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Not all days are good ones.
Will is reminded of this in Autumn’s onset. Nico and he have spent a week in Austin, curled in the tight confines of his mom’s place, bumping elbows at the sink and sitting with knees touching on the living room’s loveseat. But now, it is night. The moon is waned and the windows are shadowed. When Will wakes, it’s to the rolling chirps of crickets and the shallow panting of rushed breaths.
He’s sitting up in bed before awareness fully returns, glancing sharply at the room’s dark corners and reaching for the bow hung beside his bed. He is tense and jitters with adrenaline, a tepid glow seeps from his skin. Will isn’t combat-oriented, but he is half-blood, trained for whatever monsters lurk in the dark. His fingers close around the bow—
Except it doesn’t look like he needs his weapon tonight.
He lets his fingertips withdraw, pressing them against his comforter instead as he pushes himself out of bed.
He crosses his room in a couple of strides.
And then, Nico is in his arms.
“Gods Nico,” he murmurs, lips brushing a tangled mess of dark hair. It smells like the shampoo he’s been borrowing from Will, sharp and clean, against an earthy undertone that’s pure Nico. “You scared me.”
Nico shakes, arms trembling as he drags them up, curled between their chests. “‘M sorry.”
Will feels like he’s made a mistake, and resists the urge to grip his boyfriend tighter—not sure if the added pressure would be welcomed, or feared. “No, Nico…no it’s okay, I’m glad you came to me.”
Nico nods against him, and Will’s attention is suddenly drawn to the fact that they’re standing in the corner of his room. Both barefoot, both in pajamas. It’s not cold, in the autumn month, but Will feels a chill crawl across his skin.
“C’mere,” he says, tugging Nico gently across the room. “Let’s get onto the bed.”
Nico hesitates. “You should be sleeping…”
“It’s fine,” Will insists.
He guides them both onto the bed, the single he’s had since he was a kid. They crowd into it. Will disentangles the sheets from their legs and drapes them up to their waists. Nico curls closer, laying against Will’s chest. He’s still trembling.
Will bites his lip. He’s not sure what to say, how to help. He doesn’t want to make anything worse. “Was it…were you there again?”
A few silent, drawing moments slip by. Will’s about to backtrack, to assure Nico he doesn’t have to answer, but Nico takes a shaky breath and Will freezes.
“Yes…”
Will waits but Nico doesn’t continue.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he prods carefully.
“No,” Nico says. He raises his hand towards his lips, like he’s about to bite his nails, but Will catches it. He holds the hand in his own. Nico sighs. “I just want to forget about it.”
Will resists the urge to sigh himself. He shifts, scooting further from the edge of the bed, drawing Nico closer to his side.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Will promises. “What about something else? You wanna talk about anything else? Try to go to sleep?”
Nico tenses. “Not sleep.”
“Okay,” Will agrees. “We can stay up.”
The heat from their intertwined bodies gathers beneath the sheets, joining with the lukewarm air of the season. Nico’s breath ghosts against Will’s collarbone. He’s beyond exhausted, ready to drop back into the gray embrace of sleep, but fights the heaviness of his eyelids. He knows if he drifts off now, Nico will remain trapped, ruminating over whatever memories a brief stint of sleep enwrapped him in.
So he talks instead.
He’s not sure of it at first, whether it’s helpful. But he feels Nico sag at his side, muscles loosening. So the words crawl on. Before long, Nico joins in. Quiet, brief phrases, lilting with a sleep-soft accent. The undertone of crickets bridges the snags in conversation. It’s peaceful.
Will’s hand starts to brush up and down, treading a consistent path across Nico’s back. The worn, navy blue fabric of his borrowed sleep-shirt bunches. He feels Nico exhale softly.
It doesn't take long for Nico’s breathing to deepen further and then Will pauses. His hand stalls. Listening intently, barely able to breathe, he dares to hope…
But no, he’s definitely asleep.
Will smiles. Nico needs more hours of rest. It’s one of the things ‘Doctor’s orders’ are only so effective towards, and Will’s relieved by whatever naps and night-hours he manages. Will resumes his ministrations, gaze cutting to the alarm clock on the bedside table.
They still have a few hours before they need to get up. While Will’s not sure his mom would be thrilled with Nico staying in his room, he doesn’t make any move to wake his boyfriend up or extract himself from his grip. He can’t bring himself to. Not when Nico turned up in his room shaking, in the middle of the night, his eyes glazed with memories.
Will has no plans of leaving.
He lets his own eyes close—any trace of exhaustion is gone after talking so long, but he’s content to lay there for some time before he manages to drift off.
Will hates that there are nights like these. The nights where half-blood dreams ruin rest and drag them into the hardships of the past. But Will’s willing to stay through them, good or not.
He inhales, borrowed shampoo and earthy comfort. Locks of dark hair drift against the underside of his chin with an exhale. The alarm clock ticks away into morning hours.
Will pulls Nico closer.