Doesn't know why he keeps on staring. Maybe if his gaze will burn a hole through that scrawny back. Right through, a nice clean hole, and blood will start seeping out. Maybe he'll scream in pain. Or maybe, he's staring so that kid will finally understand. You did this. No, you're parents did this. Made my home a hell. Made my Dad strap on a white jacket in a small white cellar. Made my mom hate me.

He knows the boy is tense, and he keeps glancing back nervously, as if his gaze is doing all those things. Good. Feel uncomfortable. Squirm.

It's the start of a routine. Every day, he stares at the boy for just five minutes. Stops finding how uneasy the boy is, funny. So he watches the brunette hair glisten from the sunlight streaming into the big windows. Watches how when he laughs, his whole body shakes, and his eyes light up. Watches Magenta try and hide a smile as Zach cracks a stupid joke, watches the hippie roll her eyes and pat Stronghold on the back as he chokes on a fry. After five minutes is done, he doesn't think about it anymore, and goes back to reading the original Batman comics

It's weird. No, that's not the word. It's out of place when Layla plops down her tray and starts talking as if he really cares about everything she's saying. It's so obvious how desperate she is, and he almost feels sorry for her. Almost. Doesn't really care enough. Though, it's annoying when she tells him that they're going to homecoming together. She's trying to make him jealous. He doesn't think it'll actually work, but hey, why not go along for the ride. Because he kind of feels bad for her, and he hasn't got anything better to do that day anyways. Almost wants to strangle her after her friends flock to the table, and manages to escape the noisy group.

It's quiet when he gets home. He throws his bag on the ground, and heads to the kitchen to scrounge around for snacks. He's feeling empty and nostalgic, and he hasn't had a real fucking meal in three weeks since his mom finally left him. Her eyes were sad, but she couldn't take it anymore, she said. You look too much like your father. He wanted to laugh and say, well sorry you two fucked and I got his genes, but he couldn't. Because she's already hurt enough, and his bastard father's in jail. He doesn't want to be his father. All he finds is cereal, and no milk. Deals with it, and pours the contents into a bowl, and picks the small pieces with his fingers. (no clean spoons. He hasn't had the time to wash the dishes. It's school, work, sleep.)

He's doing well for himself. Makes money, makes his grades. It's enough. And every once in a while, he gets mysterious envelopes filled with money. From his mom, he knows. Like she's saying, sorry I left, but this will make up for it. He doesn't use it. It's pity money. He tosses it into a jar and slams it on top of the refrigerator.

First time actually saving lives, he's in his dad's old wedding tux, and he's saving babies. When it's done, he's tired but the dance is still on. He doesn't want to stay, but doesn't want to go back to an empty home. So he sits on a plastic chair, sips at his punch. He even dances once with Ice Girl. Turns out, she's a real bitch, so he ditches her and heads outside of the gym. He really wants to smoke. But he's quit, and the school would kick him out if he did. As much as he hates the people here, it's the only place he can stay sane. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to anyways. (who builds a school in the fucking sky?)

He looks up, and Stronghold and Hippie are in the sky, dancing and spinning to their own music. It's sick. How perfect the situation is, and they look like a fucking romance novel. He can't look away though, and he runs a hand through his thick hair. He really needs a goddamn haircut, he thinks, still watching them in a sick fascination. He finally looks away, not really feeling anything.

So they're best friends, apparently. Still, he's not used to not being alone. So he stays quiet, and lets Will do the talking. And boy does he have a lot to say. Never. Stops. Talking. Sometimes Warren just wants to clamp a hand on his face and melt his lips together, but silence drives him just as nuts. Will is so energetic; he doesn't think he can catch up with him. Always animated, and excited, and child-like. He's also dense. Very, very dense. But, he makes Warren laugh, with his kiddish face, and naivety.

Today, Will's being quiet. Warren's surprised, but doesn't show it. They're playing mind numbing amounts of Halo at Will's house. He wants to ask what's wrong, but figures if Will wants to talk about it, he will. He's like that, straightforward and so easy to read. He's practically moved into the Stronghold house, He has his own sleeping bag in the closet, and a drawer full of clothes. (Will doesn't use that drawer, so he said it was fine.) Sometimes, he's too exhausted to drive all the way from work to home, and just crashes at the Commander's house. (They don't mind. Well, for the most part. He can still see the concern in Steve's eyes. Is he just like his father?)

He's not budging. "What's wrong?" he finally asks, because it's too quiet. There's conflict on the brunette's face. Struggling on how to say it. It's about Layla. (of course. Everything is.)

Ah, is all he can reply because he's pretty pathetic himself when it comes to relationships. He's never been in one himself, too busy.

So, Layla is moving. And Will is worried that she will be unfaithful. Warren rolls his eyes and punches the super strengthed boy on the arm. Hard. Truly, Will is dense. He reassures his best friend with a grin he rarely flashes, and the smaller boy finally relaxes, agreeing with the pyro. Let's play for real then, he smiles.

It's midterms, and Warren's in a maze of books and notes. He pushes his glasses up his nose as he reads on the effects of radioactive waste on DNA. His best friend is restless, and won't stop using his head as a target for his paper airplanes. He gets fed up and shuts his large textbook, slams both first on either side of Will's small frame. The brunette smiles cheekily. It's a day before midterms, and they're wrestling. (And Warren's losing badly. Hello, super strength) His head's getting light from getting thrown against a wall so many times. He flares his nose and throws three fireballs at his levitating friend. They don't work, so he lunges at the Stronghold boy and brings him down from the air. Will recovers quickly, and pins his best friend down easily.

He loses.

Because Will is on top of him, panting hard from the tussle, sweating, and smiling that smile.

He's in deep shit.

Warren finally has enough money to buy himself a new used car. His broke down a few months ago. It's not really that great, but it gets him from point A to point B, so it'll do. It's small, and white (where the paint's not peeling off.), and completely not bad ass at all. Will laughs so hard when he sees it.

"You look like a guy who should own a motorcycle," he says through laughs.

"Sorry this isn't up to standards," he replies, pretends to be annoyed.

"At least you have a car!"

"You can fly, dumb ass."

"Oh yea! Let's take it out for a ride!" He grins. Warren loses again. It's that fucking smile, and those endearing freckles, and that round face. He needs to stop staring, so he turns away and jumps in the car.

"Hop in."

He's so tired. How many henchmen does he have to fry before they stop? He torches another one, and another one, and he's lost count now. Everyone's trying their best. Will is ahead of him, using a muscle-y guy as a bowling ball to knock down a bald henchman. It's over, and the heroes have won. The cops take away a nameless villain who's having a fit. Warren leans against a tree, pulls out a cigarette. He stops his finger just before he lights it when Will's disappointed looking expression pops in his mind. Fuck. Get the fuck out. Curses one last time before tossing the cigarette away. The boy clad in red, white and blue finally finds the pyro, and can't contain his excitement. Warren doesn't know why, they've done this a million times already.

"I'm gonna ask Layla to marry me!"

"Oh."

Oh.

He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't think there is.

He can't win. And now he's being forced to do a wedding registry. (Will's too busy saving lives.) He watches her as she twists her pretty little mouth into a frown. She can't choose between this glass, or that one. She looks happy. That's right. They're happy, and he can't tell Will. It'd be unfair and selfish. She keeps glancing at him, nervously. She knows how his temper gets, and he's especially irritated now. "It's fine," he says for the millionth time, cause he couldn't say no when his best friend asked. It's definitely fine.

Boy's night out. Where no one can hold their alcohol, and everyone's sprawled on a lazy boy. Zach's been out for an hour already, snoring noisily in the corner, and Ethan is still puking his brains out in the bathroom. Even Warren has a slight buzz, and he's laughing at everything that's said. Will's just barely there, smiley and hiccups. He's a rambler when he drinks. (well, rambles more) He's suddenly fascinated by the tattoos on Warren's wrists he got when he was sixteen and rebellious. He traces lightly over it while the pyro struggles to hold back a shiver.

"Cool! A tattoo! I've always wanted one. But my dad wouldn't let me. You know what else I've always wanted? I've always wanted you to be happy. I'm a bad a friend, sorry. I can't even tell what you're thinking after all these years. So just be happy, okay? Cause I don't know if you are or not... well I hope you are! And-"

And he keeps talking and talking, and Warren really wishes he'd stop; Each word he falls further...

"-need a girlfriend? What's your type? Gah! I don't even know that! Such a bad friend. Didn't you used to date that Ice-chick? Maybe Layla has a friend you'd like...-"

"No."

"-she was pretty cute. Or maybe you go for the sexy dangerous types? Like Serenade-"

"Stronghold, stop talking."

"-man was that a hard fight. I swear you were blushing though..-"

"Will..."

"-really weird. Anyway I-mmf!"

It's feelings and lips, and Will's got his hand tight on Warren's shoulder. They break apart, and in barely a whisper, "Shut up.."

It's quiet, and he runs a hand through his hair. Breathes heavily out of his nose and he keeps beating himself up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And for the first time, Will looks unreadable. They don't say anything to each other as the clock continues to tick-tock. It's okay though, because it's not really gonna happen, it's not meant to. He's not meant to be happy.

So, he stands and turns and leaves. Doesn't look back.

He still comes to the wedding. He keeps fixing his collar because it's too damn tight, and he wants so badly to just ripped off that choking tie and storm out while the vows are being made. Warren's staring. He knows he's staring at Will because the light from the Church's stained-glass is flooding through and is floating all around him, and he has a smile on his face and fuck, he really needs to stop staring because Layla's walking through the doors with her father by her side. He doesn't remember. He definitely doesn't remember what happened yesterday when their lips connected and Warren saw stars in a last desperate drunken attempt to convey his feelings. He's never been able to do that.

Will doesn't remember, and it's better that way. He won't.. he shouldn't know how his best friend feels. He should never know that hurt. So Warren will keep quiet and be the good boy he's decided to be. Because he's never been happy, and it's not supposed to change now.

A/N: Hello! Thank you for reading my fic. I'm not sure if this will stay a oneshot. It will depend on the reviews, I guess. I thought that Warren was a really terribly interesting character, and I wanted to see how well I could portray him for him being so vague. I hope I did well!

EDIT: Fixed the formatting. FF was raping my story's format, which is probably why many of you guys clicked out before reading!