S H A D E S

Touching a Nerve

"What's the point of this game?" I asked, frowning down at my hand of cards. Sitting cross legged in front of me on the aubusson rug, Nate smirked at his own.

"Sh!ts n' giggles."

I smirked back, shuffling through my hand. The kid was whooping my ass and the competitor in me hated the sour taste of losing.

"What are you on now?"

"Fives."

"Sh!t." I chewed my thumb nail, watching as he offloaded more of his cards. I was sitting a seven and thanks to a crappy round, still had five more cards to go before I could drop down to the six's. Crazy Eights was aptly named; it was driving me bonkers.

"Hurry up slow, poke," Nate taunted, flashing one of the first, most genuine smiles I'd seen on his face all weekend.

"Wait!" I sang out, slapping down an ace of diamonds, linking it with a clubs to change the suit. Nate's smile flickered with competitive gleam.

Settling in, I managed to swing the momentum around my way so that by the time he crossed in to two, I was finishing up three's.

"I'm gaining," I sang out, wiggling with glee.

Eyes focused to his hand, Nate razzed his lips. "Not for long." He slapped down a pair of jacks, and I followed with a three, changing the suit to hearts.

"Suck it," I said, off loading my last pair and scooping up two fresh cards from the top of the deck. "Oh, poor baby." I mimed tears. "No hearts to play?"

His scowl deepened as I set down a queen. Nate lifted another card. Evening our hands.

"Oh, sh!t, I can go!" he squealed.

"Hey cheater, it's my turn!" We dove. Collided. Cards rained. Limbs tangled. I snagged Nate in a tucking roll, fingers tickling until he screamed through laughing tears.

"Ok, okay I give. I give! You win! You win!" 

Victorious, I let him go. His face pink from hysterics, faded blue hair a disordered mess from our horseplay. This was the kid I remembered, the kid I knew and loved. This smiley, happy-go-lucky little trickster who played cards and laughed. And suddenly, as soon as that light flickered on, he shut it off, drawing away into that cold, dark shell he'd encased himself in all weekend.

Clearing his throat, he rolled away from me, sat back up, smoothing his hair into a more 'angsty teenager' appropriate coif. "Good game."

"Nate," I brushed a hand over his knee but he jerked it away from me. "Come on, dude, what's wrong? Are you mad at me or something?" I'd wracked my brain last night, trying desperately to work out something. Anything that could explain why he was being so cold and distant with me, and the only thing I could land on was the fact I'd missed his birthday party this year due to a last minute meeting Hong Kong with George Wyatt and a few investors.

His eyes flickered to me face, lowered a smidge. "It's not you. Okay? Seriously. I've just got...things. Stuff." He returned to cleaning up the cards, plucking them up with stiff fingers. Sighing, I helped him.

"Is it your parents' divorce?"

His lips quirked. "F-ck no. I'm glad he's dropping that harpy."

Any other time, I might have laughed at that. "You know you could talk to me."

"Can't," he said, shuffling his stack of cards into a neat little pile.

"Why not?"

Turning, he forked over the half deck to me, shrugged. "Simple. You'd do something about it."