in mind. How are you?"

"You could also invest in a moat. And sharks."

Nate sighs, but if Brad's not mistaken, he's smiling. "Cut the crap, Colbert, I don't have much time. You know the amount of bribery involved in getting a second phonecall?"

"Unless the first was to your lawyer, I'm offended. And fair warning, I'm not sending you a ladder baked into a cake."

"Your grandma has that covered and I'm getting pie. Brad, seriously, how are things? I've heard some worrying stories. Broken legs and all."

"Jeez, everyone should just fucking chill. It was just a sprained ankle."

"And you kept climbing."

"Hiking. You've clearly heard the exaggerated version."

"No, I've heard the right one. I've exaggerated it myself to get you to fess up to the real one."

Brad feels a smile pushing its way out into his face. "Clearly, the evil overlord camp is training you well. You left an apprentice and soon you'll be the master."

"Only the master of evil," Nate finishes, laughing. "That's not exactly what I'm going for. So, you're really fine?"

"Yeah," he says, giving in. "Hurt like a motherfucker for a while but I'm fine." He hadn't admitted that much to his mother. Then again, his mother would make a fuss and Nate just goes quiet for a long moment, then his voice is calm and steady.

"See that you are," he says, and it sounds a little like an order. "Take it easy, alright?"

Brad wants to tell him to stop being a mother hen and go back to his telekinesis class or whatever they're doing, but he finds himself nodding instead. "Okay. You, too."

"How much trouble can I get into at the evil overlord camp? Even the sharks are training sharks only and have teeth made out of styrofoam."

"Safety first," Brad agrees.

*

Sophomore year Brad gets his driver's licence, his first car, first handjob, first blowjob, and first girlfriend. Not in that order, of course.

His car is old and rusty and makes strange noises, but it has a decent leg room and has to last him only until he buys a bike. He doesn't discuss the handjobs and blowjobs because he might not be a gentleman but he doesn't tell either. Kissing's fine. The girl... her name is Julie, she works at a computer cafe on the weeekends and always carries screwdrivers in her bag. Brad seriously appreciates that in a person.

Nate breaks up with Madison sometime around Halloween and Dawn's party, but the circumstances are unclear. They're still friends, albeit awkwardly. Can't say that for Nate and Julie, even though they have the awkward part down perfectly.

At first, Brad thinks it's the same thing it was with him and Madison, that Nate is worried that Brad spending time with Julie, making out on the couch or talking about why no one sane would buy a Macintosh, would take time from them, from Brad-and-Nate. Except that Nate has even less time for Brad than Brad has for him, between the three classes they have together and the practice and the games they almost don't see each other.

Well, apart from lunch, when Nate steals his fries and Brad draws crude scenes at the margins of whatever book or folder Nate's carrying this time.

The point is, Nate seems to be bothered by Julie in a way that Brad wasn't about Madison. Nate, who likes everyone and is adored pretty much universally, achieves new levels of passive-aggressive bitchiness around Julie.

It's almost hilarious except it puzzles the fuck out of Brad.

"What's your deal with Julie?" Brad asks him finally, when he's driving Nate home after practice, after Ferrando pushed them past the reasonable point and well into insanity, and Nate said that he'd rather sleep in the locker room than try to make his legs work on the bike.

"I don't have a deal with Julie."

Brad snorts. "Pull the other one, it has motherfucking bells on. Not that I don't appreciate the reminder that Nathaniel Fick can be a prissy little bitch when he wants to, it's always entertaining as all hell, I'd just like some explanation to go with it."

Nate sighs and looks at the houses they pass for long enough that Brad thinks he's not going to say anything, and prepares himself to poke him in the side. "She's not g..." Nate starts and stops almost immediately, shakes his head and bites his lip. "No, you're right. I'm just being an asshole, sorry."

"Well, you are an asshole, asshole, but I don't mind. What you are being is weird."

"Noted," Nate nods and that's that. Next day at lunch he gets Julie a soda when he gets one for Brad and himself and doesn't roll his eyes when Julie talks about some band. Instead, he asks leading questions and fakes interest so well Brad is hard-pressed to see the signs of lying.

"If you keep this up, I'm gonna think you're falling back on your old career plans and prepping yourself for a life in politics."

Nate smiles at him brilliantly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, teeth flashing, holding the fake smile until he laughs genuinely. "Besides, if I do, you're getting pulled into that shit right with me, remember, you're my Vice-President."

"I hear the pay is good," Brad agrees.

*

Brad breaks up with Julie at the end of the school year. They have an argument that starts from basically nothing and ends with Brad stopping mid-sentence, clenching his jaw and walking away, leaving his car in the parking lot because even he isn't crazy enough to drive this angry.

Nate steals a bottle of whiskey from his father's cabinet and they get really drunk for the first time ever, sitting on Brad's room floor. It's one for the bucket list.

"She wasn't good enough for you," Nate says quietly at some point, so quietly Brad isn't sure he spoke at all, at first.

Brad shakes his head. "Got this the other way around. Not good enough for her," he offers and takes a swing out of the bottle. It burns his throat, but by the time it gets to his stomach, the burning sensation's not bad.

Nate shifts, sits on his heels and looks at Brad seriously. "Brad, no," he says, his voice sure. Brad thinks he could almost believe it, because Nate's telling him so.

"Yeah, see, you're my best friend. Is your job to say that."

"True," Nate admits. "But as your best friend I also wouldn't lie to you." He seems like he wants to say something else but he rethinks it and reaches for the bottle, taking it out of Brad's hand and taking a swing, his lips wrapped around the neck of it. It takes a long moment and he doesn't even cough like Brad can't help doing after every drink out of it. It's sort of impressive.

"You may not be in the possession of all facts," Brad points out and Nate shrugs. His face is slightly flushed already.

"Maybe," Nate allows, his voice soft, like he's humoring Brad. "So," he adds, shifting back to his former sprawled position, back against the bed and his shoulder brushing against Brad's. "You were in love with her?"

Brad's not quite sure the past tense applies yet. He's not quite sure love the right noun. He's not quite fucking sure what's next. "Yeah," he says and Nate takes it and doesn't ask anything else, and they just sit like that, with an occasional swing from the bottle, until Brad falls asleep.

*

Few days before the start of summer holidays Nate asks if it's possible he could tag along with Brad to his grandparents this year.

Brad stares at him for a very long moment, enough time for Nate to start saying he just wanted to ask but it's fine if Brad doesn't want him there. It's enough for Brad to swat the back of his head.

"You're such a spazz, Fick," he mutters. "Grandma asked if you were coming about seventeen times now. Don't make me disappoint her. It's sad, but I think she likes you more than she likes me."

"Doesn't everyone?" Nate asks but he looks ridiculously pleased.

"So what, the evil overlord camp doesn't want you this year? Too evil or not evil enough?"

Nate shrugs. "I'll get back to you on that, the jury's still out."

Brad's grandmother is indeed ridiculously fond of Nate. She makes him sit in the kitchen, eat pie, and tell her everything that was going on with him since the last time she saw him, and with two years of that, Nate's gonna be stuck for a while.

Brad refuses to understand Nate's pleading expression and leaves him there. It's not quite in revenge for the last year and the evil overlords camp, but maybe next time Nate will think twice before leaving Brad for the entire summer.

At the end of the month Grandpa presents Brad with the keys to the car, the one he's been working on for pretty much ever, for as long as Brad remembers. "I know you wanted a bike, but this will get you everywhere for a while," he says with a shrug and Brad hugs him for a long time, even though like Brad, Grandpa Jim doesn't do open affection very well or very often.

"And it's safer," Grandma adds pointedly and from the look on Nate's face, she's not the only one approving of that.

"Don't even," Brad warns Nate, who crosses his arms in the perfect mirror of Grandma's pose and Brad wants to laugh, bites his lip to hold it back.

"Come on, Colbert, give me a ride," Nate demands. He's not the only one, and the first trip Brad makes in his new car is driving Grandma to the grocery shop, while she tells him to please slow down every three minutes. Nate is laughing in the backseat and trying to pretend he isn't.

Brad is kind of stupidly in love with his car already, so he doesn't mind.

*

Brad gets back with Julie in January. Well, on New Year's Eve, to be exact. They make out at Samantha's party and it kind of goes from there. Julie apologises for a few things and so does Brad, not for all of them, but that's compromise for you.

Her parents are out of town and next day Brad stays over. It's good. It's great, in fact.

He's not quite sure why it happens, he realises Julie could do much better. She has plans, grand plans that mean she knows exactly what she wants to do, who she wants to be. She has her future mapped out, colleges and careers and Brad can't quite pinpoint where he fits in those.

Julie's a bit like Nate in that. Focused and driven and heading for something great. Brad knows it's not coincidence he's drawn to both. It's really kind of weird they don't like each other.

"You're thinking too much again," Julie tells him, her eyes still closed. Brad tries to smile and kisses her shoulder.

Next day it turns out that maybe he doesn't think enough, because somehow he manages to forget to tell Nate about Julie and when they meet in front of the cinema and he's holding Julie's hand and Nate's holding two tickets, well, okay, Brad is an idiot, but that's been previously established.

Nate looks between them and then smiles at Julie, nice and polite. "He's going to forget all the anniversaries, get ready for that," he tells her, best friend to girlfriend, with a mocking look at Brad. If Brad didn't know him he'd miss the fact that Nate is pretty fucking pissed. "Here," he hands Brad the tickets. "They're sold out now, so I suppose it's the two of you and I don't have an excuse to procrastinate and put off my reading list for any longer. Have fun."

"Nate, you don't have to," Julie says at the same moment as Brad says "Nate, come on."

Nate shakes his head. "Seriously, I don't mind," he insists and nods at them before turning on his heel and walking away.

"Could have gone better," Julie mutters, squeezing Brad's hand. It's sort of an understatement.

Next day Brad waits in front of Nate's doors to be invited in instead of just letting himself in. "Fucked that up," he offers as a greeting.

Nate nods. "Could have gone better," he agrees and Brad wants to say 'funny, that's what she said' but he's not that stupid. "Brad, I don't need a fucking newsletter on your life," he says, dismissive, but there's hurt underneath and Brad knows that if the roles were reversed he'd be a lot less understanding about the whole thing. That's Nate, though.

"I'll cancel your subscription," he says and Nate nods, moves away to let him through. Brad pauses when they're a few inches apart. "The cinema thing was shitty, though."

"Yes, it was," Nate says, a genuine smile hiding in the corner of his mouth, before it melts away and Nate looks up seriously. "If she breaks your heart again..."

"She won't."

"If, then I'm not getting you any more whiskey. You're gonna have to deal with cheap beer."

"Deal."

*

Grandpa Jim dies in April.

They say it was peaceful and painless, and that he died in his sleep. Brad's not quite sure he believes them.

His sister picks him up from school, comes to get him in the middle of English. She nods at Nate and her lips move like she wants to say something but doesn't.

Nate's at their house as soon as the classes end, looking a right mess, like he run all the way. He hasn't picked his new car yet and Brad was giving him rides for the entire week. He forgot, should have warned Nate, or someone.

"Sorry," he tells Nate, who just stares at him and shakes his head, steps forward and puts his arms around Brad, holds for long enough that Brad relaxes and lets his head drop to Nate's shoulder.

They walk outside later, after a long while, Brad's not sure how long. He needs fresh air. When they sit in Brad's car, Grandpa's car, Brad rolls down the windows and doesn't move for a long while. Nate leans back in his seat, his eyes half-closed. They don't say a word for hours and Nate doesn't seem to mind.

Brad falls asleep at some point.

He's not sure who carried him back inside, Nate or his father or both of them, but he wakes up in his bed, shoes off but the rest of the clothes still on, and walks downstairs unsure of his footing. Nate's at the kitchen table, mixing the pancakes batter for Brad's mother, talking to her in a quiet voice.

"Hey. I hope you don't mind, I asked your mom if I can go to the funeral with you."

"I think he'd like that," Brad's mom says and Brad's not sure whom she means, Brad or his Grandpa. Both are true, so it probably doesn't matter.

"Grandma will be happy to see you," Brad adds and stumbles over his own words. "Well, not happy. I mean... not...."

"I know," Nate nods. Brad figured he would.

They spend the day in Brad's room, watching some old movie Brad can't even figure out the plot of. It's black and white and it's something about a musical. Or Nazis. Brad falls asleep again, in the afternoon. He needs to stop doing that, he's not a fucking child.

Nate's writing something in his notebook when he wakes up. Of course. He looks up at Brad and tilts his head. "I called Steve and had him pick up the notes from our classes, drop them on his way home. I'm making copies for you," he adds and hesitates for a moment. "I called Julie, too, she was worried. She has practice till five but she's gonna come over later."

Brad wants to say that it must be serious, if Nate's calling Julie out of his own free will, but he can't even open his mouth. He tries, but a hoarse 'thanks' is all that comes out. There's something about what Nate said that demands his attention but he's not quite sure and he's too tired, despite all the sleep or because of it, to try and think about it.

Nate tosses his notebook onto Brad's table and moves back onto the bed, lying down side by side with Brad. Brad turns his head and hides his face in the sleeve of Nate's shirt. "Thanks," he repeats and Nate shifts slightly, so that he can reach out and press his hand to the back of Brad's head.

*

Brad misses over a week of school, Nate misses six days altogether.

It doesn't seem like a big deal until you remember it's Nate Fick, who last time missed two days in middle school when he had a stomach flu and could walk only the few feet between his bedroom and the bathroom and only that to mostly puke his guts out.

After they come back from the funeral Nate hangs around before Brad practically throws him out, tells him to go play nice and go to school. Nate purses his lips and nods his agreement, but comes by next day on his way to classes and brings Julie with him.

Change of watch, babysitting duty or a custody thing, Brad has no idea, but it warms his heart that Nate and Julie seem to get along so well now. As in: annoys the fuck out of him. He just tells them he doesn't need people to watch him for any signs of cutting because he's not a whiny bitch who needs constant supervision, but hey.

And it's good to have Julie around, she lays her head on his shoulder when they watch tv, her hand tangled in his shirt, and she, unlike Nate, doesn't need to be told which tool on the workshop table is which.

But Julie didn't have a chance to meet his Grandpa and when Brad finds himself retelling that one story from his years of service, she just looks on with puzzlement. Maybe Brad's not telling it right, but Nate at least would remember and smile, if not laugh, like they laughed when Grandpa told it, Nate snorting into his tea and Brad having to hit his back a few times.

He comes back to school on Monday, starting with the practice because there's nothing like training till you're wheezing to begin your week. A few people awkwardly ask if he's fine, or smile and welcome him back with a pat like nothing happened at all.

Nate just nods and tosses his shirt at him. "We've made amazing progress while you were gone. Think you can keep up?"

"Fuck off, Fick," he says and means 'thank you.'

*

At the end of their junior year Nate starts dating Andie. Their dates seem to consist of discussing Homer and Virgil and the journey of a myth or other pretentious shit, but it can't be all that they do, judging from the way Andie's hand seems to be intimately familiar with the backpocket of Nate's jeans.

Brad wonders sometimes if she quotes Chaucer in bed but can't quite ask Nate because it's one thing they don't talk about. And he doesn't mean Chaucer.

There's locker room talk and Nate usually just tosses back an insult or two when he's addressed, good-naturedly tells Kevin that if she says size doesn't matter, then it's too small; or just rolls his eyes at whatever the guys are saying. But Brad and Nate, they don't talk about this.

Which is maybe why he's thrown for a loop when he swings by Nate's house on the weekend his parents are out of town and Nate opens the door in just his jeans and even those aren't done up properly.

Brad just raises his eyebrows.

"So, not our pizza," Nate says. "Unless you've taken up a new job?"

Andie bounces down the stairs, wearing Nate's old t-shirt. It covers her thighs and Brad doesn't speculate whether she's actually wearing any panties. He doesn't speculate about anything. "Colbert, hey," she says, a bit confusedly. "Gonna join us for pizza?"

Her hair is a mess and most of her lipstick is wiped out. Brad can tell she was actually wearing lipstick only because there's a soft red smudge right above Nate's waistband. "I don't think so," he shakes his head.

Nate looks both relieved and like he doesn't want Brad to go, or doesn't want him to feel like he needs to go. "You could..." he starts and Brad gives him a look.

"Seriously, Fick?" he says and Nate smiles wryly.

*

Brad has expected their senior year to hold some college-related panic but he obviously wasn't thinking big enough.

It might be because he's getting it from both sides, Julie and Nate, who both have absolutely no reasons for the panic but work themselves up nonetheless. Nate's the worst. The whole thing with essays is tragic, Brad can't wait for the letters to start coming. And by can't wait he means he's considering moving to Buttfuck, Montana for the time being.

"It's not like people at admissions in Dartmouth and Harvard and wherever the fuck else you're applying aren't jerking themselves over your application."

"That really sets my mind at ease, thanks, Brad," Nate tells him.

Brad nods magnanimously. "You are most welcome."

Maybe there's something wrong with him, because he doesn't panic at all. He applies to the MIT and Caltech and wonders if he'd feel relieved if they rejected him.

He would have better arguments for the idea that's slowly forming in his head.

"I was thinking about joining the Marines," he tells Nate when they're sorting through Nate's CDs after he claimed he needed a new system. Brad guesses it's mostly so he'd stop thinking about schoolwork and college for more than five minutes.

"Marines as in the Marine Corps?" Nate asks and Brad shakes his head.

"No, the Marines as in the travelling circus. Of course I mean the Corps."

Nate falls silent for a long moment, turning the same CD in his hands. He's not looking at Brad but at something to his left, his eyes focused but unseeing. "I didn't know you wanted that."

"Not sure about wanting. I'm thinking I need it, though. I'm probably not cut out for college life anyway."

"Brad, you're the smartest person I know." Nate's looking at him now and Brad prefers he didn't. His eyes are huge and worried and making Brad's stomach turn in quite an unpleasant way. "And even if that bullshit were true, not cut out for college doesn't immediately equal joining military."

"Peacetime military," Brad points out. He has the arguments prepared, he's going to need them if he wants to explain this to his mother in a way that won't make her cry. He can't deal with the crying part.

Nate, however, seems unimpressed. "Not my point," he mutters and sighs, drops the CD and it bounces off the pile. "What did Julie say?"

"Didn't tell her yet," he says quietly and knows Nate will understand, will get that no, he hasn't told his parents either, hadn't breathed a word to anyone else yet. "What do you think?" he prompts, takes measured breaths when he waits for the answer.

Nate leans back against the bed, hands on his knees. He's holding on to the left pant leg a little bit too tight, fingers clenched. "I'm not selfish enough to think that I have any right to try and stop you from doing something you want, or need. I don't like the idea of you choosing a line of work that will prepare you for a war, peacetime or not," he shrugs. "But I realise that we're probably not going to set up a detective agency, and my chances for a presidency are rather slim, and you're not closer to constructing jetpacks than you were in 5th grade..."

"That's what you think," Brad mutters and Nate smiles weakly.

"I'm saying you're going to do what you want to do. And I'm not deluding myself and thinking we're not going to drift apart," he adds, matter-of-fact and calm and Brad knows suddenly that he's been thinking about that, about what graduation means for both of them. They're not even applying to the same colleges, not one, and they might spend the next few years on the opposite sides of the country.

He hates the idea more than he thought he would. "Well, I could still get into the MIT," he offers lightly. "If Harvard knows what's good for you they're going to beg you to come study there, so that drifting apart thing could be minimal."

Nate reaches out and tugs at his sleeve, makes Brad look up. "Don't... Don't even try to make any decisions based on what I am doing, or what you think I want, or what you think I want from you." He sounds a little angry but none of it is in his face or his eyes. Brad's chest clenches painfully and he pulls his hand back carefully. Nate lets go and flexes his fingers.

He wants to laugh it off and say that Nate really thinks highly of himself, but he can't call up the right wry tone, can't make himself joke about this. His head is spinning and he knows that something important has transpired but can't quite identify the sharp pain in his chest, the way he tastes something bitter on his tongue.

"Okay," he says and it feels a little like a promise.

Later he'll think that was the moment he made the decision, even though he hasn't quite admitted it to himself for weeks. Months, in some regards, years in others.

*

Within five minutes of meeting his new roommate Brad entertains thoughts of throwing him out of the window. Their dorm room is on the second floor overlooking a path of grass that looks rather soft. He probably won't die, but he might break his legs. With any luck, he could fall on his face and shut up permanently.

"And I don't care what fucking lab you were manufactured in and if it says made in China on your ass or not, touch any of my radios and I will fucking end you."

Ray Person has to look way up when he talks to Brad. It's sort of why Brad listens to the entire rant, it's fascinating.

"Are you here on a scholarship? A fucking special one, reaching out to the shortbus kids?"

Ray nods. "I'm taking the bed by the window."

"All the better to toss you out," Brad agrees.

Half an hour later they're talking radio frequencies and Brad's taking apart one of Ray's inventions. He even puts it back together and it doesn't get stuck like it did before. "Yeah, okay, your giant ass can stay," Ray says benevolently. "Now, are you from the school of the tie on the door or do you prefer socks? Because no fucking way do I want you around when I bring pussy home."

They spend the next hour bickering over the rules, including the cardinal one of no fucking country in the fucking room. Ray announces he's going to buy some fucking Patsy Cline CDs the very next day. Brad rolls his eyes and almost forgets he is meeting Nate at a bar over at the Harvard campus. It seems easier to let Ray tag along than try and lose him.

It might be a good thing he did, because Nate sits at a table with a few other people, fitting in seamlessly like Brad knew he would. "Brad," he says and smiles brilliantly, pulls Brad into a brief hug. "Guys, this is Brad. Christensen, Stafford, my roommate Mike and his girlfriend Claire, and that's Susan."

"Roommate, huh?" Brad says, shaking Mike's hand, dry and firm. "All I got is this demented monkey the previous inhabitants of my room left me."

"Maligning me already? Not cool, Colbert. I'm Ray."

"This is Nate," Brad says and feels compelled to add. "My best friend." It's not that he's staking his claim in front of Mike or Christensen or Stafford, not at all. He just feels like clarifying.

"Best friend? Dumping your pal Ray-Ray already for the first nice piece of ass that happens by?" Ray says mournfully and shakes his head at Brad.

Nate smiles, warm and amused. "At least your monkey has an excellent taste, if he appreciates my ass."

Brad sighs. The last thing he needs is for Nate and Ray to fucking get along. He's pretty sure it will only end in a disaster.

*

Brad doesn't get the whole panic-around-midterms thing. He goes to take his tests, he passes them, end of story. Nate on the other hand, goes absolutely mental, to the point of telling Brad to please fuck off and leave him to die in peace.

By peace he means from caffeine overdose.

Brad just tells him to fucking take it easy and buys him a coffee maker as an early birthday present, then goes to visit Julie.

It turns out to be a huge fucking mistake.

He gets three speeding tickets before he stops just driving around aimlessly and trying his best to beat the speed of light, and before he holes up in his room and tells Ray he's studying and to shut the fuck up. Three minutes later he has to pry the phone out of Ray's hands to keep him from calling Nate because "mommy must know daddy went off the bent and is now on his best way to become the next Unabomber."

It takes him half an hour to convince Ray to keep quiet and not bother Nate, and it still costs him all his razors, "just in case."

He's depressed and furious, not fucking suicidal.

Ray quotes depression statistics at him. Brad gives up and ponders murder.

It goes pretty much like this for the next four days and then there's someone pounding on their doors and Ray lets out a string of invectives before he goes to open them.

"Where is he?" Nate asks and Brad can hear the anger as plainly as he can hear the cheerful note in Ray's voice when he answers.

"His Royal Pussyness is in his bunk, hiding from the world like the little bitch he is. I told him his dick would grow back but I don't think he believes me."

"Could you give us a moment?"

It's not every day that Ray listens to someone. Brad will be sure to mark this one in his fucking calendar, maybe even devote an entire page of his diary to this amazing occurence. "What's up?" he asks Nate, getting a glare for his trouble.

Nate looks furious. More than Brad had ever seen him get. He's pressing his lips together to the point where they are white as a sheet and his fists are clenched hard enough he's probably digging his nails into his palms.

Speaking of fists. "What the fuck happened to your hand?"

Nate shrugs. "Clive's face."

It's... not what Brad expected. "Why?"

"Why..?" Nate stops and breathes out, utter disbelief on his face. "Went out to have a fucking beer, because some people have been telling me I study too much. Tried to call you but your phone is fucking turned off, so I went with Mike and Evan. Happened upon your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," Brad corrects him.

"Yeah, no shit. I have managed to figure that one out from the way she was all over Clive."

"And you punched him?" He still can't believe that one. Nate has never in his life punched anyone. Didn't even get into fights in the fucking elementary school, he just calmly talked everyone else out of fighting.

Nate shrugs and pulls his hand away, instinctively puts it behind his back. He looks guilty for a brief moment but it passes and the anger remains. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? Julie says you've known for days."

"Yeah. Sorry, didn't want to bother you during the midterms, and since you said there wasn't going to be any scotch for me this time I thought there was no hurry." He knows it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words are out of his mouth.

"Midterms," Nate says flatly. "You didn't want to bother me during the midterms," he repeats, like he's turning the words around in his head. "You didn't... For fuck's sake, Brad." He shifts like he wants to walk away but thinks better of it, takes one step towards Brad's bed.

Brad's not sure he can breathe. Something sticks in his throat and he can't swallow it down, can't push down the rising feeling, something old and familiar and something so different and sudden it scares him even while he still can't quite make the shape of it.

Nate breathes out. "You are a fucking idiot if you think I care about midterms more than... You are just damn lucky my hand fucking hurts after hitting Clive because you would be next."

"I'm pretty sure you hit like a girl," Brad mutters, the joke falling flat somewhere between them. Brad stares at the floor like he could actually fucking find it.

When Nate laughs it falls off his lips in broken pieces. "Yeah, you should probably consult it with Clive before you challenge me. First, though, I need to know if you have some ice."

Brad stands up and reaches out. "Show me," he says and inspects Nate's hand. Judging from the look of it, he probably caught one of Clive's teeth. Brad doesn't want to know how the other guy looks, except he kind of would love to. "Yeah, okay, I'll get ice," he says and scrambles towards the fridge, empties the ice container into a bag. Nate reaches out for it but Brad swats his good hand away and pulls at Nate's jacket, making him sit down.

"Shouldn't have done it," Nate says as Brad turns his hand over, inspects the damage. His skin is broken on one knuckle but that's it mostly it, it probably hurts more from the impact than anything else.

"I still can't believe you did." He holds the ice to Nate's skin and it takes him a long moment to realise they're sitting close and he is, for all intents and purposes, holding Nate's hand.

He's not sure why it strikes him as strange, why it bothers him. They've been this close before, they've slept in a tent together and fallen asleep on a couch many times, woke up tangled in various ways. It never made Brad's stomach turn like this, never made his heart freeze.

"I got thrown out of the bar," Nate says, breaking the moment. Brad laughs with disbelief.

"I'm incredibly proud of you, Fick. There might be some hope for you yet."

"Shut the fuck up and come on. If I'm not studying for the tomorrow's exam anyway I at least demand a beer. Didn't get to drink mine at that bar."

"I don't know if I should go drinking with you. You're clearly a bad influence," he mocks and Nate smiles finally, the anger gone, melted away like the ice is melting under Brad's fingers. He's not quite joking, he's not sure if he should go drinking with Nate, if he's not going to do something colossally stupid.

Like kiss Nate and ruin the best thing he has in his life.

That would be the perfect fucking ending to the week he's having, really.

*

Brad has imagined the spring break to be a little different. They've had plans involving California and Brad's cousin's place and the beach and surfing. They have also involved Julie, so that was clearly not going to happen.

He definitely didn't consider going through a major freak out over the fact that apparently he is in love with his best friend. Male, straight best friend.

It's as if a dam broke. One impulse, one passing thought, a flicker of desire, and then he was well and truly fucked, because everything else seemed to have followed. He would have been fine if it was just the attraction, but he has loved Nate for years, now he's just realising to what extent, and how.

He can't even delude himself and think it's because he's still fucked up over Julie. He is still fucked up over Julie, sure, but it has nothing to do with Nate.

Except that Nate is now perfecting the art of walking on egg shells around him, as if losing Julie was something tragic and unexpected, and not just a matter of time. Brad knew she was going to wise up some day, that he had a limited time to have her in his life.

It's the other way around with Nate, Brad knows now. Nate's loyal to a fault and he's never going to abandon Brad. He'll move out and move on with his career but Brad's pretty sure he'll be there for Brad when he'll need him. What Brad doesn't get to have is Nate the way he wants him. Nate being truly his.

Brad's okay with that, he's lucky to have Nate at all.

"I have been assured the wave is good," Nate tells him, fresh from the shower he took after his morning run. "And I realise you're putting off teaching me how to surf to protect my feelings when I inevitably suck at it, but we could at least try."

This is what he gets and this is enough.

"Brad?" Nate prompts and it's not just a question whether they're going surfing, it's about the way Brad has been for the last few days, shell shocked and working things through and keeping Nate at arms lenght. At least he had the Julie thing as an excuse.

"I'm fine." Nate simply stares at him and Brad amends it to "well, I will be fine."

Nate smiles. "Good enough."

*

If God exists, he's a sadistic bastard, karma is a bitch and Brad Colbert can't catch a break.

He thinks it's because he's been doing fine with the whole thing. Sure, every time Nate touches him it feels a little like he's dying of thirst, like his skin is burning and turning to ash, and sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks it might be worth it to dive headfirst into the abyss and taste Nate just once, even if that would mean everything crumbling down later.

But he's been doing fine with that. So of course this happens:

"I've been thinking about asking someone out," Nate says, turning his coffee mug in his hands, sprawled across Brad's couch.

Brad's fingers don't even pause over the keyboard, even though he can't see what he's typing any more and there's something turning in his chest. "Unless it's about one of my sisters, in which case, good luck with that, I don't think I understand why you're talking to me about it."

"It's not about any of your sisters," Nate assures him solemnly.

"Then I have no idea. It's not me, is it? Because I have to warn you, I'm not a cheap date." He can laugh about it. He can joke about it like they did back in high school when Rachel called them an old married couple and when Madison referred to Brad as Nate's Better Half a few times. It's completely fine.

Nate rolls his eyes. "Noted. But no." He's silent for a long time before he continues, making Brad think he abandoned the subject. Which would serve Brad just fine, hearing about whatever liberal arts major leggy co-ed caught Nate's eye is not conductive to Brad's zen. Or his sanity. "I'm thinking of asking out Alex Wells."

Brad looks up at that. He knows an Alex Wells, from one of Nate's classes. He's pretty sure Nate can't be talking about the same person. The name isn't that uncommon. "Who?"

Nate frowns. "I'm pretty sure you've met Alex, he went with us to the pub a few times."

He. Yeah, Brad heard right. To say it was unexpected would be like saying that Ray sometimes likes to talk a little. Brad's head is spinning and Nate is still frowning at him, like he waits for something.

Oh, right. An answer, maybe.

"Yeah, I've met Alex. I just didn't know you..."

Nate laughs. It's just a little off. "Swing that way? Play both sides? Smoke cock?" Brad makes a startled noise, that last one going straight to his own dick.

He's been doing fine.

"Those are my choices or is there an all of the above option?" It gets him a shrug and a smile, but Nate's eyes are serious and searching and Brad realises it's not about asking a guy out, it's about what Brad thinks of it. Nate's hands are clasped around the coffee mug a little too tightly, like he needs something to hold on to, like he needs to keep his hands from shaking. "You told anyone else?"

"Not yet. Not sure there's anything to tell yet."

There is. Nate checks and rechecks everything, deliberate and careful. He usually knows very well what he wants. If he's telling Brad then he knows very well what he's doing, probably done the pros and cons list already. Because Nate would plan it, make a to-do list of the entire process of coming out.

It hits Brad belatedly, Nate coming out and Nate coming out to him first, trusting him with it. There's no one in the world Brad trusts more than Nate, he realised that a while ago when it felt like Nate was the only person who would understand why he thought he wanted to join the Marines. To have any indication that he might be that person for Nate is a heady feeling, warm and slow like the flush on his skin.

It almost makes up for the fact that Nate likes men and he still doesn't want Brad.

"You're right, not much to tell if it's Alex. Nice guy, but honestly, he'll be balding in no time and he could use to get away from his desk once in a while and exercise," Brad says and Nate's eyes soften even while he's trying to glare at him.

"Some people appreciate what is in someone's head, not on it."

"It's a good thing, there's not gonna be much on Alex's head soon," Brad shoots back. He takes the grateful smile Nate flashes him and holds on to it, tries to make it fill the suddenly hollow and cold void inside his chest.

It's almost enough.

*

Nate gets the flu the first week of November their sophomore year.

It goes pretty much as well as you can imagine.

Brad gets a call from Mike Wynn at seven am. Mike has been kicked out by Nate, who pretty much ordered him to go stay at his girlfriend's place for the few days so he doesn't get sick as well.

"I would stay, but I have a test next week I can't flunk and an essay to write for yesterday," Mike tells him apologetically. "But he shouldn't be left on his own."

Truer words. Nate can be really shitty at taking care of himself. During midterms and finals he exists on about seventeen cups of coffee a day and no food whatsoever, unless he finds a snickers bar in his desk's drawer. When he gets sick he takes some aspirin and calls it a day, bundles up properly but then walks around the place barefoot when he needs something, and most of the time he forgets to eat.

Brad packs a bag for a few days and drives over there, lets himself in. Nate just blinks at him owlishly from under a cover and at least three blankets. "Mike called me," Brad explains, probably unnecessarily.

"Traitor," Nate mutters. His eyes are glassy and his head sways when he tries to move and stand up. Tries being the operative word. "Fine, if you're here, you can be useful. Gimme that bucket."

He probably hasn't eaten anything today so there's not much to puke out, but Nate makes a good effort at trying anyway. Brad brushes his hair away and hands him a tissue from the nightstand. "You look like shit."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"But I have just started," Brad tells him mournfully and goes to inspect the supplies. Someone, probably Mike, stocked up rather well. Brad nods with satisfaction and dumps his duffel bag on Mike's bed.

"You don't have to..." Nate starts, his voice resigned, like he already knows it's a lost battle. He should know better than even try, Brad thinks.

"Yeah, I do. You need someone to kick you ass when you're being an idiot."

"In this state a newborn kitten could probably kick my ass," Nate admits and lets his head fall back into the pillow. Brad takes it for the surrender it is and goes to make some fucking chicken soup. If Nate's too tried to argue then he really should eat something.

An hour later Nate is asleep. He conked out quickly, somewhere in the middle of an essay he was proofreading like the stubborn asshole he is. Brad eased the papers from underneath his head and placed them on the table, then covered Nate with his blankets, the ones Nate is restlessly kicking off now. He's flushed and feverish, his face pink and warm. Brad lays his hand to his forehead, his knuckles gently resting on Nate's temple, checks for temperature. Not dangerous but high enough, he assesses and goes to water a piece of cloth, hold it against Nate's forehead.

Nate stills immediately, leans into Brad's touch. Brad sits on the edge of the bed and the heat from Nate's skin bleeds into him, makes his whole body light up. Suddenly even his worn-out and threadbare t-shirt feels uncomfortable and scratchy. He can't help it, he runs his fingertips down the back of Nate's neck, the exposed patch of smooth skin, to his shoulder, bared by the pajama top he tried to discard. His hand is cold and Nate inches towards it, his body arching at the contact.

Brad closes his eyes and presses his palm against Nate's back, over his shoulderblade. He's been holding the wet cloth in his hand for a while and it's cold enough to bring Nate some comfort. He moans, a sound very much like pleasure, and Brad moves his hand back like he's been burned, steps away and leaves the cloth behind. Tries to ignore the disappointed sigh Nate offers at the loss of contact but it worries itself into him anyway, rings in his ears in time with his own breath.

Nate wakes up some half an hour later, the time Brad spends uselessly staring at his computer and the imput panel. His code is getting nowhere today, he can tell. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks when Nate shifts and places his bare feet on the floor, wiggling his toes for a moment as he steadies himself against the wave of what could be nausea or just the fever making the room spin.

"Toilet," Nate says flatly. "I think I can deal with that on my own, unless you think I'm incapable of holding my dick while I pee and want to help with that."

Nate gets really fucking pissy when he's sick, too. Brad remembers that. It used to amuse him, now it just contributes to driving him insane, with the added help of Nate's de facto invitation for Brad to familiarize himself with Nate's cock. Someone, somewhere, has a seriously warped sense of humor.

He listens to the sound of Nate's steps as he pads over to the bathroom. Tries not to listen when Nate takes a leak and flushes, when the water starts running and Nate brushes his teeth. "All done and still standing upright," Nate tells him when he comes back out.

"Well done. Don't you have some fucking slippers? Or socks?"

"Yes, Mom," Nate drawls and gets back into bed. Brad bites back a comment about not even getting to be the Dad because with his luck, it would spin out into a discussion on daddy kink and he just doesn't need it right now. "What are you working on?" Brad gives him an incredulous look and Nate smiles at him. "Yes, I know, but if I don't understand a word you're saying it's all the better, maybe it'll put me to sleep."

"Can't argue with your logic," Brad says wryly and starts to explain his latest project. Nate's still smiling when he closes his eyes, and when his breathing evens out and softens, deep and steady when he falls asleep. Brad lowers his voice and falls silent eventually, watching Nate's chest rise and fall. It's almost hypnotic.

When Nate wakes up again they have a dinner Brad puts together, made of things that shouldn't upset Nate's stomach too much. Nate bitches about it being a tasteless crap, but he catches Brad's wrist when Brad's picking up the plates and looks up with a serious expression. "Thanks," he says. "I know I'm an asshole when I'm sick, so, thanks."

"You're an asshole most of the time," Brad assures him wryly and looks away when Nate's soft smile becomes too much.

Sometime in the small hours of the night Brad wakes up to the sound of Nate's uneasy breathing and the way he tosses around the bed. He must have kicked off his blankets at some point and is now shivering, ice cold to the touch. Brad pulls the blankets back over him but it doesn't seem to help much. He should probably look for the hot water bottle he knows Nate has somewhere, but going through the drawers and shit could wake Nate up right now and Brad doesn't really want to do it if he can help it.

"Brad?" Nate mutters then, rendering the whole point moot. Brad can just as well go and make some tea. He stands up, or tries to, because Nate holds on, tries to pull Brad closer. "I'm cold," he says, sounding like a sleepy child. Brad looks at him and Nate seems to be still asleep, or half there at least. "Brad," he repeats, pulling harder, and Brad goes, still unwilling to wake him.

Nate seems to have decided Brad makes for a better blanket than the ones he has and makes himself comfortable with Brad half-wrapped over him. His face is tucked in Brad's neck and it's probably the best thing that has ever happened to Brad and the worst torture imaginable.

Brad holds his breath for what seems to be hours and then tries to shift away. Nate holds on. "Come on," he whispers. "Nate, please."

He expects pretty much anything but Nate kissing him. He'd sooner expect the room to suddenly collapse and fall through the centre of the earth to China. But it's what happens, Nate's lips on his own, chapped and dry and cold. It's quite probably the shittiest kiss he ever had and he moans into Nate's mouth anyway, closes his eyes and prays for strenght to a god he doesn't even fucking believe in.

Nate mouths his way down Brad's jaw and his neck, stilling with his lips on Brad's shoulder, then buries his face in Brad's chest, his breathing easier and steady, like he's fully asleep now. Brad lets himself relax, just a little, try and calm down his rapidly beating heart. He'll ease out in a moment, once Nate is too far gone to try and stop him again.

Of course, he wakes up in the morning, tangled up in Nate, and sporting a truly impressive hard-on. If god exists, he fucking hates Brad.

He manages to ease out from under Nate's arm without waking him, thankfully. Nate's face is half buried in the pillow, his skin too warm but Brad can't say if it's from sleep or still from the fever, time will tell. His mouth is lush and pink and Brad can still feel the taste on his lips.

Brad wonders what would have happened if he kissed back. How long would he have gotten to enjoy the feeling of Nate's body against his, Nate's mouth on his, before Nate fully woke up and moved away, awkward and surprised and completely clear on the fact that it wasn't Brad he wanted in the light of day, with no fever to cloud his senses and confuse him?

Maybe, Brad lets himself think in the shower, when the hot water hits him, maybe Nate would have kissed him again instead of shifting away. Open his eyes and see Brad and want him still.

When his hand closes around his cock and he starts stroking, Brad doesn't even bother to call up the guilty fantasies of sucking Nate's cock or fucking him. The memory of Nate's lips against his neck is apparently more than enough.

Nate has already woken up by the time Brad emerges from his shower, and he hopes his skin is warmed up from the hot water enough that the guilty flush doesn't show. Nate nods at him. "Morning. I actually think I feel a little better."

"Don't blame me if I don't take your word for it," Brad tells him dryly. "But if you think you can stomach it, we could try something more elaborate than toasts."

"I think I would give pretty much anything for some bacon," Nate admits.

Brad is tempted to ask what exactly would he be willing ot offer, but he knows better. And if he doesn't know better, like the last night shows, then he fucking should, for his own sake.

*

At the end of the year Nate comes up with a brilliant idea of him and Brad moving in together starting junior year. Mike's already half-cohabitating with his girlfriend and Brad is tired of making himself scarce when Ray brings Hasser home, it seems like the ideal plan.

Brad oscilates somewhere between being really excited and unsure if he's not going to slowly go insane and drive nails through his skull.

"You know what would help you, homes?" Ray asks him and Brad doesn't want to know the answer, or at least the answer according to Ray. "If you finally put on your big girl panties and fucked Fick seven ways till Sunday and then some."

It's not helpful and Ray's too close for comfort. It must show on Brad's face because Ray shrugs. "Like it's a secret."

Too close.

Still, they start to look at apartments and Brad doesn't even laugh too much when Nate makes a list of pros and cons for every one of them.

"Too far from your campus," Nate writes down about the last one they saw that day and Brad shakes his head.

"Not that far. I have my bike, traffic doesn't matter that much." To be fair, it is a bit far, but Brad can stomach twenty minutes off his morning sleep after he had seen Nate's smile at the view from what could be his bedroom. It's in their price range, not needing more work than a few repairs and a re-paint, and Brad approves of the showerhead in the bathroom, which was pretty much his only requirement.

They take it. Instead of a housewarming party they invite most of the guys over and buy paint and brushes, then promise beer and pizza in insane amounts. Ray proves to be completely incapable of holding a brush and not getting himself, and Hasser, completely covered in paint, but he proves incredibly apt at getting them cable from the thin air.

Few days before they are to move in they're at a bar and Brad's waiting for their drinks by the counter, looking idly around before he gives in and glances back at their table, his gaze as always coming back to Nate. Who is currently writing something down on a napkin and handing it to a guy next to him, who smiles widely and has Nate smiling back.

Brad realises there's one thing he hasn't quite considered in the whole thing. He was worried about seeing Nate over breakfast and fresh from the shower and tired in the evening, his eyes soft and sleepy. He hadn't considered seeing Nate and someone else over breakfast.

Rusty nails to the skull.

"What happened to the drinks?" Nate asks when Brad comes back empty-handed.

"I don't feel that well," Brad lies. Except he doesn't, really, because he feels nauseous and really fucking tired. "I think I'm gonna go home, lie down for a while."

Nate looks at him with concern and stands up, fishes out his car keys from his pocket. "I'll drive you."

"No, I can..."

"Don't even try. If Brad Colbert feels bad enough he is going to turn in early, I'm certainly not letting him ride his bike. Leave it here, you'll pick it in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Brad offers sarcastically and follows Nate out. Few more minutes and he'll be able to crawl into his bed and die. Sounds like a plan. Well, a little more than few minutes, Nate drives below the speed limits, for some insane reason.

"Do you want me to stay?" Nate asks when he pulls over and Brad laughs. He can't help it. Nate looks at him with confusion all over his face and that makes him laugh even harder. "Brad, you're making me worried."

"I don't think we should do it."

"Do what?"

"Move in together. I thought I could, but I was clearly delusional. I can't... Nate, I can't do this." He's aware his voice sounds pleading, and that he doesn't make much sense. "You gave that guy your number," he adds, as if that was supposed to explain everything.

Nate's expression shifts, his eyes widening for a moment and then he shifts, suddenly closer to Brad and staring at his face searchingly. Too fucking close for comfort. "What can't you do?" he asks intently and Brad can't look away and, worse, can't lie, not to Nate's face.

"Can't see you with someone else. Not every day, not..."

"That guy at the bar asked for directions," Nate says slowly, still watching Brad. Whatever he sees in his face makes the corner of his mouth lift in a slow smile. "He was out of town, mixed addresses and was waiting for his girlfriend at a wrong place," he adds. Brad doesn't care, except the girlfriend part makes him feel a little bit better. He still can't do this, though, there are bound to be other guys, or girls, in Nate's life and his bed and... "Brad."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"You've been doing well so far."

Brad shakes his head. "I know it's fucking short notice but I'm pretty sure you could find someone else to move in and help with the rent."

"I don't want anyone else, I want you," Nate says, and he sounds frustrated, like Brad is slow at grasping a concept.

"Not in a way I need you to," Brad mutters and there, it's out there, he can't take it back. The words hang heavy between them, everything Brad wanted to keep secret now in the open.

Nate, inexplicably, shifts closer. His breath is warm on Brad's lips when he speaks. "What do you need?"

"Nate," Brad says, the sound torn out from his lips. It takes half an inch to lean in and kiss Nate, brush their lips together for the brief moment Brad's going to allow himself.

And yet, somehow, it lasts, Nate's mouth opening under his, Nate's tongue swiping across his lip before he just unceremoniously pulls Brad closer. Only the pull of Brad's seat belt across his chest makes him believe that this might be really happening. "Wait," he mutters and fumbles to disentangle himself from the thing.

Nate laughs into his mouth. His hand covers Brad's and he leans in, forehead touching the side of Brad's face. "Don't, we're getting out of here," he says and Brad stops trying to figure out the way to get his fucking seat belt undone. He can't quite dare to hope, but Nate's smile is warm and brilliant and then Nate places a small kiss on his jaw and Brad thinks that maybe, maybe this is happening.

"Where?"

"We had a whole apartment for ourselves, last time I checked. It lacks a few things still, but it has a bed," he points out and Brad breathes out.

"I knew there was a reason you were brains of this operation," he offers.

"Yes, because if I left it all to you we'd be doomed," Nate mutters and shakes his head. "I thought you were straight, you fucking idiot."

Yeah, okay, Brad will give him that one.

*

Nate pretty much disappears from the world when he has a deadline. There's mostly his books and his laptop and so many post-its and legal pads that Brad is pretty sure Nate has single-handedly destroyed more than one forest. Brad might as well cease to exist, unless he's enabling Nate's caffeine habit.

"I love you. Jesus, I love you," he mutters over the coffee cup and Brad shakes his head.

"Are you talking to me, Jesus, or your coffee? It's hard to tell sometimes."

"Coffee," Nate says without giving it much thought. He breathes in, eyes closed. "But I definitely like you more than I like Jesus."

Brad nods. "That's something, I suppose," he says and closes Nate's laptop. Nate looks like he wants to protest, his mouth working silently for a moment around the words that don't form, and then he gives in.

"Time for a break, then?" he says lightly, all fake cheer and bright smile and Brad nods at him.

"Got it in one, Fick. Move," he orders and Nate smiles for real, reaches out and hooks his finger in one of Brad's belt loops, pulls him close.

"Why would I want to? I have pretty much everything I might want, or need, in here," he says and shifts them around, presses Brad against the desk and leans in, nuzzles his way down Brad's neck. "And even better, you smell of coffee."

"Because it was the sixth cup I made for you," Brad offers dryly. "You need a fucking twelve steps program."

"Alright," Nate agrees obligingly. Excuse Brad if he's not quite believing the honesty of that. "One," Nate says and licks a stripe of Brad's skin, on the side of Brad's neck. "Two," he mutters and bites at his earlobe.

Brad laughs and guides Nate's head back up, so he can kiss him quickly. He's pretty eager to see what twelve means.

*

"So, how was it?" Nate asks, hoisting Megan up into his lap. She leans back and smiles widely at Brad and Rachel.

"Great. First days aren't scary at all, like you said," she admits. She's been going between panic and excitement for days, and Rachel was slowly going insane. Brad and Nate arrived yesterday, after their holidays in California, and Nate sat with Megan on the floor, discussing school and life and work and first days in general and how they always look scary and never really are.

"Your Uncle Nate's pretty smart," Brad says. "Most of the time," he adds, for Nate's benefit, who makes a face at him over Megan's head.

"And how was your first day?" she asks next and Nate smiles, brushing her hair away. Her intricate braids hadn't lasted long.

"It was fantastic. I filled out lots of paperwork."

Brad laughs at Megan's disgusted face. "That's not fantastic, that's boring," she tells Nate. It probably is, to anyone who isn't Nate and who isn't as fucking excited about paperwork as he is. DA's office is a like the fucking disneyland of paperwork.

"But I got to meet some new people. Did you meet anyone new?"

"Duh, the kids in my class. And Miss Susan. She has red hair and is very pretty. And there's Trish, her name is Patricia but she says she likes Trish better, because her older brother calls her Trish. Mom, can I invite Trish over for a sleepover?"

"I'm glad you made a friend," Nate tells her.

Megan gives him a long look. Nate has laughed, on occasion, about how much that look reminds him of Brad. 'It's the inherent superiority' he'd tell Brad. "I didn't make anything. I just met Trish."

Brad laughs at that, leans to ruffle Megan's hair. His hand brushes Nate's fingers and he lingers for a moment. "Hold on to that one, kid, you meet best people in elementary school."

Nate's smile is bright enough to feel like sunrays on Brad's skin.