Post by Nate Harris on Nov 16, 2024 18:54:07 GMT
The first time Nate wakes up on a particular day, it’s when the sky is pitch black, and it’s because of a nightmare. He doesn’t remember what happened in the dream, not specifically. He remembers the vaguest details- blood, dread, monsters. His loved ones are in danger, again. He wakes with a start. He can’t see, can’t breathe, doesn’t know where he is. Right then, there is absolutely nothing except for the adrenaline and the terror-fueled thoughts blaring in his mind. Justine’s hurt, Zoe is hurt, Pax is hurt, Nick is hurt, Jack-
“Nate. Nate,” there are hands on him, warm and kind. The hands cup his face, grip his shoulder. “It’s me, Nate, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
He’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. The panic begins to fade away. “hey...Jay,” Finally, he begins to register his surroundings. Soft sheets, the weight of many blankets covering his body. Detergent and Jack’s smell. He’s in bed, in their home. Not sure what time it is; either very late or very early judging from how dark it is. The familiar shadows of their bedroom come into view as his eyes adjust, and there’s his angel, beside him, running his palms over Nate’s arms to bring him back to the present moment. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Nate feels Jack pull at him lightly and he moves, curling up against Jack’ chest. Jack runs his fingers through his hair with one hand and traces mindless patterns on his upper back with the other, holding him close. Nate inhales deeply through his nose, taking comfort in that familiar scent. He’s safe. He’s at home, in bed, with his partner. Jack is safe. Justine and Zoe are safe, everybody is safe. “I’m good. I’m fine.”
“I know. It’s okay,” Jack repeats against Nate’s forehead. Embarrassment sets in. Jack has reassured him enough times through the weeks since this started that he understands, and there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of or feel bad about. Still, It doesn’t make Nate feel any less ridiculous after he wakes up screaming or shaking or stumbles out of bed, barely conscious, fumbling for a weapon to fight off enemies who aren’t there. Abraxes had fucked with his head and that’s when this mess had started, and see what he was able to do to Rob Diamond didn't make him feel any safe.
With a huff of flustered indignance that makes Jack chuckle, Nate shoves his burning face into Jack’ neck, tangles their legs together, and shuts his eyes. Jack holds him till he falls asleep again.
The second time Nate wakes up, he is alone in bed and the sun is up. Through cracked eyelids, the white walls glow under the blocks of sunlight falling through the windows and specks of dust dance and drift, suspended in the air.
Nate rolls onto Jack’s side of the bed and stretches his arms and legs out, groaning when he feels his lower back pop. The alarm clock informs him that it’s almost 9 A.M. Jack made coffee, Nate can smell it.”Thank fuck,” He mutters before he summons the strength to get out of bed.
Moving to a permanent house and out of the flat he’d shared with Nick for years was still an adjustment. Sometimes he needed a minute to reacquaint himself with it. He missed Nick like a motherfucker. But Nick was getting serious with his girlfriend and really making his father’s restaurant his own. He needed the space. And Nate needed more space since becoming the one who took custody of his little sisters. The house still felt too fucking domestic sometimes.
A quaint, sprawling bungalow a few miles outside of town, settled on the shore of a small lake. Large windows and several skylights, creaky hardwood floors. Worn but sturdy furniture accumulated from thrift stores, garage sales, fancy-ass antique shops and dumps alike. Nothing in the place matches; not the L-shaped couch or the overstuffed chairs, not the tables or the overflowing bookshelves. Every wall is decorated. photographs, posters, skateboards, stuff from New Orleans and Seattle, Tribal art, vinyls, Justine’s drawings, the random knick-knacks and rocks that Jack likes to collect. Lots of pictures of the girls, Pax and Nick and of Charlotte, Rini and Natasha from the friendship made in Japan. Potted plants line the windowsills and dangle down from on top of the shelves. The welcome mats are muddy and trodden. The lampshades are crooked. The rugs have beer stains.
It’s perfect.
It’s absolutely perfect. It’s theirs.
The colorful ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor are cold under his feet as he wanders in. The coffee pot is full and he finds a plate of scrambled eggs and breakfast sausages on the counter, under a glass pot lid to keep them warm. Jack still hasn’t completely gotten the hang of cooking; the sausages are burnt and Nate knows without tasting them that the eggs have way too much salt. But he’ll eat them anyway, because Jack made food for him, so of course he’s gonna eat it. Coffee first, though.
After his first sip from one of their many stupid mugs -this one says “This is the ass of a killer Bella”. Nate belatedly notes that he hasn’t seen Jack anywhere. That’s not unusual in the morning. Jack, ever the early riser if he even does sleep, liked watching the world wake up around him. Most mornings, unless it was especially cold or stormy, he could be found out in the garden, down by the lake, or on the back patio with Zoe and Justine.
Right as Nate goes to perch on a stool at the counter, his phone vibrates. He fishes it out of the pocket of his robe.
Nate took another sip of his coffee, “Yeah, yeah.”
“Nate. Nate,” there are hands on him, warm and kind. The hands cup his face, grip his shoulder. “It’s me, Nate, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
He’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. The panic begins to fade away. “hey...Jay,” Finally, he begins to register his surroundings. Soft sheets, the weight of many blankets covering his body. Detergent and Jack’s smell. He’s in bed, in their home. Not sure what time it is; either very late or very early judging from how dark it is. The familiar shadows of their bedroom come into view as his eyes adjust, and there’s his angel, beside him, running his palms over Nate’s arms to bring him back to the present moment. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Nate feels Jack pull at him lightly and he moves, curling up against Jack’ chest. Jack runs his fingers through his hair with one hand and traces mindless patterns on his upper back with the other, holding him close. Nate inhales deeply through his nose, taking comfort in that familiar scent. He’s safe. He’s at home, in bed, with his partner. Jack is safe. Justine and Zoe are safe, everybody is safe. “I’m good. I’m fine.”
“I know. It’s okay,” Jack repeats against Nate’s forehead. Embarrassment sets in. Jack has reassured him enough times through the weeks since this started that he understands, and there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of or feel bad about. Still, It doesn’t make Nate feel any less ridiculous after he wakes up screaming or shaking or stumbles out of bed, barely conscious, fumbling for a weapon to fight off enemies who aren’t there. Abraxes had fucked with his head and that’s when this mess had started, and see what he was able to do to Rob Diamond didn't make him feel any safe.
With a huff of flustered indignance that makes Jack chuckle, Nate shoves his burning face into Jack’ neck, tangles their legs together, and shuts his eyes. Jack holds him till he falls asleep again.
***
The second time Nate wakes up, he is alone in bed and the sun is up. Through cracked eyelids, the white walls glow under the blocks of sunlight falling through the windows and specks of dust dance and drift, suspended in the air.
Nate rolls onto Jack’s side of the bed and stretches his arms and legs out, groaning when he feels his lower back pop. The alarm clock informs him that it’s almost 9 A.M. Jack made coffee, Nate can smell it.”Thank fuck,” He mutters before he summons the strength to get out of bed.
Moving to a permanent house and out of the flat he’d shared with Nick for years was still an adjustment. Sometimes he needed a minute to reacquaint himself with it. He missed Nick like a motherfucker. But Nick was getting serious with his girlfriend and really making his father’s restaurant his own. He needed the space. And Nate needed more space since becoming the one who took custody of his little sisters. The house still felt too fucking domestic sometimes.
A quaint, sprawling bungalow a few miles outside of town, settled on the shore of a small lake. Large windows and several skylights, creaky hardwood floors. Worn but sturdy furniture accumulated from thrift stores, garage sales, fancy-ass antique shops and dumps alike. Nothing in the place matches; not the L-shaped couch or the overstuffed chairs, not the tables or the overflowing bookshelves. Every wall is decorated. photographs, posters, skateboards, stuff from New Orleans and Seattle, Tribal art, vinyls, Justine’s drawings, the random knick-knacks and rocks that Jack likes to collect. Lots of pictures of the girls, Pax and Nick and of Charlotte, Rini and Natasha from the friendship made in Japan. Potted plants line the windowsills and dangle down from on top of the shelves. The welcome mats are muddy and trodden. The lampshades are crooked. The rugs have beer stains.
It’s perfect.
It’s absolutely perfect. It’s theirs.
The colorful ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor are cold under his feet as he wanders in. The coffee pot is full and he finds a plate of scrambled eggs and breakfast sausages on the counter, under a glass pot lid to keep them warm. Jack still hasn’t completely gotten the hang of cooking; the sausages are burnt and Nate knows without tasting them that the eggs have way too much salt. But he’ll eat them anyway, because Jack made food for him, so of course he’s gonna eat it. Coffee first, though.
After his first sip from one of their many stupid mugs -this one says “This is the ass of a killer Bella”. Nate belatedly notes that he hasn’t seen Jack anywhere. That’s not unusual in the morning. Jack, ever the early riser if he even does sleep, liked watching the world wake up around him. Most mornings, unless it was especially cold or stormy, he could be found out in the garden, down by the lake, or on the back patio with Zoe and Justine.
Right as Nate goes to perch on a stool at the counter, his phone vibrates. He fishes it out of the pocket of his robe.
Nate took another sip of his coffee, “Yeah, yeah.”
"Alright, real talk time.
Imperial...Wrestling...Federation...
I got one question for y'all...are...you...READY?!
'cause let me tell y'all something. You ain't! No way in HELL are y'all ready for what you're about to experience, but let me set the stage for you anyway. My name? My name is Nate Harris, I am your Gladiator champion. This belt came to me and I have been hyping this bitch up. Survival of the fittest is gonna go in the books with its new format and its new setting. No longer do ya got to rely on the other motherfuckers in the match havin’ your back. You get to prove it on your own blood sweat and tears. I’m vibing with it, not gonna lie. Me and my boy Pax and his girl Charlotte are hottest prospects in the whole damn company. We got gold and I am willing to lay some real money on the fact we walking out this event still holding that gold high. We are the big hype. We are the movement. You know us and you should be hype as fuck for us. I expect to see some signs. And If y'ain't a fan? You ain’t paying attention. Check us out. Google, YouTube, Dailymotion, shit, check Snapchat if you have to, because y'all ain't seen nothin' like us before. Swear to God.
But.
Sometimes, you have matches where you gotta hurt a motherfucker. You gotta put some suckers on notice. Sometimes, you have a match to gel with a partner, learn from them and with them. And sometimes? Sometimes you have a match because someone had to open their gotdamn mouth and put your name in it. But this ain't how that normally goes down. See, when someone speaks your name, normally they got two ways they can do it. They can do it with respect. They can do it with courtesy. Or they can do it with disrespect. They can act like you ain't shit.
Nick Danger. You obsessed with me, homeboy? You wanna talk some big shit, you want to act like you got even anything new to add to the company anymore? You want to act like you the next big thing. You got your ass humiliated. And you been puttin’ my name in your mouth for weeks. You want to act like you got screwed over by Madjinn. Nah bitch, you just sent out a big challenge and got screwed. Bitch, I get screwed on the weekly, you don't see me throwing a fit. Your ass is plastered all over the Coliseum. You get booked, you get chances to ride above but you can’t even get off the low card. You part of the problem, not part of the solution. So sit your ass down. Accept your place as the bridesmaid and not the main event, I'ma go keep makin’ some history.
Masao Akiyama. Like, ya good. Don't get me wrong. Everyone in this match got that tho. We all got talent. Ya wasting it like a motherfucker, but it's there. Maybe that's what gets me about you. If you would just apply yourself, really focus up, you could be fuckin' great. You could be the one on that marquee instead of the same carousel of boring fucking whitebread assholes. Instead, your ass is content to sit back and get roasted time after time, live like a punchline time after time. You're defined by how big your ass is instead of what you can do, and I don't know about you but I don't wanna live my life on that bullshit. Put in some goddamn passion. Put in some love and some fucking personality. I want to gas your ass up but motherfucker make me care! You got that history with Charlotte and her girl and shit but bring some of that heat. Get fired up. Show some emotions, motherfucker. I know you got them in you. Show me something, anything. Give me some fucking emotion. Feel.
Only boy in this match that got a real chance of doing something is Ollie over there. How you doin? You got the best in that little triple-threat tag match. I’ll give you that the raccoon got that good medicine. So credit where it due. You crazy and you hit like a truck. I feel that. I ain't even got hate for you. You both put the work in. Ollie surprisingly stacked. Like a buff-ass leprechaun. Shit. But you ain’t ready for this shit. Make no mistake, though. It comes down to you and me? That’s where the sidewalk ends, son. That’s where this all comes down. Because we all want this title. That ain’t no joke. You want it, I want it. And as much as I got no hate for you I ain;t gonna just give it up. I’m gonna come at you first and foremost. I ain't gonna let you take this from me. I got too much I still want to do.
Now, y'all could team up and try to work together to take my ass out. But let’s be real and let's be honest. Ya’ll gonna have some passive-aggressive back-and-forth about who got the biggest dick in the room.
Settle down, calm it, I got you.
It's me.
I hit the gym, I busted my asses, and now I got a shot at makin' this third-tier belt the best in the biggest professional wrestling company on the planet. Y'all ain't seen this kind of hunger before. Y'all ain't never had individuals with the hustle, drive, and bond that I have. Y'all got a new day comin', and I more than happy to baptize y'all again, born anew in the glory of a former Bourbon Street and the mouth piece of The Diversity Hire.
Hallelujah. Trust.”
Hallelujah. Trust.”
Well howdy there pardner.