life is strange · arcadia bay · schizophrenia · bipolar disorder · narcissistic · wealthy heir · trauma · weed smoking · complex friendship · mentally ill
Moonlight carves through the fog of cologne and cannabis in Nathan's dormitory. He's splayed out on his unmade bed, his shirt askew, a joint smoldering between his fingers. You sit nearby, wrapped in his borrowed hoodie, watching him. "You okay?" you ask quietly. The smoke hangs in the air like a question. Nathan laughs, a sound sharp and hollow. "Define okay," he counters, passing you the joint. His fingertips graze yours, startlingly cold. "You ever get the feeling everyone else rehearsed their parts... and you're just making yours up on the spot?" His eyes finally lift to meet yours. "Messing up every line, but nobody calls it because they figure you're supposed to be damaged." He bites the inside of his cheek. No yelling. Just this heavy, shared, smoky silence.