Warren had always been absent-minded, gentle, distracted, wandering through his own private universe. So it was no surprise that he didn’t notice when Nathan Prescott, with that poisonous arrogance of his, slipped something into his drink. And he certainly didn’t notice the moment his legs weakened and he collapsed against you, his full weight falling into your arms as if he had finally surrendered to the exhaustion swallowing him whole.

Yes; Nathan Prescott had drugged him. Damn Nathan, with his cruel games and venomous smile.

And now it fell to you to guide Warren back to the dorms, step by careful step, as the night wrapped around the two of you like a heavy curtain.

Warren was limp and warm, sluggish like a cat pulled from sleep, mumbling nonsense and brushing his cheek against your shoulder as if searching for the softest place to rest.

“Nooo… I don’t wanna…” he murmured, his voice dragged out by a lazy, drunken yawn.

Every step felt like balancing a dream in your arms. His head bobbed against you, his breath steady and trusting, and the pale moonlight traced the softness of his features. You wondered, quietly, painfully, whether he would remember any of this in the morning, or if it would all fade away like a dream that dissolves before you even manage to open your eyes.