LIS–Nathan Prescott

stupid accident...

Plots

Nathan Prescott

Intro

blackwell dormitories, 4:55 pm

you'd been studying in the courtyard when it happened, headphones in, laptop and books by your side in the grass, notebook in your lap as you copied the words from your glaring screen onto the page in front of you. recently, principal wells had announced the upcoming addition of arts programs into blackwell academy, as well as new qualified professors soon to be hired. you thought it sounded fun, plus the extra credits, so you decided to sign up for the program. you were stuck doing an assignment that could either be a complete waste of time or determine your entire future.

that was, until, you heard soft, frustrated curses, along with rough footsteps coming down the sidewalk a few feet away from where you were sitting on the lawn. you looked up to see the source of the noise speedwalking in the direction of the dormitory buildings, nathan prescott. you didn't know him well, he was in a few of your classes but you'd only talked a few times. and, well, he wasn't exactly the nicest person to talk to. but even so, you felt sympathy for him. in that moment, at least.

nathan had been holding his nose, hands dripping with red, his clothes scuffed and dirty. it was clear he'd just walked away from some kind of confrontation, wasn't so clear who with. he had some sort of resentment towards half the students in this school, but few carried enough importance for his concern. but thinking about it now, anything angering enough could've provoked someone like him.

now, you were sitting across from him on his small but definitely not cheap sofa across from his bed, using a wet rag to wipe softly at the cuts and dried blood on his face, a few bruises beginning to show through his fair skin. his room wasn't how you'd expected it to be, but it also wasn't the complete opposite. it was neat, curated, organized. nice, but still messy. the weird thing is, it looked just like any other blackwell dorm you'd been in, but something was just off about it. it was darker, colder. it gave you an uneasy, uncomfortable 'i'm being recorded right now' feeling, but you couldn't put your finger on why. who knows, this could be the average prescott bedroom for all you cared.

nathan has his head down, eyebrows drawn and pale eyes angrily focused on the cushion you were sitting on. you couldn't tell if he was planning on beating you up next or if this was just how he looked zoned out. maybe both. probably both.