Work Text:
Nico pulled the plug on Will’s amp - literally.
“We need to stop,” Nico told him, tossing the plug on the floor on his way across the room.
“We can’t stop,” Will argued, “we’re on a schedule, here! A very strict schedule that you created, might I remind you.” He got up and went to grab the cord again, holding Nico’s precious three-thousand-dollar guitar (and yes, Will had looked it up) by the neck, since he hadn’t bothered with a guitar strap that day. “C’mon, let’s just power through, and--”
Nico cut him off, blocking Will’s path to the amp, shoving at his chest with one hand collecting his guitar with the other. “Don’t hold my guitar like that, or I’ll cut off your hand. And you don’t power through - that’s how you end up with shitty songs. You probably did a lot of powering through with your first drafts, right?”
Will’s eyes narrowed into a glare, his hands tightening into fists as his lips parted to start spitting insults right back, but Nico was already walking away. “Go home, look over the edits I gave you for the next song. We’ll get the melody and harmonies for this done tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to rest your voice.” He set his guitar in one of the stands along the wall, then moved to continue cleaning up the rest of the studio.
Will crossed his arms with a huff, still not moving to leave. “And, what? You get to take a break tonight while I’m still hard at work in my own home?”
Nico rolled his eyes so hard that his head tipped backwards. “No, dipshit, I’m going to get a headstart on the backing tracks. Is that okay with you? Or did you want to keep mooching off the record company for six more months before they drop you for failing to comply with the contract you signed?”
Will felt himself growl - actually growl, like he was some kind of feral animal that wanted to rip Nico’s throat out. Instead of saying any of the nasty words that came to mind (or throwing Nico into the drumset tucked away in the corner) he turned on his heel and started toward the door that would lead him out of Nico’s basement studio. “Fine,” he spat, “I’m leaving. Happy?”
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Nico asked, and without waiting for a reply - because of course Will was coming back tomorrow, he was contractually obligated - he said, “Then, no.”
Will slammed the door on his way out.
Will usually prided himself on his ability to get along with people. But Nico fucking di Angelo was going to be the death of him - and maybe a few other people, if Will didn’t get control of his anger soon.
He thought they’d come to an understanding when it came to Will’s lyrics. He knew he was a shitty writer, okay? But these songs meant something to him, and Nico had promised that, after the last time, he wouldn’t tear them apart like a professor grading a failing paper. Seeing his lyrics all marked up with red pen made Will want to tear the pages to pieces.
Writing was supposed to be cathartic, right? So why was it that Will only felt worse and worse as this process went on? He was more pissed off than ever before, more down on himself because he could never do fucking anything right, and fucking Nico certainly wasn’t helping.
Rather than making edits in accordance with Nico’s suggestions on an old song, Will whipped out a fresh notebook and started writing. Mostly stream of consciousness that he scribbled out and underlined and started forming into verses and refrains until his hand started to cramp and he struggled to keep his eyes open.
He knew it was late when he left Nico’s, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been in a writing fit, but one look at the clock confirmed that he would be suffering come morning when he had to return to Nico’s. Will stripped out of his clothes, not bothering to brush his teeth before he fell into bed, and barely remembered to plug in his nearly-dead phone before his head hit the pillow.
He wasn’t expecting to see a message from Nico - he only ever got messages from Nico when he’d forgotten to do something that Nico deemed important, so he wasn’t eager to open the message.
He did, though, because Nico would likely have grounds to kill him tomorrow if he didn’t. What he saw instead of a passive aggressive message, though, was a video. He hit play and cranked the volume, settling into bed with his phone propped against a pillow so that his arm wouldn’t cramp.
Nico had changed his clothes, out of his usual jeans and t-shirt and into a black hoodie and shorts - was he in his underwear? Will was ninety-nine percent sure those were boxers, but he tried not to dwell on that fact. He was sitting at his drum kit, big bulky headphones over his ears and a drumstick in each hand. He tapped something on his phone, then started twirling one of the sticks in one hand, his other hand reaching up to rub at his eyes. Will backed out of the video just long enough to check the receipt of the message - Nico had just sent it within the last few minutes; he was probably just as exhausted as Will.
Back in the video, Nico said, “Will Solace, Starlight, take...fuck. Take six, I think? Whatever, I’ll know which one it is.”
He reached toward the phone again, then started tapping his foot to some unheard beat before he started to play.
Will had seen people play drums - he’d been to concerts, and he’d been in his fair share of high school garage bands - but there was something about the way Nico moved. He was like a man possessed with the way his hands flew across the kit, and then in a second, he stopped. Over the ringing of the cymbals, Will heard the slightest sound. He grabbed the phone to pull it closer, his eyes losing the battle of wanting to watch in favor of his ears hearing what was going on - and it was so, so worth it.
Nico was singing.
It was barely there, a low tone that loosely followed the melody that Will had been trying to perfect hours earlier, and it raised goosebumps on Will’s arms as he listened. He had to pull the phone away from his ear when the drums kicked in again, though that gave him the perfect reason to go back to watching the screen. Nico had pushed his sleeves up his arms, giving Will a view of the tattoos he’d memorized shortly after they started working together.
He recognized the words of the chorus as Nico started shouting them, as though he was trying to hear himself over the beating of the drums and whatever sound was playing through his headphones. Will felt completely mesmerized, wishing he could drown in the sound of Nico’s voice, wanting to hear him scream along to every word Will had ever written.
At the start of the next verse, the drums dropped down to a simple kick to keep the beat, and Nico’s voice returned to that low mumble that had Will’s hand tightening into a fist around his pillow as he chewed on his lip. He watched as Nico’s eyes fell shut - from exhaustion or because he was letting the music wash over him, Will couldn’t tell - and he stretched his neck from side to side, rolling his shoulders before launching into the chorus once more.
Will felt like he couldn’t breathe when the final clash of cymbals eventually rang out. He thought he was going to be frozen to that spot for the rest of his life, until Nico reached for his phone once more, pulling it off whatever stand it was in to bring it closer to himself. He pulled the headphones off his ears, letting them rest around his neck as he said, “Okay, that one actually felt pretty good, so I might call it with that. Notes - uhh…” He scratched at the side of his head with the end of one drumstick as his head tipped forward, and - yeah, he was definitely exhausted. “I still think we should go heavier in the verses, but I guess that’s ultimately up to Will. The melody for the bridge is shit, but that’s not important right now. If I can convince Will to go heavier on the verses, then maybe I can trash can that ending, too. Um… Yeah, I think that’s it.”
The video ended, and it wasn’t until Will’s phone screen timed out, throwing him into darkness, that he finally moved. He buried his face in his pillow, letting out a long groan.
Why did the most infuriating man on the planet also have to be the hottest, most talented person Will had ever met?
“Shit,” Will whispered when he came up for air, flopping over onto his back to bury his face in his hands. “Fuck!”