Chapter Text
I'm not sure when I fell in love with will solace. Maybe it was when I noticed his eyes were the same color as the grayish blue sky in September, or when he asked me what book I was reading and listened to me explain, I don't know, but I am definitely in love with him.
-
At 6 o'clock, my alarm goes off. Mom isn't here, why not skip? Fight off the thoughts, get up, stare in the mirror for a minute too long and get stuck there, stand in the shower and let the water wash away my skin, get dressed and try not to look at what I hate, eat breakfast, catch the bus. That's my morning routine if anyone cares. I am Nico Di Angelo, and the only things I care about are music, books, and leaving my Moms' house as soon as possible.
-
I walk up the stairs and down the hall to history, painfully aware of my binder too tight around my ribs. 236, 222, 215, 209. As a subject, I hate history, I think it's depressing and repetitive, and I could care less about what fascist white assholes did in the past because let's be honest, it still hasn't changed, and I'm this close to having my rights taken away. “We learn about history so we don't make those mistakes again,” bullshit.
Regardless of my opinion on the subject, I find first period calming. As I walk into the room, I'm comforted by the fact that no one talks unless asked to, and no one pays attention to me. I can melt into the shadows, and sometimes if I'm lucky, I can read tucked into the back corner of the room without my teacher noticing. Today will not be one of those days because we have a paragraph due tonight that I don't feel like cramming at the last minute.
I may be a pretty stereotypical teenager what with my lack of mental stability and all, but I value sleep. If I didn't sleep, I think I'd be dead.
The 8:15 bell rings and everyone sits down to log onto canvas. The next 45 minutes will consist of Mr. Marvin saying “Uh” at least twice every time he recites a sentence and me bullshitting my way through a paragraph about the economic depression that occurred during and after the civil war.
-
You could say I have friends. Yes, I have people I sit with at lunch. And yes, I have a select few who wave high to me in the hallway before the bell rings, but it depends on what you consider friends. Going off of my criteria, I have no friends except for my books. Friends are things that you can confide in, relate to, and go to for comfort. And for me, that is ink on pages because these stupid characters understand my all-consuming sorrow more than any living person that shows up to this high school every day. So I eat my lunch in the library. I read my books. And I keep to myself. But then he walks in. Blonde hair, blue eyes, way out of my league. So why does he walk up to my table with a look of intrigue and god almighty why do I blurt out, “What are you doing here?”
“That's definitely a way to make a good first impression.” He looks amused
“I'm sorry that was rude, I'm bad at um... speaking I guess?” I need to shut up
“Don't even stress. If you think about it, language is just random lines and shapes bunched together.”
God his subtle smile, the way his lips curve up. He looks ethereal.
“That's a very philosophical perspective. On another note, my name is Nico. You?” The way I see it, if I'm already this deep in conversation and a cute boy is standing right in front of me, I might as well introduce myself.
“I'm the one and only William Solace. Also, philosophy is a whole different kind of mindfuck don't get me started,”
“You're new, aren't you? I've never heard about a Solace at this school.”
“Oh yeah, I just moved here mid-school year, my mom decided Texas was not the right place for us.”
If I lived in Texas right now I'd kill myself. Refer to my opinions on history.
I'm not much of a positive person if you haven't noticed yet, but I try to be for Will's sake.
“Well um, I've never lived in Texas before, and I certainly don't plan on it, but I'm sure that New York is better.”
“For sure, I don't have any friends yet, but this city seems more, I don't know, just better.”
I feel like the conversation is dying, so I grab a flashcard from the table and scrawl down my phone number.
“Consider me your first friend, Solace.”
The bell rings, and I plant the paper into his hand. I don't think I've been more scared in my entire life.
212-555-0180
-
I yank the key from the lock and rattle the door open. 3:30 pm on a Friday is what most people at my school would call a blessing, but I hate the weekends. I suppose I just hate my house. It's not something I like to dwell on because I always feel like I'm over-exaggerating and complaining about my life, but I assume most 15-year-olds don't feel sick to their stomach when their mom calls them downstairs.
When I was 11, I started to become more conscious about myself and my family. My father is physically and mentally abusive, and an alcoholic, and my mom is emotionally and physically absent, sprinkling in some gaslighting. They don't like that I'm trans.
I can't blame them, I hate it too. I hate waking up in a body that feels wrong. I hate not knowing the things every other boy seems to know. I hate how my voice sounds. I hate how my hair is different from theirs. I hate everything about myself.
Anyways I get off track, weekends mean more time at home which means more time potentially interacting with mom. Fortunately, my mom’s at a high school reunion this weekend. This also means I'm left alone with my thoughts which are equally as unpleasant as human presence. It's not like I'm going to kill myself, I mean yes, of course, I think about it, and more often than not fantasize about how I'd do it, but it seems pointless to actually go through with it. So I stay on this weird confusing planet, and I play into the rules of society, and I go to school and survive. I hope one day I can actually live instead of survive, maybe that's why I haven't killed myself yet. I'm still waiting for freedom.
-
At 2 AM, I get a text from none other than Will Solace. Why is he up? I don't know, but I doubt I'm qualified to ask that question considering I too, am awake dicking around my house. Why not respond, I have nothing better to do
W: Hey, I don't expect you to be awake, but I wanted to text so you have my number, and um thanks for befriending me :)
N: Gosh Solace, you aren't all that you know. Have you ever thought about the fact that maybe I need a friend of my own? (I'm fucking with you, thanks for texting)
W: Goodness, how could I be so self-centered… wait what's your last name, it's not fair that you call me Solace if I can't call you by a last name too.
N: Oh, I don't really like my last name, but it's Di Angelo
W: Well if you don't like Di Angelo, then can I call you angel? That's what Angelo means in Latin right?
N: I'm sensing you're a language nerd.
W: You didn't answer my question, angel ;)
N: Sure, call me angel, whatever. What are you up to tomorrow?
My phone starts buzzing. Wills' name reads on my phone. Why is he calling me? My finger involuntarily presses pick up.
“Nico?”
“Yes?”
“Would you possibly be interested in coming over to my house tomorrow and helping me unpack boxes for my bedroom?”
Would I? If I said no I'd regret it for the rest of my life. I'll never tell him that though.
“Sure, text me your address and what time I should be there.” I try my best to hide the excitement in my voice
“Okay, goodnight angel.”
I can hear the smirk in his voice He hangs up the phone.
I may not be an expert on what friendship entails, but last I checked, friendships don't include angel as a nickname.
end of chapter one :D hope y'all liked it