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There's someone knocking at the door. And knocking. And knocking. He’s trying to watch Heroes. He can't concentrate with all this noise.
Nico groans, hits pause, and shuffles to the door, trailing his blanket behind him. "Who is it?" he asks before opening the door. Hey, he lives a life where it could be a monster or some god asking him a favour, either's equally likely and displeasing.
"Cupid," the voice says back, and then there's a giggle, a giggle that has been programmed into Nico's brain since he was ten. "Open up, Nico. I've got gifts!"
He groans again and pulls the door open, his blanket a heap on the floor behind him. "What do you want?"
Percy rocks back on his heels and grins. Nico's belly flops. He rolls his eyes -- it's been years he needs to get a grip. "I wanted to see you, is that a crime?"
"Yes." Nico slouches against the doorframe, looking Percy up and down. He used to be ashamed of this crush -- this love, okay --, it was his biggest fear at one point. But then he lived with Percy for three years while he was at school and there's something about living with the person you're harbouring all these feelings for, seeing them every day, watching them shave and spill spaghetti sauce all down their front and fall asleep on the couch, that helps you achieve some form of twisted peace with it. He's not going to, like, tell Percy any time soon but he's not going to go so out of his way to hide it. He blinks slowly and catches Percy watching him. "What, have I to invite you in?"
"That would be the polite thing to do," Percy agrees, and then he's shoving Nico's shoulder gently and moving past him into the apartment. "But neither of us are polite."
Nico kicks the door shut behind him and follows Percy into the living room, swallowing a few deep breaths. See, it’s one thing being comfortable with whatever feelings you have and it’s another having to watch them sprawl on your battered couch looking like they belong there more than you ever have.
“Move,” he says, as charmingly as he can. Percy huffs and shuffles along, his arm thrown along the back of the couch. There’s a space there under his arm just big enough for Nico. He sits upright, his side pressing into the armrest furthest from Percy, and scowls. “You’re interrupting.”
He watches Percy take in the beer on the table, the drawn curtains, and the cable connecting his laptop to the TV. “I’m sorry for crashing your thrilling night,” Percy drawls. “It’s Valentine’s Day, di Angelo, I’m here to spice up your night.”
With that, he begins to unpack the bag he’s been clutching since he pushed his way through the door -- a bottle of vodka, a box of chocolates, popcorn, purple candles, a stack of DVDs, and a magazine appear from the questionably small container. The vodka’s blocking the screen.
This is cruel. It’s cruel and unfair because Percy must have some idea of how Nico feels, he can’t be that oblivious, but Nico’s going to go along with it because over the years he's become a masochist and it’s Valentine’s Day and it’s a stupid corporate holiday anyway but if Percy’s spending it with him, well, it’d be rude to turn him away now, wouldn’t it? After he’s unpacked everything. Look, he brought vodka.
“I’ve only got Pepsi Max,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He gets up, stretching his arms above his head, and walks slowly to his kitchen, grabbing two tumblers from the drying rack. He leans against his cooker and smiles at the change to his evening. He had been planning to watch Heroes for a few hours and then maybe Shameless and then he was going to get into bed and jerk himself off, maybe to the thought of Percy’s mouth wrapped around his cock, maybe not. Standard stuff. But now, now he has Percy here --
He laughs -- one of those humourless has -- in his empty kitchen at the thought of him ever doing anything about this thing he has, these feelings that keep him lying awake at night wondering what made Percy stop looking at him like he couldn’t decide whose side he was on and why Percy’s eyes change from dark to emerald to Nico’s favourite colour when he’s sad or angry or happy and how his hands would feel in Nico’s hair or on his waist and what his thighs would feel like under Nico’s hips, what that space where his t-shirt always rises up would look like covered in bruises the shape of Nico’s fingers.
See, he has a lot of thoughts. Too many thoughts. He can’t do any more than that.
“Nico!” Percy’s impatient, endearingly so. This. This is how far Nico is gone. “Hurry up!”
Nico shoves the glass in Percy’s hand, dumping the bottle of Pepsi on the table. Percy’s got the vodka caught between his knees which is a guaranteed disaster but Nico keeps his mouth shut, holding out his own glass. He’s not a big spirits fan, likes to keep to beer, but what the hell.
He leans forward to hit play and when he leans back again, the hand at the back of the couch brushes the back of his neck. He glances at Percy who’s watching the screen intently, the drink halfway to his mouth a backseat to his curiosity of the show. “What’s this?”
“Heroes. You never seen it?” Since defeating Gaia four years ago they have all dived back into their respective skills and interests -- Jason and Percy taking on joint leadership of both camps, Piper retraining the Aphrodite cabin after Drew, Leo building more and more gadgets, and Nico didn’t really want to back down to the Underworld but he didn’t really know where he fit at either of the camps, either, and so he worked hard at Percy’s stepfather’s school, graduated, persuaded his father to buy him this apartment in the city, and then threw himself into learning every pop culture reference he can. It’s a hobby that can be done lying in bed with the curtains shut and no required movement for hours on end. Sometimes it’s lonely, sometimes it’s boring, but he marathoned Breaking Bad in two weeks, so, sometimes it’s fulfilling.
Percy frowns. “Heroes? What kind of heroes?” Claire’s on screen at the moment, her burn healing before their eyes, and Nico watches the way Percy’s eyes narrow, sussing out the situation, before he nods, all clued up. “Like powers? Cool. Are there any water ones?”
“Someone can breathe underwater,” Nico says, and then laughs when Percy tsks.
“That’s nothing. Can any do what you can?”
Nico takes a sip of his drink, tries not to cough. There’s not enough Pepsi. He takes another gulp, winces, and says, “Not that I’ve seen so far. I’m unique.”
“You definitely are,” Percy says and this time when Nico turns to look at him Percy is looking back, his lips bent into a smile he’s never really seen directed his way before. Nico smiles back and takes another long drink. He hasn’t eaten all day; this is going straight to his head.
They watch Peter break into Sylar’s jail cell in silence. Nico’s been watching this for the last three days. It’s interesting seeing the way powers affect people in different ways, without the guidance of their immortal parents, which can be a positive or a negative, actually. He can’t remember the last time Hades said something to him in anything less than a scathing tone and he knows Percy spends half the time hating Poseidon for being so vague and irregular with his visits.
“I like Peter,” Percy says, nodding at the screen like Nico doesn’t know who he’s talking about. Of course Percy likes Peter; the whole saving everyone else before yourself, being all powerful, getting all the girls, they’re so similar it’s ridiculous. “Is he a good guy?” He’s covered in blood at the moment and standing very close to a serial killer; the question’s logical.
Nico folds his feet under him, squirming further into the couch cushions. “Yeah, he’s sort of like the typical always trying to do the right thing hero.”
“Sounds like a dick,” Percy laughs, draining his glass. Nico finishes his own, closing his eyes at the burn in his throat. He wants more. “What’s his power? I’ve seen him do, like, five different things? D’you wanna open the chocolates?”
“Fuck, please. I’m starving.” The vodka is making his head spin, when he opens his mouth his words come out slower, like he’s falling asleep but hasn’t quite got there yet. He takes three when Percy offers the box, not checking the list for what they are because there’s no time for that, he has to eat now. “Peter can -- what’s the word? Absorb. Yeah, he can absorb powers. Like if he was standing here he could shadow-travel and control water,” he says through a mouthful of sticky chocolate. He regrets not checking now, he can taste hazelnut.
“What’s this called again? Heroes? Man, I’ve been missing out. Can I light this candle, the woman in the store says it smells amazing.”
“Just. Don’t set fire to anything.” Nico chucks him a lighter from the table beside him. He’s tried smoking a couple of times, made him cough too much, but he likes fiddling with lighters. He’s got dozens scattered about the flat, the designs ranging from plain black to kittens to New York skylines. His favourite one is the one with a cartoon Hades with a blue flame for hair.
Percy lights a match then drops it, stamping on it frantically to put out the tiny flame and glaring at the smirk on Nico’s face. The next attempt is more successful. He shoots Nico a smug grin then sits the candle carefully in the middle of all the clutter on the table. Nico refrains from speaking -- if they die in a fire he can tell Percy he told him so in the Underworld.
“See? Beautiful smell.” Percy waves his hand at the candle, his finger brushing the tip of the flame.
Nico sniffs cautiously. It’s... not what he was expecting. It’s beautiful in a surprising, bizarre way. He breathes in again, pulling the scent down into his lungs. He feels like he does whenever Percy says something nice to him or when he tries to get past him and their arms brush. “I can just smell seaweed,” he tells Percy, wrinkling his nose like it’s disgusting. “And... waffles.”
“Really?” The grin is so big Percy’s eyes are half-shut. Nico’s compared him to the sun before -- to himself. in his head. obviously -- and times like this the comparison doesn’t seem so exaggerated. “That’s -- that’s cool, man.”
“Why?” He’s still smiling and Nico doesn’t know why.
“‘Cause,” is all he gets as a reply, that smile blinding him. “Do you want another drink? I can make it less strong if you want.”
“The last one was fine,” Nico argues, because he always feels he has something to prove with Percy, even now, and that extends to alcohol tolerance. When he takes a drink this time he doesn’t feel the urge to spit it back into the glass. Percy winks at him.
“I’ve been missing the show,” he whines, turning back to the TV. “Hey, woah, Peter’s trying to kill that lady!”
So he is. He’s slicing open his mother’s skull. Huh. “I’ve been watching this for the past three days. It’s possible my lines are blurred on characters.”
“All people have good and bad within them,” Percy says, sounding philosophical until --
“That’s a Harry Potter quote.”
“You’re a machine,” he laughs, his head back and his mouth open wide. He has some stubble, not much, enough for Nico to wonder what it would feel like against his cheek. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He takes another long drink. “Are you drunk?”
“I’ve had two glasses. I’m not a lightweight.” Nico can hear the slight slur in his words. He feels tingly. “I might be a little tipsy.”
“Amazing,” Percy says, and laughs again. “Me too.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Wow. What are we like?”
Nico doesn’t know how to answer that, there are too many possibilities and his brain-to-mouth filter is fucked at the moment, so he turns his attention back to the screen, watching Linderman talk down to Nathan. This show is fucked up, he decides. He kind of loves it. He’s drawn to things that mess with his head, the evidence is sitting beside him, shoving a chocolate into his mouth.
They watch one episode, and then they watch another, and another, and somehow the bottle of vodka is almost empty and Nico is slouched against Percy, tucked into the space he avoided earlier. He fits perfectly; his side is pressed to Percy’s chest and he can feel Percy’s breath on his neck.
“Percy,” he whispers after another episode. He feels Percy’s hair brush his cheek and knows his attention is on him. “Why are you really here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Nico’s fingers are inches from Percy’s thigh. He presses his thumb into the square on Percy’s pocket. If he shifts a couple of inches to the right their bodies would be aligned all the way from shoulder to foot. He stays where he is. “It’s Valentine’s Day, don’t you have a date?”
“Don’t you?” Percy replies, and when Nico looks up he sees Percy is watching the screen, not Nico. Peter’s doing something stupidly impressive and over the top, which is the whole show, really.
“Stop answering with questions.”
Percy huffs a laugh and turns to meet Nico’s gaze. “I wanted to see you.”
Nico snorts and Percy’s hand comes up to rest at the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder. He leans into the touch without thinking about it, the feel of Percy’s fingers the most comfort he’s felt in weeks. “I’m happy being alone,” he says, the lie painfully transparent.
“Listen. Nico.” Percy raises himself onto one elbow, jostling Nico. “That candle earlier. The woman said it smells unique to each person -- they smell whatever reminds them of the person they love.”
Fuck. It’s all over then, isn’t it? He said about the fucking seaweed, there’s no way he can get out of that. “Well, I meant --”
Percy’s fingers press gently on his neck, smiling. “D’you know what I smelled?” Nico shakes his head. “Chocolate and that coconut shampoo you use and something that I can only describe as coal.”
Nico bites his lip. This might all be a bluff, it seems too good to be true. “Coal?”
“Shadows,” Percy corrects himself. “Like dark stardust.”
“I see.” He does see. The fingers on his neck are hot.
“Nico?”
“What?”
“I’m trying to woo you and you’re being annoyingly coy.”
“What?”
“I brought candles, Nico. I brought you your favourite films. My hand is almost on your ass.”
“Oh.”
“What does oh mean?”
Nico tilts his head and kisses Percy softly, hesitantly, his words settling into his stomach beside the chocolates and the vodka and the stardust flavoured confession. Percy’s hand moves up his back to cup his neck, pulling Nico closer. The kiss is slow and lazy and it’s not what Nico has been daydreaming about for years but it’s something, a whole different sort of want. Percy tastes of oranges and promises and potential. Nico shifts and presses his body along Percy’s, all the places their bodies are touching making him smile widely against Percy’s lips.
“Are you laughing at me, di Angelo?” Percy murmurs, his mouth moving to his neck.
“No,” and now he is. He’s laughing too loudly for the moment, his mouth too close to Percy’s ear, but this is what he’s been wanting for so long, it’s -- it’s overwhelming. He feels giddy, unlike anything he’s felt in a long time. He remembers the first time he met Percy, when he was ten and part of a family and in awe of this boy who saved him and his sister from a monster. He feels a bit like he did then, only so much more intense. “I just... can’t believe it,” he says, going for honesty.
Percy lifts his head. His hair is ruffled at the back, Nico’s hand is still curled in the strands at his neck. “I know how smart you are,” he says. “But I didn’t realise you were so oblivious.”
“Huh?” He’s had to deal with a lot of emotions in the last few minutes. Also, he’s still a little drunk. His inability to talk is understandable.
“I’ve liked you for months,” Percy says, his face so serious, long enough for it to sink in somewhat, and then he laughs, that glorious laugh that glows deep inside Nico. He leans in and kisses Nico again. “Probably even longer. It’s Valentine’s Day, Nico. The most romantic day of the year. You know what I’m like.”
“You are a walking cliche,” Nico agrees, because the rest of his head is screaming about months and love and years and Percy is kissing him, for the third time tonight. It’s too much and yet it feels the closest to perfect Nico can imagine. “What happens now?”
Percy shrugs. His hand slides round Nico’s waist and turns them over so he’s hovering above Nico, kissing him again, this time more eager, his tongue clumsily pushing into Nico’s mouth. “We should’ve done this so long ago,” he mutters, his hand fumbling between them for the button of Nico’s jeans. Nico feels dizzy, on top of the world, not caring if this is a one time thing, somewhat certain that it’s not, because Percy is kissing him, Percy wants him, and maybe Valentine’s Day is a corporate scam but with Percy pushing him into the couch, his hands hot on his skin, Nico really doesn’t care.
Maybe he loves Valentine’s Day now.
(He moans when Percy finds a spot on his neck that makes him fall apart. Maybe he just loves Percy Jackson.)