"I've never s-smoked before." He held the joint and lighter awkwardly, palms upturned and gripping each between thumb and pointer finger. I took a hit from my dab pen, coughing to conceal a laugh.

We were outside but close to the back porch, its dim light illuminating the highlights of Nate's shadowy form.

I reached out, grazing my fingertips against his as I regained control of the lighter. His proximity sent a buzz through my body, and I stepped closer. My sandy footprints were inches from his.

Despite my better judgment, I was enjoying having an excuse to be so close. Close enough to feel his breath on my bare shoulder. Tickling.

"I'll light it for you. Just inhale, okay?" I suggested and Nate nodded, tucking the joint in between his glistening lips. The crunchy click of the lighter's wheel set his face aglow and I admired the way that he pulled his first hit, eyes serious but cheeks puffed. It was cute. 

With a cupped hand to protect the open flame from the ocean breeze, I watched the gleam of his dewy, relaxing eyes, a lighthouse on the warm summer night.

"Easy, cowboy," I giggled. "I'd stop hitting a-and just hold that one in... Yup... 'kay, now exhale."

After a losing battle against it, Nate's body crumpled at the hip, consumed in a coughing fit. Bursts of violent smoke erupted from his contracting throat. 

"If you're coughin', it's workin'!" I coached, a smile dancing on my lips.

"That was... awful!" Nate whined and I laughed, remembering my first time.

"That's what I thought, too. Pearl and I both cried right after, if you can believe it! We swore we'd never do it again."

"Why did you? Do it again... I mean." Nate's curious voice was soft and I melted.

Nate is fucking baked.

"Well," I began through a poorly repressed smile. "I liked how I felt, I guess. Speaking of which, how do you feel?"

His red-ringed, dead-eyed stare would've been creepy if it hadn't been for the lazy grin dancing on his lips. He blinked at me slowly, still holding the air-snuffed joint in between awkward fingers.

"How do I know... if it worked?"

Oh honey...

"It worked. Now c'mon," I replied as I smirked at him, plucking the bud from his fingers and resting it between my lips.

As we walked, the beach transformed into a grey-scale field of disintegrated moon rocks. Liminal.

Earth felt thousands of miles away in that moment. Reality, too.

"What's the deal with the husband?" Nate pried after a few minutes of relative silence.

Ugh.

Luckily, I'd spent some time on my answer to that one and I'd found the one and only Get Out of Jail Free Card.

"It's complicated."

The moment the words left my lips, Nate stopped dead in his tracks, disappearing from my periphery. I sighed loudly before ending my gait and turning to face him. His brown locks waved at me, an amorphous friendly gesture from the suddenly-cold silhouette of a man.

"What's the point... if you won't answer?" He slurred, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Look, it's the only question I can't answer right now. Please, ask me... something else," I begged, exasperated.

My mind was a conch shell as I waited for his reply, echoing waves infiltrating my skull. No thoughts, just noise and feeling.

"Where are ya from?"

I was surprised by the casual nature of the question, but it made sense. We really didn't know anything about each other.

"River Crest, it's a community about forty-five minutes North of Savannah, Georgia... What's so funny?" I replied. Nate had begun a low chuckle as I spoke. There was a rattling darkness to it.

"Of course you're from River Crest!" Nate had a sarcastic edge to his voice, and it grated on me, eliciting a certain defensiveness over the only home I'd ever known.

"Okay, my turn!" I spat, crossing my arms over my puffed-out chest. "How do you know River Crest?"

Nate sighed, annoyed, before speaking.

"My dad lives there. Birth dad, anyway," Nate grumbled and I gasped.

How on earth did the son of one of the wealthiest men in America end up in Dolphin Coast?

"Who is-"

"I'm not answering that," he snapped back and I nodded, unsurprised and passing him my dab pen with the hope that it'd calm him back down. He hesitated before firmly grabbing it.

"Push the button on the side when you inhale," I advised.

Nate was slower, more careful with his draw this time and I felt a beam of pride.

He's learning!

After a coughing fit that wasn't significantly less violent than the one previous one, I patted Nate on the back, the skin of my palm tingling at the contact for minutes to come.

"How was that?" I asked nervously. Being that it was his first time, I wasn't sure yet how the second hit would affect him and I doubted that he would forgive me if I let him green out.

"Mm," he hummed back.

Oh no...

"You need anything?" I chirped, terrified.

He nodded, hunched over and looking at up at me through hooded eyes. 

"W-What do you need?" I asked and he wheezed a laugh, the familiar darkness present. Little blonde hairs on the back on my neck tried to make a run for it, sending shivery distress signals over my prickling skin. I didn't listen. 

Nate stood up, regaining his balance in the process, as he sauntered his broad body to the sand directly in front of my toes. 

Face to face again, I held my breath as I gazed up at Nate's shadowy features, barely visible to me in the moonlight. Thick, downturned eyebrows peeked out from the overhang of silky brown coils as he stared at me through wide eyes. I made note of his darkening cheeks. Flushed. 

"Nate... What are you-"

I was cut off by the rounded tip of his nose brushing against mine. 

My mouth hung open, desperate. 

He leaned in. His lips were now less than an inch from mine, and his warm sweet breath fanned over my face. I breathed in through my nose. 

"Fuck what I need," he whispered lowly. His lips brushed against mine as he spoke and I whined in response. 

When Nathan Drake kissed me for the first time, I think that I died. 

My heart, which had been growing faster and louder for a while, ceased to beat. The thumping in my chest had been overtaken by a glowing warmth, cooking and killing the anxious metronome. It consumed me. He consumed me. 

I pressed my chest against him in a desperate attempt to be closer and he reached up with a trembling hand, rubbing tiny circles on my fiery cheeks. After a couple of painfully slow and gentle kisses, he pulled away to look at my face.

"Thank you," I grinned up at him, biting the corner of my swollen bottom lip. 

I didn't like how Nate was looking at me. The warmth and desire had fled, leaving the familiar cold look in his eyes, his brows stitched together in thought. Unsettled, I gently pulled myself from his limpening arms. 

"It's getting late. I should get some sleep," he stated coolly before turning on his heel and walking back towards the rental. My mouth hung open as I watched him speed-walk away.

What a dick!

I took a deep breath, unsteady, in a feeble attempt not to cry, but it was pointless. 

Hot tears flowed down my cheeks and into my mouth, rolling over my open lips and finding their way onto my tongue. Salty. 

His dark, blurry form was fading into the darkness ahead and my lip quivered. 

He really isn't coming back. 

So I was there on the beach, drunk and high and alone. The once liminal, clean space now felt dangerous, and I spent my time looking over my shoulder for strangers as I wandered the beach in search of Benji and I's mossy log, a cozier spot to wait. There was no way that I was going back to the house until I was sure that Nate was asleep. 

I checked the time on my phone.

1:39 AM.

I groaned. 

Two hours on that log passed slowly, with drooping head and eyes. For safety reasons, I wanted to make sure that I had phone battery if there was an emergency, so I'd entertained myself in other ways.

Mainly: crying.

I couldn't wrap my head around Nate and his motives. We couldn't seem to get along, everything about me seemed to irk him, and yet his kissed me tonight more passionately than I knew possible. He kissed me like I was the only one. 

I'm sure that I'm not. And what does it matter, anyways?

He's horrible. 

I was embarrassed for even having the thought. 

By the time a quarter-til-four rolled around, I was mostly collected and felt resolved in my decision to never talk to Nate again. I warned him and he didn't listen: 

I'm done with his games. 

As I snuck in the back door, I pretended to ignore the way my heart wrenched when I saw Nate curled up in the fetal position on the couch, snoring softly. 

With a pang of annoyance, I realized that Nate had positioned himself in the exact center of the leather sectional, making it impossible for me to lay down without being within a foot of his touch. I sighed quietly before grabbing a beige pillow and a plush throw blanket from a wicker basket in the corner. 

As I slowly adjusted myself with my feet facing Nate's, careful not to jostle his sleeping body, my eyes burned with fatigue: physical and emotional. 

Above head, one of those weird aerodynamic ceiling fans slung an excessive amount of air into my stinging eyes and I squinted them closed. I prayed to anyone who would listen that they wouldn't be too puffy in the morning.

Pearl better wash my sheets asap... I'm going to need a nap tomorrow. 

The sound of Nate's snores, soft and sputtering, was surprisingly comforting as I drifted off to sleep.