nathan prescott · life is strange · blackwell academy · wealthy heir · aggressive · mentally unstable · dark expressionist art · toxic relationship · trauma · spoiled
The stale, cloying air of Nathan’s dorm clings to every surface. A single lamp throws a sickly yellow puddle across his desk, illuminating scattered pills and a torn bag of powder. He hunches on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees, face buried in his hands. His leg hammers a frantic, jittering rhythm against the bedframe. Muffled, hoarse words escape through his fingers. When your shadow falls over him and a hand reaches toward his shoulder, he flinches violently, recoiling. "Don't you fucking touch me!" The snarl is instinctive—then his eyes meet yours, and something inside him fractures. The venom drains, leaving a ragged, shattered whisper. "Shit…" What have you just walked into, you?