Chapter Text
Nico felt as though he was being crushed by the weight of the pit of nausea in his stomach. He couldn't think clearly, couldn't rationalise- and he knew he wasn't rationalising things in a healthy manner, but it felt like he was being crushed like a diamond from the outside whilst the inside tried to explode like a pressure cooker rigged with a fuse that had already been lit and had already exploded.
He felt like everything was collapsing around him, and all he had left was the fact that he was too scared to die. At least he'd physically survive this feeling, even if he wouldn't heal or recover from it. He felt scared, paranoid even, as though everybody could read all his thoughts, except Nico hated himself. He hated himself so much that they'd take every insult he believed about himself and believe it to be true. He felt like they all saw him as a monster, and nothing really countered that, in his head.
He tried his hardest to be a good person, but he held himself to such a warped scrutiny that he thought he deserved his suffering. He'd take whatever comfort and affection he could get, and didn't care if it was healthy for him or not. Thankfully he'd found something healthy for him, but Nico knew that he'd be vulnerable to toxic friends too. He knew he was vulnerable, because he didn't love himself enough to believe that he deserved to be treated with kindness, to be let down gently.
But his vulnerability wasn't just because he hated himself, it was all the roots of why he did. Abandonment, sudden and raw. Growing up gay with the mindset that it was disgusting and wrong. The cognitive dissonance of absolutely supporting it for anyone else, empathising deeply, whilst internally hating the fact that you were the same as them, and believing that you were a bad person for it. It was grieving every loss of people just like him, and fully supporting and being overjoyed every time rights were won, whilst wishing that literally anyone else could shoulder the burden instead of him.
Not me, gods, please not me.
Make it go away. Maybe I can be normal.
Maybe if I accept it in my head and I'm kind to myself, it'll hurt less even if I can't accept it and hate myself for it. Nobody ever has to know.
Maybe I can pray it away.
This is so exhausting I want it to stop.
Why. Why do I empathise so much? How can I accept that it's okay and know in my heart that it's okay, but not accept it for myself?
I deserve better than this.
Who I am is okay. I need to heal. I need to allow myself to admit that this isn't going to go away, and that's okay.
Years have passed. I struggled, but I finally feel able to say, I'm… gay…
Maybe I should keep it to myself I mean I'll get murdered I'll get called slurs I'm so so scared gods no why me?
You know what? Fuck it. You can't hurt me if I reclaim everything you throw at me. You throw a slur at me? It's not a slur to me anymore it's who I am.
You know what? I'm fucking gay. I'm queer. These words have been reclaimed for decades, and I claim them too, and make them into my shield, so that you can never take that away from me. You throw it at me, and my shield absorbs it and grows bigger and stronger.
I'm comfortable with me. I'm okay with it. I'm gay. I like men. I think about kissing men and that is okay. That isn't wrong or predatory or sinful or disgusting and it certainly isn't a death sentence.
I'm not comfortable for others to know. It's still a sore point, and I'm fragile. I'm going to take the time to let it settle in.
…
I'm ready. I'm ready to tell people, and to fully accept it as a part of me I'm proud of and I'm not ashamed to let other people know. It's no longer comforting to stay in the closet anymore. I've grown too big for the blanket nest I made in there, and I'm ready to step out.
Fuck.
This is scary.
Nico felt like he was finally at the final stage of his closeted journey. Hiding such a huge part of who he was away from the world didn't fit his comfort anymore. He felt unable to ever fully be himself, to ever allow others to truly know him. He felt disconnected from the world, disjointed. Not inauthentic, but like he was always half in the shadows, always hiding, and it was tiring. It was exhausting to constantly feel like he had to hide away such a big part of him, and whilst he was scared, so scared, frightened of how they might react, he was proud of who he was, and he finally felt ready to let go of people who might not fully accept every part of him.
Because he deserved to be fully accepted by those around him.
People who wouldn't accept all of him weren't true friends, they weren't people he could rely on or trust. If he had to hide a part of himself to keep them around, then they never wanted him to be around in the first place. And whilst it was hard to accept that he'd lose all that love and support and stability with loose ends, he needed to learn that his self worth and mental wellbeing was more important than people who would cast him aside anyways if they knew the whole of Nico's truth. Being friends with closeted bigots who didn't believe you had rights wasn't love or friendship it was hate. And Nico knew now, that he deserved better than to accept that hate as a condition of him being loved.
His head was a mess. The world had broken him, and was refusing to help him heal- he'd had to do all the work himself and he'd come out the other side with unhealthy coping mechanisms that he couldn't help but cling to. He'd woken up in a new time to be told that society was progressive, only to find the horrifying reality that it was partly an illusion, that people still died because of this. He didn't know who or what to trust, those saying coming out was no big deal anymore, or those saying that it could still endanger your life. So it had contributed to him remaining in the closet for his own personal safety, because Nico didn't want to find the answer in the pieces of his own fractured skull as heavy boots kicked and stomped over him.
He'd observed a lot more about the world, and noticed that those who were comfortable enough to tell others that they weren't oppressed anymore and shouldn't whine were almost always coming from a place of privilege. A postcode lottery, a pale skin tone, a cheque to cash, a clean bill of health, and so so many more factors with nuances and intricacies that Nico was still getting used to. He didn't understand how boldly and brazen some could try to silence others because they hadn't personally faced it, like murder and suicide and hate crimes didn't happen every day for some.
Despite being closeted, Nico had already experienced homophobic bullying. At first, an innocuous "that's gay", that soon began insidious when it was used to degrade and humiliate and imply loss of masculinity. It was used as a slur. And sure, maybe they'd stop if they knew he was gay, but it made it very clear exactly what they thought of gay. He didn't hear queer so often at camp- although he heard it all the time outside of camp. And then there was the f-slur, constantly hurled around in the most malicious of ways. Nico wasn't sure if he wanted to reclaim that one yet or not, just that one day, he would.
Nico constantly had slurs casually thrown his way, and if that was how they treated someone presumed heterosexual, he hated to even think about how they'd treat him if they knew he wasn't.
Nico's head was a mess, and he was exhausted, and he wasn't coping. He felt suffocated. There was never enough time in the day, and he was running out of mental energy to keep going. He wasn't in a good headspace, everything screaming out that he wasn't okay and he needed to stop and take a break, but he couldn't. He was so busy, and hours seemed to pass out of nowhere. He hadn't stopped, and tasks that should only take the morning would take until it was dark out and Nico was left with no time in the day to do all the major tasks he had to get done. He was so, so overwhelmed, and he was suffocating in it. He wanted to breathe, to scream, to cry, but he didn't have the time to do anything other than internalise and repress to the point he could barely function. Breaks didn't work anymore, and Nico didn't know what to do. He was deeply, deeply unhappy, stressed to the point of non-function, to a point where taking care of himself or even talking took a huge amount of energy.
Nico was breaking apart, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hadn't been able to stop and focus on himself to the point where he'd be unable to register even his most basic of needs, to a point where he couldn't even tell if he was hungry or cold or tired. He was losing all sense of control over his life, and everybody seemed to demand his attention and his focus and his headspace to the point that he was having to violate his own boundaries to please everyone, making it harder to stay on top of his tasks. He felt so behind in life, so incapable of even the most basic self care, that he was close to giving up trying. But then, he'd be seen as lazy, uncaring. He couldn't go through that. So he forced himself to carry on when he didn't have the energy to do it.
But he realised that a part of that cycle was how his mind was continually circling back to one issue: his sexuality. The anxiety surrounding the internal debate on whether he was ready to come out or not had become an obstacle to the point that he'd be unable to switch tasks without struggling fundamentally to focus without his mind circling back to his sexuality.
Maybe some people had the privilege of it not being so integral to their thoughts and their functioning, and maybe for some people it was a casual background fact, but Nico's experiences with his sexuality had shaped his personality in a way that he couldn't ignore or push aside. For Nico, it was so deeply ingrained into his skin that it marked him visibly in his eyes, whilst being invisible enough for others to ignore. Nico was going to collapse under the weight of hiding it, when it shaped everything from how easily he trusted to the way his eyes shared secret looks with one boy in particular. From his body language to his presentation to his music to his worldview to the way he interacted with others, the only constant was being gay.
He was a patchwork of his experiences, a sewn up curse doll made from different scraps of fabric and sewn together with thread so fragile and insecure but bold and overshadowing that the pieces were almost unrecognisable. Different experiences tended to shape different parts of him, but a rainbow thread ran deep and prominent, weaving and connecting to every single patch, every single thread.
Being gay had affected so many aspects of his life that it wasn't something he could ignore. It was a huge part of who he was; it was inseparable. His identity was here to stay, and Nico wanted to be understood. His personality was laid out on a cork board of evidence for all to interpret, but the rainbow thread to connect the dots was absent, so people naturally found the wrong paths and made the wrong connections and misinterpreted and misread him to the point of harm.
He didn't want to be misread anymore. He wanted to be understood, and he could only do that if he revealed the rainbow thread so carefully hidden under a transparent layer of monochrome filters that prevented anyone from ever truly seeing inside.
Nico was scared. He'd been violently outed, and the mental scars of that were there to stay. He couldn't get that back. No matter how much he tried to take back control of his own narrative, he would always carry the weight and the trauma of a love god outing him. He couldn't erase that. And it made him scared, because if a love god could do that to him, then what could a homophobe do?
Nico was a scared child, scared of the physical and verbal violence he could face, scared of the possibility of becoming another statistic, another name on a list on a tumblr post or another name read out in silence at a pride event. Except Nico was nothing, nobody, a boy who didn't exist in this time as he should, so perhaps he'd never be on that list, and the world would never know if he lost his life for his love.
And Nico was lucky, he knew that. He didn't live somewhere where being gay was illegal, or where it was fair punishment to be killed. He had money, he was light enough, he was a demigod with powers to protect himself. If he felt this scared, he briefly wondered how scared others would be, when they weren't so lucky, when they didn't have the odds stacked in their favour.
Nico didn't want to be gay sometimes, because he was tired. It was tiring, and Nico had battled way too long with internalised homophobia to be able to say that he'd never slip back into it. But he was getting better at accepting that fact, acknowledging those feelings, and dealing with them when they came. He'd battled it for long enough that he knew how to fight back, how to tell himself that being gay was okay. He knew how to survive this. Which left one question in his mind: was he ready to come out?
He didn't want to have to hide anymore- that was argument one. Hiding wasn't helping him anymore. In fact, one could argue that it was actively hurting him, because again, concealing a part of his identity meant never truly being able to express himself. He'd never be able to act as naturally as he wanted to act, because he'd always be trying so hard not to indicate in any way that he was gay. Whilst he didn't conform to the stereotypes cishets tended to mistake for queer coding, he was still nervous that they would be so intent to prove they had a gaydar that they would guess and out him, and Nico deserved to be in control of his own narrative.
Nico no longer felt comfortable in the closet. The closet had been a safe space for him for so long, had allowed him to feel safe and comfortable enough to explore his own identity without becoming a target for a hate crime. The closet had been the place where Nico felt truly able to express himself in private, to admit to himself that he was gay and to feel comfortable in the knowledge that nobody had to know. But now, it felt too small, too tight, like it was restricting him, and he was getting antsy and restless- he wanted out, so that he could breathe.
Nico was scared to come out. This had been a huge factor in staying closeted; from fear of judgment to fear of death, Nico had been terrified, although recently, he'd been questioning that. He'd fought in wars, had faced up to a Titan, had survived Tartarus. But… he was still scared…
Nico's urge to be proud of who he was, to overcome the internalised homophobia once and for all, was beginning to overshadow his fear. He was finding it easier and easier to want to fight back, to want to proudly defend his sexuality and argue against the bigots. Whilst those arguments weren't necessarily productive, Nico was beginning to realise that the acceptance of his identity was screaming louder than his fear was now.
Nico's fear, whilst still there, had diminished significantly. Whilst he still had a lot to fear, it wasn't so intense- it no longer kept him up at night for days, going round in circles and crying and screaming wishing he could just feel safe. His fear still resurfaced from time to time, and sometimes, he did fixate on all the things he wished he could say to the world, but the fear itself tended to subside relatively quickly.
The benefits of coming out were beginning to outweigh the negatives, but there was still a long way to go in his reflections.
If he was out he could be open with Will. Whilst Nico was still scared of being seen, the idea that, if he felt comfortable to, he could simply reach out and take Will's hand, squeeze it in his own, the blush he'd have whilst Will decided to swing their arms- that idea was one that made Nico's heart feel warm. To kiss his lover on the lips in a crowded place and pull back with a smile, to sit down in a crowded restaurant with Will's arm around his shoulder and Nico's legs across Will's lap as they laughed and shared their food, occasionally sharing small kisses when nobody was looking and complaining about each others' garlic breath. Nico yearned for that domesticity, and maybe, just maybe, coming out would put him on the right track to achieving that.
Nico had made up his mind. He was scared, terrified, but he was finally ready to come out. He'd debated it in his head for too many days, had delayed it for far too long, and now it was time to come out. He was ready.
He didn't want to keep his identity hidden in the depths of the closet any longer, didn't want to live half his life in the shadows anymore. He wanted to step away from the darkness of the shadows, wanted to love freely. He was tired of loving in the shadows, of only allowing himself to kiss his lover with the curtains drawn and the lights off, tired of the fear of someone walking in and seeing them together before he was ready to tell anyone. He wanted to be able to do all that in private and in public without the fear of another outing anymore, he wanted to spend time with Will without feeling guilty for the lies he was telling to conceal his relationship.
Nico was ready, finally, to scream it to the world that he was gay, that he wasn't going anywhere. That he was going to live his life out and proud from now on, because he deserved to be proud of the way he loved in the dark, to bring that love into the light. He was tired of his love residing in the shadows, tired of his love being something that he was ashamed of. Not anymore. He refused to be ashamed for one more moment, was going to make the effort to fight that shame and hold his man's hand in the streets, and anyone who had an issue with it could say hello to the fields of punishment, because Nico was done fucking around with these people and allowing them to chip away key parts of him.
Nico decided to take a few hours to mentally prepare, because he wanted to be sure, wanted to feel confident enough to know that he wouldn't back down. It was going to take a lot for him to come out, and he had to be prepared for how mentally draining that may be, and how physically draining it could be too- the less mental energy he had, the worse he usually found himself feeling, more prone to fatigue and pain. So Nico needed to be prepared for this, to make the process as gentle as possible for him.
He was picking up his closet keys, and testing them out in his hand. The weight of freedom in his palm made him feel like he could take on the world, and he was desperate to taste that in all its glory. He was going to be free to love openly.
-
Will was tired of this. He spent too much of his time laying on his back in his bed, staring at the bunk above with an arm across his stomach and earbuds blaring music whilst he tried to drown out his anxiety.
He'd spent years questioning who he was, questioning his sexuality. He'd spent so long scared that he wasn't straight enough, wasn't gay enough, that he'd forgotten to consider his own feelings on the matter. He was so busy calculating how best to perform his sexuality to appease others, that he'd completely forgotten that it was his and his alone to define and label.
He was bi, and he'd known that for years. The constant bombardment in his head of all the things people could say did nothing to help him. What if he was just gay? What if he was just straight? But Will knew that neither was the truth, he was bisexual, and it wasn't going away. He had the capacity to be attracted to same or other genders, and he had the capacity to fall in love much the same. He was in a committed relationship with Nico, and Will wasn't inclined in any way to so much as look for the appeal in others- he was completely content in his relationship. And that didn't make him any less bi.
It was like if he was able to write with pen and type on computer. If he decided to write with pen for the rest of his life, it didn't mean that he couldn't type on computer, that being able to type on a computer would suddenly disappear. It would always be there, he was just making the choice not to. Or, if he liked chocolate donuts and strawberry donuts. Maybe he chose to only eat the chocolate donuts, but that didn't mean he suddenly didn't like the strawberry ones. And it didn't mean he was going to start eating strawberry donuts behind the chocolate donuts backs, either.
He knew as soon as he came out as bi that people would insist that he was just gay trying to be special, or that they'd insist that he'd cheat on Nico because he missed girls. None of that was true, because who the fuck would willingly choose this. Queer enough to be targeted, not queer enough to be accepted. Branded a love rat just because he had more options to choose from. He didn't want to consider the other options, because he was happy with the choice he'd made, to love Nico and Nico exclusively.
Will knew that he'd face biphobia, and it was the only reason he'd chosen to stay closeted so far. He knew that he'd face it from the cishet community, and from the lgbtq+ community. He knew deep down that exclusionists and biphobes were a minority voice, even if they screamed the loudest.
Will knew that he should prioritise his own personal comfort in all of this, but he was struggling to believe that coming out as bi would give him that.
Will had the bisexual manifesto pinned to his wall. He had it there, as a permanent reminder, that he was understood. There was so much that he wanted to say, but he was so so used to biphobia, and people speaking over him and defining his sexuality for him, that he really didn't feel comfortable even giving much thought to all the nuances. He already knew them, because he lived them, and the bisexual manifesto summed it up well. He was done dwelling on biphobia. He was done caring about it. Well, that was a tiny white lie, of course he cared, it affected him. But his sexuality wasn't theirs to label, and their prejudices would do nothing to change who he was. Nico understood and accepted him fully as bisexual, wasn't insecure about the nature of his identity, so why- why did he need to consider anyone else in this? He was dating Nico, so why did anyone outside of his private love life matter? He was in a relationship with Nico, a happy one, and that is the area of his life that his sexuality would most affect and manifest in. And Nico embraced it with open arms.
So Will was scared of biphobia, but his boyfriend was the only person's opinion that truly mattered. He wanted to be out and proud to those around him, although much like anyone, he reserved the right to stay closeted about his bisexuality when he felt like he may face prejudice. He felt comfortable in his love for Nico, in the fact that he loved a boy, and he didn't owe anyone a breakdown of his sexuality. Nobody but Will had the right to analyse how he felt and slap a label on it, nobody could redefine it for him- and Will was entitled to protect himself from that. He was entitled to just say he had a boyfriend and say no more, or just say that he was queer, and he really didn't have the energy for toxic discourse. It was his sexuality to define and feel comfortable with, his to conceal. He was open and honest with his partner, and that was all that truly mattered.
He wanted those close to him to know, at least, but he'd been beyond scared of their reactions. Biphobia was jarring from total strangers, but he really wasn't sure that he could handle it from his friends and family too. He was exhausted, and he was tired of being scared. The right to his identity was the most basic human right, yet people felt justified in tearing that away from him. And he was scared, scared of his own friends and family rejecting him, or saying they accepted him whilst telling him to just pick a side, then when he explained he was choosing a person, that they'd just call him an annoying bihet. He didn't have the energy for this.
But staying in the closet was becoming toxic for him. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be permanently trapped in the closet stressing about the eventuality of coming out and the prejudice he may face. He didn't want to spend his whole life hurting and pretending anymore. He wanted to be comfortable, and he wanted to be out, because he was so so tired of hiding who he was. He refused to hide anymore, because he was hurting, he was bleeding in pink purple and blue and he needed to scream out that he was bi, and he would not be silenced.
But he knew- he knew that he'd face so much hate, so many microaggressions even from his own community, that he was already tired. He didn't want to face it, he was too anxious to face it, and it was driving him into dark places. He wasn't confused, he knew who he was, he knew his own identity and it really wasn't that hard to get, yet still, people spoke over him and defined him out of existence.
Everything was toxic, and he was being crushed down into nothing by it in all directions, and it made it hard, so hard to be authentically and comfortably himself, and he just… wanted it to end. He wanted to sleep until it was all over, wanted people to stop being dickheads about his identity and other people like him. He wanted it to stop.
He was too choked by the stale air of his closet to remain in it any longer, because he was queer, proudly queer, and he loved his boyfriend, and he loved being bi, and he had a right to be proud of that. Maybe the world would always be against him, but if he could find some allies, then maybe, just maybe, he could get through it. If he could find some safe spaces to be himself in, then maybe, just maybe, he could make it through this. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive now.
He had an infirmary shift, which he was absolutely dreading- it was capture the flag day, so of course, there would be horrific injuries. It also meant he'd be very busy, very stressed, and probably very angry, but unfortunately, it probably meant he'd work through his lunch break, which wasn't really a good idea given his diabetes. He'd already had his breakfast, and his blood glucose was currently in an acceptable range, but he knew he'd end up dealing with a hypo whilst at work, and if he was stretched too thin between treating critical injuries, he wouldn't have the time to sit and manage his blood glucose, or maybe even to take his insulin. He could end up in surgery for several hours, hoping to the gods that he didn't pass the fuck out and kill his patient. It wasn't like he worked in a hospital with a team of qualified doctors, he was a kid, working with other kids. There wasn't any senior consultant to take over so Will could snack on some graham crackers and drink some body armor to regulate his sugars mid surgery, there was only other kids, who had far less experience than him.
He could manage a usual infirmary shift well, even if that often meant terrible injuries coming in, but it was far worse during capture the flag, far busier. Rather than one or two serious injuries, because half of camp was doing arts and crafts or working in the forge, everybody was quite literally trying to kill each other, so he'd end up with five or six critically injured and terrified children on a good day. He'd quickly learned that working without a break because someone's guts were hanging out was far too likely to end with Will at best shaking and crying on the floor having a hypo, at worst unconscious. He was lucky that he hadn't slipped into a coma yet, although before he was diagnosed as a child, he'd suffered seizures because of it.
It wasn't like he could take a day off either, so he was well and truly screwed.
So today wasn't going to be a coming out day, because today was making sure his friends and literal children didn't die whilst trying not to be vibe checked by his pancreas refusing to just work for once in its pathetic life. Seriously, could his body stop attacking itself for five fucking minutes? So much of his day was trying to pinpoint if he was sweaty shaky and emotional because he was tired, because he was coming down with flu, because of a hypo, or anything else. Usually, it was a hypo, and he'd discovered the hard way that ignoring it wasn't the correct way to deal with it. He screamed internally, because he was just so damn tired of repeatedly checking his blood sugar and counting his carbs and stabbing himself enough to bruise whilst people made stupid 'diabeetus' jokes over a slice of cake, or worse, quite literally threatened to call the cops on him for 'being a junkie' because they saw him having to inject his insulin in the bathroom of the local café.
Will took a few deep breaths, aware that he was growing increasingly frustrated, which wasn't going to help anything right now. Of course, he was entitled to his anger, but it wasn't very productive at this time, and wouldn't do much more than trap him in a state of distress.
He had archery today, which he fully intended on bunking off- partly because he was shit at it, and partly because he felt lazy today. Well, Lazy probably wasn't the right word- he was struggling with burnout, and knowing he'd need to muster so much energy later for his shift meant that he wanted to conserve what little energy he did have for when he needed it most. But he also unfortunately had an unfortunate proclivity for experiencing harsh mood drops when he spent too long inactive, which would leave him with even less energy for later. He wished he could just bunk off work, call in sick or just quit, but he didn't have that option. He was trapped now, in a job he never wanted, never asked for.
He decided to settle for a stroll around camp, a slow one, although it felt rather lonely. He decided to passively listen to his favourite horror podcast whilst he mulled over the process of coming out.
Technically, there was no such thing as out for good- because you'd have a lifetime of meeting new people. A casual look at a ring on your finger followed by 'oh, you have a wife? What's she like?' To be responded to with a nervous 'oh, I have a husband, actually,' to be met with a shocked 'oh!! I never thought- I mean you don't look- I mean now that I think about it, no straight guy holds his glass like that, so um, which one of you is the woman?' As though they've never processed that lgbtq+ people actually live normal lives amongst them, followed by the complete look of shock when you say 'neither of us, that's the point, we're gay, both men, because, you know, we like men,' whilst trying desperately to ignore the fact that they're now scrutinising and profiling your behaviour to see for themselves that you're gay, whilst knowing they'll use your behaviour and mannerisms to profile others. And that's without telling them you're actually bi, and watching them decide that your whole personality is either being confused and repressed, or slutting it up on main. There was no problem with either, but neither was inherently linked to bisexuality.
So Will had accepted that he'd never stop coming out, that at some point, he'd get tired of all the biphobia and not explain his identity beyond the fact he had a husband, or that he was queer. Or, that there would be times when he really didn't feel comfortable telling someone he was bi, so he'd feel the need to hide it further. He knew that being bi was a lifetime of explaining yourself to people who liked to define your label for them. He knew he'd end up replying to questions about his sexuality with 'oh, I don't, really, define it…'
Will knew the chance was high of having the same issues explaining his sexuality to his peers, and honestly, a part of him wanted to lock away his bisexuality and never talk about it again to avoid the people he loved bombarding him with biphobic microaggressions they didn't even realise were problematic.
But Will didn't have to perform his sexuality, he shouldn't feel like he had to lie or pick a side. He reminded himself that all the exclusionists and biphobes were a minority, that the majority of the lgbtq+ community supported him, that the largest group was the bisexual community, that campaigns to drop a letter weren't mainstream, that the exclusionist attitudes were very recently brought to light and weren't the majority view. He reminded himself that online spaces weren't the same as real life spaces, he reminded himself of all the celebrities with the same identity as him, and he reminded himself that he had the right to exist as he existed. He didn't need anyone's permission to be bi, he didn't have to say he was gay, he didn't have to change his label just because others defined his sexuality different to the way he defined it himself. There was nothing wrong with existing quietly, with just telling his peers and his family that he was bi, only telling the people that mattered. He didn't need to announce it online, didn't need to announce it to strangers, didn't need to go to pride if he didn't feel comfortable.
More importantly, he had a right to define his own sexuality with whatever labels felt most comfortable- and he had a right to be bisexual. Biphobes weren't worth his time at all, and he didn't owe anyone anything, no explanation, not his time, certainly not an apology for existing.
He was proud to be bi, and he needed to stop letting his fear of arseholes poison his mind. Even his dad was bi, a god. People would always try to define him out of existence, but it would never genuinely change his sexuality. He would always be bi, always exist as bi, and nobody could take that away from him. He was bisexual, he'd always be bisexual, his dad was bisexual, and his boyfriend was exclusively gay and fully supportive of Will.
So Will was realising that, honestly, if all he feared about coming out was the assholes, he could just… avoid them. He could block and report them online, he could avoid talking to them in the streets, and surround himself with people who understood. He didn't have to put up with people who were happy with his misery and suffering. If they stayed in their lane, he could avoid them and simply… block them out. He didn't owe anybody his discomfort, or an explanation, just because a minority of gatekeepers thought they spoke for everybody. According to the William's Institute and the Human Rights Campaign, estimates put bisexuals at 50% of the community. So 50% of his community fully understood, and there were certainly plenty of allies within the other letters. Will had spent so long researching, reassuring himself that he was supported, and that he'd be okay.
So Will was going to come out to those who mattered to him, because he had a right to feel comfortable in his own skin. He had a right to his own community and he had a right to his identity. He was allowed to simply exist. He didn't need anyone's permission, and if people thought he did, that was their problem, he'd cut them out, and live his life away from them. He'd have the support of those that mattered, and that's all that mattered.
Will wanted to talk to Nico first though, because he knew Nico struggled with his sexuality, and Will knew the stigma of associating with queer friends, so he knew that Nico could be affected. He didn't need Nico's permission to come out, but he wanted to make sure that they were both prepared for everything, fully comfortable with a plan to make coming out as easy on both of them as possible. Will wasn't going to force Nico out of the closet, and he felt he could handle dating Nico still if Nico wasn't yet ready to come out.
Will decided that before capture the flag would be the best time to talk, so they both weren't completely worn out, or worse half dead. Or, you know, actually dead, which was always a possibility, although Will didn't like to dwell on it. He felt as though he'd wake up tomorrow morning, so he wasn't too worried about it.
Will knew he was far more confident in his identity than Nico was, because Will had a different set of circumstances in life, where he wasn't subjected to violent hatred in the same way Nico was. The area he grew up in was overwhelmingly tolerant, and whilst there were a few bad eggs who ruined things, he grew up where the local high schools had GSAs and most of the local churches expressed their support. He'd mainly been exposed to arseholes online, but hey, arseholes were everywhere in the world, and some of them were probably just misguided and one day may grow to be tolerant. And if not, well, it wasn't Will's responsibility or obligation to change on their behalf, and he didn't intend to either. He intended on living authentically when it was safe to do so.
Will checked the time, and decided he should probably turn up late to archery- better to stroll in halfway through when he'd booked the cabin for this time slot anyway than to get into trouble and not turn up at all. It would give him time to clear his head before going to talk to Nico about his decision to finally come out.
It was proving impossible to clear his head, because the question of coming out kept hovering over his head like a cartoon lightbulb, or perhaps a rain cloud- Will couldn't distinguish between the two, too overwhelmed to truly know what he was feeling. His sexuality was like a brand he couldn't cut out of his flesh, because it imprinted onto his muscles, his bones, his viscera; it wasn't going away, wasn't going to be easily hidden, burning through every layer of protection until the nylon burned and imprinted onto his skin, and part of his flesh, spelling out in bold- bisexual.
He couldn't hide it anymore, and he couldn't decide if it brought him an uneasy pain or a joyous freedom. He hoped it turned out to be the latter.
-
Nico decided that he hated anxiety more than he hated depression. Well, that wasn't an entirely serious sentiment, although right now, his anxiety was crushing him more than his depression. He had no doubt that Will would fully support him, and that Will would give him the space or company he needed when he needed it, but that didn't mean that things were going to be easy. He knew that coming out was going to be hard, but he knew that coming out was the best option for him right now.
He knocked on the door to Will's office in the infirmary, trying to ignore the way his anxiety made his chest ache, and waited for the door to open. Will opened the door with a blotchy pink blush, freckles transforming from a sunset yellow to a sunrise amber. "Hi," he smiled, although Nico could see from the way he bounced subtly that Will was anxious. "Are you okay," Nico asked nervously, and Will beckoned him in, taking a seat. He reached into his top drawer, pulling out a tub of stim slime.
Nico waited patiently for Will to talk, watching as he poked at the slime in his palm and squished it, stretching it and slapping it onto his other palm. "I'm okay," Will said quietly as Nico sat down, "but there's something I need to, uh, discuss with you. It's nothing bad, or worrying, something good, actually, maybe a little difficult for me, but, important, you know?"
"I have to talk to you about something too, actually," Nico replied with a one shouldered shrug, "kinda came here to talk it out, and, get your thoughts and support. It's, uh… nothing bad either, just, terrifying. Which makes it sound bad. But it's not. Anyway. Yeah."
"I guess we should talk then," Will replied, and Nico could hear the anxiety in his voice. Will appeared to be more anxious than Nico felt, so he reached over to take his hands before changing his mind and resting his hands on his knees. He didn't want to accidentally impede Will's ability to stim, but he knew that tactile comfort was important for Will.
"I'm here for you," Nico said softly, scooting his chair closer so their knees touched. He rubbed the pad of his thumbs over Will's knees, which were rough from Will picking the skin there. "Take your time, you go first. I promise mine can wait a little while, I can see this is distressing you, hm?" Nico moved his hands to Will's shoulders, gently pulling him forwards until Will's forehead rested against his.
"Mhmmm," Will replied in an anxious hum, the kind he made when he was a little too overwhelmed to talk much.
"Do you need to be comfortable for this," Nico asked, and Will moved to bury his face between Nico's neck and his shoulder, nodding slowly. Nico pulled them into the shadows, settling them both on his bed in the Hades cabin when they emerged on the other side. Nico pulled him into a hug, squeezing Will a little tighter than he would anyone else, knowing how well it grounded him.
"Thank you," Will muttered eventually, "I think I'm ready to talk now."
"Okay," Nico replied quietly, shifting them so they were cuddling with their backs against the wall, resting against cushions. Nico grabbed a blanket, pulling it over them both and pulling Will's legs over his own.
"I uh… I think… I think I need to, uhm, come out, now," Will managed, and Nico felt a crushing wave of relief.
"I support you," Nico reassured, taking Will's hand. Will had taken to holding his slime like a stress ball in his left hand instead, so Nico was able to take his hand now without worrying about interfering with his stimming anymore.
"I just, really can't stay in the closet, you know," Will began, and Nico knew that Will needed to talk and rationalise it, especially now he knew that it was okay. "I just, I feel trapped and horrible, and it's in my mind so much that I just, can't get rid of it, or push this feeling aside anymore, and if I get assumed straight one more time, I'm going to scream, because it just, feels like, this whole experience gets invalidated every time, and reminds me that straight is the default, that I'm always going to be a surprise they don't expect to exist around them, you know? I just, need people to be aware that I exist, that when they're talking about gay people, that I'm sitting right there listening to them turn my identity into a fun topic like it's from a gossip column and not my actual lived experiences."
"That's okay," Nico reassured, "I'm listening."
"I'm feel like I'm gonna scream," Will continued, "I just, really need to come out. I feel suffocated by this. I just, need to be openly bi. And I'm scared, but I just, I just, really can't internalise all of this anymore, you know?"
"I know," Nico replied softly, prompting Will to continue.
"And I'm, so anx-anxious of it going wrong, that I, that I just, just need- to cim out- come out-"
"Deep breaths," Nico soothed, "there's no rush, I'm still going to be here listening in a few minutes." Will nodded, letting out a huge breath, before sitting to breathe quietly. He tended to stutter and get tongue tied with his anxiety, and the more frustrated he got with himself, the harder he found it to communicate verbally.
Nico reached over for his phone, putting on some quiet music- Will had this adorable trait of accidentally talking in tune to whatever he listened to, which usually alleviated his verbal communication issues enough for him to communicate easily. Will took a few more deep breaths, before speaking again. "I can't remain closeted any longer," Will began, "it's suffocating me and I can't stand it. I need to come out now and embrace who I am openly, and I appreciate that I have your support for that. But, we need to communicate and talk it through first, like, if you're ready to come out too or not."
"I'm ready," Nico replied quietly, gently squeezing Will's hand, "that's what I was going to talk you about…"
"Oh...?" Will prompted gently, and Nico took a deep breath.
"It's hard for me, Will," Nico admitted, looking down. He squeezed Will's hand again, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's so fucking hard for me, to say into an empty space, that I'm gay." He opened his eyes again, looking Will in the eye. "But that wasn't an empty space I've just said that to. It was you, Will, and- it didn't hurt like it used to. And, I want to say it, again and again and again, until my throat is raw and bleeding from the screaming, because I'm gay, and I'm absolutely fucking terrified, and it feels like I'm running full pelt from the monsters constantly, except the monsters are in the closet clawing me back in. I've accepted now, that- I'm always going to be absolutely fucking terrified, but I can't keep this to myself anymore, because- I am not, ashamed to say, that I am gay, anymore."
"I support you," Will whispered gently, and Nico nodded, squeezing his hand again, looking off to the side at the floor, so that he could muster up the headspace and the courage to say something.
"My heart hurts," Nico continued, "and my soul is not at peace, because it is screaming- screaming, out, that I should embrace this now. And I'm still going to be running, from, from- something, I don't know what, but not from my sexuality. Not anymore. I'm only running from all my other demons from now on." Nico chuckled lightly, before continuing, "so I'm really gonna do it, this time. I'm coming out of the closet, with you, because- I am not ashamed, anymore. I refuse to live in fear of my own identity. I want to wear it like a shield, I want to fight my demons with it alongside me, not against me. I want to embrace you in public, because I- I have the balls to finally admit to myself, to you, to others, that I'm gay. And I'm gonna come out as gay. I'm gonna come out as gay and I'm- absolutely shitting myself, there- there isn't enough curses in the English language to sum up how fucking scared I am, but I am far more scared of the realisation that repressing such a huge part of me is unhealthy for me."
"I hope you know I'm so proud of you, right now," Will said softly, and Nico nodded in response. He'd needed to hear so badly that somebody was proud of him, and there it was, in words, laid out just for him. He smiled as his favourite lyrics of To The End came on, knowing that the answer Will would give was a yes. He felt content knowing that Will was in this wholeheartedly, and it made the prospect of coming out a whole lot less daunting.
-
Will was feeling less overwhelmed, upon hearing that Nico was ready too. His head felt clearer, the ball of anxiety lifted into a sickly dizzying nausea, the kind that came with a slight buzz of a fuzzy head and the urge to be chatty and bouncy, in a way that left residual anxiety, not quite intense enough to cause issues, but enough to leave him craving validation and reassurance. He took several deep breaths, letting himself repeat in his head that they were on the same page, that he wouldn't be hurting for long. He was in pain, and the closet keys were the keys to alleviate that pain.
"So…" Will began carefully, "how do we proceed? When do you feel ready to… to do this?"
"I'm ready now," Nico replied softly, resting his head on Will's shoulder, "I'm ready when you are."
Will swallowed, letting out a slow breath to alleviate his nausea. "I'm ready."
"How do we… who… what do we even…" Will shrugged in response, and Nico snorted. "We're terrible at this, aren't we?"
"Mhm," Will replied, an amused glint in his eye and mirth in his tone. "We're disasters."
"Disaster gay meets disaster bi," Nico chuckled.
"Unstoppable force meets immovable object," Will added through a giggle, earning him a volley of snorts as Nico erupted into silent wheezing laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but the anxiety must have gotten to his brain. Although, it was already in his brain, technically, but Will knew what he meant by it. Even if the medical inaccuracy annoyed him so much.
"Maybe… come out to our families first? Then close friends, then everyone? And, meet each other's parents last? Siblings first, then parents. Just… because we're closer to them, you know? Hardest first, but… also the most important. Just, rip the plaster off." Will nodded in agreement, but Nico seemed not to feel like he'd articulated himself properly, and continued. "Like, we see our siblings the most, or, they're gone, but, they're kind of important to us. We barely see our parents, but they're… family, I guess… and our close friends will make a good support network for when we come out to camp. And then… meeting the parents, it's, a kinda big step? Like, the acceptance would be the final piece of the puzzle. Except… it isn't a puzzle." Nico frowned, appearing to be frustrated at his own lack of articulation here.
"I understand," Will replied, "and I agree. We could take it in turns? So, you come out one day, I come on the next, so we always have a day to recover. It might be easier on us that way?"
"I'll go first," Nico announced boldly, "I can handle that. I'd- prefer that, if that works for you?"
"It works for me," Will confirmed, and Nico nodded, letting out a loud huff of relief.
"We're really doing this, huh?"
"You scared?" Will asked softly, and Nico sucked in a harsh breath, before nodding.
"I feel sick," Nico nodded, and Will slowly nodded in agreement. They must have looked like nodding dogs, the amount they were nodding every two minutes at each other. But, at least it meant they were in agreement, which was something to look at positively.
"It's, anxiety inducing," Will replied carefully, "but…" he squeezed Nico's hand, "it feels right."
"It does," Nico replied quietly, but there was an edge of determination in his voice that reassured Will that they were both ready for this. "It feels… it just- I feel like this is the right time. We're stable in our relationship, and… there's nothing too horrifying happening to us right now compared, you know? The prophesies are over now. And… I know, that not everything is better, and I have a… terrible, feeling about what's to come… but… that's why it's so important to come out now, before it's too late."
Will didn't like the heartbreak in Nico's tone. It sounded like Nico had a feeling that everything was going to fall apart, or that somebody was going to die, but there was no way of knowing if Nico was genuinely sensing an impending death, or if he was anxious, paranoid even. Nico seemed paranoid of moving shadows some days, but Will had no way of knowing if Nico could see more within the shadows than Will could, because Will tended to not fixate on the shadows in the room, nor did he find them to be moving. Will wanted to ask Hazel about it, but the two had different experiences with their powers much the way Will's powers differed from his siblings- like the way he saw the vitality in the light that others didn't- so he couldn't consider comparing demigods to be reliable. He wasn't going to ask Hades, because if there was a chance it wasn't his powers, Will didn't yet know if he could trust Hades with that knowledge. Either way, Nico seemed stable, lucid, but that meant that there was a chance Nico genuinely had a sense of death, that something bad was really going to happen, and somebody was going to die.
Will forced himself to dismiss that thought, before he started to spiral in case it was him. It was maybe a little too late, and Will was already triggered, but if he could distract himself now, then perhaps it wouldn't imprint on his mind quite so vividly.
"Anyway," Will said abruptly, cutting through the harsh silence of his own non-reply. He winced internally at his abruptness, and looked to Nico. Nico was anxiously fiddling with his ring, avoiding eye contact now. Will took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax some. "Anyway," Will amended softly, "I think we should look at the positives for now. I'm not in a headspace to handle the negatives, I'm sorry. We can talk about it, just… I can't handle it at this moment."
"I can't handle talking about it either," Nico replied softly, shuffling closer and resting his head on Will's shoulder. He seemed tearful, and Will could relate. He'd expected to feel like a weight was off his shoulder after deciding to come out, but instead everything felt heavier, like the stakes were higher. It felt like everything was going to go wrong, even though Will knew rationally that everything was going to go okay.
Will felt heavier, felt more pressure. He could feel the icy warm grip of depression creeping in, and he didn't like the way it made him feel comforted, familiar like it burrowed under his bones and made itself at home. Will hadn't realised how familiar depression was, because he'd been recovering well recently.
He heard Nico sniffle, felt him press closer to Will. "I'm scared," he whimpered, and Will appreciated the vulnerability that Nico must have been feeling. Will would be lying if he said that he wasn't feeling vulnerable too, but Will was more emotionally expressive than Nico, so when Nico was this easy to read, so visibly upset and distressed, that's when Will knew that Nico wasn't doing quite so okay, because it took a lot for Nico's emotions to manifest in ways that were universally recognisable. Will often found himself at the opposite end of the spectrum, from his glow to his smile. Nico didn't find him so easy to read, though, for a while. He tended not to recognise common microexpressions, or changes in tone- not until somebody was crying, or yelling, smiling, or screaming, or falling asleep. Not unless they explicitly said so. Sometimes, Nico would worry that he'd upset you, or that he'd made you mad, whilst others, he wouldn't notice distress, happily rambling until somebody lost their temper with him, at which point Nico wouldn't understand why, would blame himself and feel bad.
The coming out process would mean both of them needing a lot of space, so communication was going to be key. They couldn't afford to let up on communication and fall apart. They had to be as upfront as possible about their needs and capabilities, their feelings and their emotions, so that full transparency would allow them to communicate effectively and resolve any issues together and prevent any avoidable meltdowns.
Nico had fallen asleep on Will's shoulder, and Will couldn't really blame him. He could be spared from the infirmary until capture the flag, and right now, focusing on each other was the most important thing to do, far more important than any minor injuries may be.
Coming out wasn't going to be easy, but it was going to be freeing. It was necessary for their mental health and wellbeing, at this point, and it had to be done. They felt ready, and it would be hard, and they knew it would be hard, but they felt really to finally face it. Will could only hope that it went well for them.