Chapter Text
It's funny, almost – the sheer irony of it.
Years ago, a Goddess promised to make his love life interesting.
Today, Percy Jackson looks as Nico di Angelo walks off with Will Solace and feels nothing but despair.
It came over him slowly, is the thing. He didn't just wake up in love with the guy one day – it grew into it over time.
Watching Nico stand up and become who he is, overcome anything and everything and suddenly Percy was fourteen and there was a boy outside his window.
After Gaea, with the whole world at their feet and nowhere he wanted to go but home – the way Nico had stayed over, the pink cheeked embarrassment when his mom fussed about his weight.
The sweet, easy friendship they'd fallen into.
(Percy had looked at him, once, six months after the world had almost ended and felt himself still.
Had looked at the boy sleeping in his bed and felt the entire universe stop around them.
He belongs here, he'd thought, nonsensically, with me.
Percy thinks about that night as the start of everything.
It feels like a lie.
Like it had merely been the first acknowledgement of a truth already written in every part of his body, on every bit of skin and bone.
The sun rises and the sky is blue and Percy loves Nico so much it feels like dying.
He didn't suddenly wake up in love with the guy.
It was always there, just waiting to be discovered, he admits in his weakest moments – it's merely the awareness, that came slowly.)
He can remember each and every meeting with Nico so clearly, moonlight shining over every corner. Happy child to mourning brother to determined ally.
(All of those parts of him, all the versions of Nico he'd met through the years – they live under his skin.)
Always, always there. Always taking priority, every expression, every curve of his mouth and gesture of hand forever burned into Percy's memory.
(Quick, fluttering movements when he tells a story. The harsh line of his lips when he's upset.
Stumbling, graceless steps when he's so filled with joy he doesn't care to rethink his every move.
The pitch of his voice in the mornings, half asleep. The precise way his hair falls to shadow his eyes.
Slightly crooked teeth and pale skin and blue veins stark on thin wrists.
Haunting and lovely and not his.)
The only way Percy gets to see him now is with Mrs. O' Leary, believe it or not. It's the one moment that Nico will pay attention and smile at him, cooing gently over the hellhound.
I might not have the guy but we're raising a dog together so who won, really?, thinks Percy once and snorts, alone in his bedroom.
He goes to Camp, that evening. Just to twist the knife a bit.
Just to stare pathetically at the way Nico's hair falls in loose curls over his shoulders, lips bitten red to hide his smiles – because of someone else, of course.
It's never Percy, that makes him look like that.
(Sweet, easy friendship – and yet, the walls hold. Get taller.
I promise I won't mess it up this time.
Give me another chance to make it right.
Nico would, is the thing. He's a boy made of endless chances.
Percy doesn't want to have another almost as much as he does.
Don't let me hurt you again.
And.
I swear I wouldn't, this time.)
The rare grins he gets are always sheepish, embarrassed things. They fade easily and only just barely brush over his eyes.
These ones linger.
It hurts like his chest has been ripped open, like his heart is stubbornly beating at his feet instead of falling silent like it's supposed to, the stupid thing.
He calls Nico over and tries to tell himself it's for the hellhound's benefit. No selfish reasons at all.
“Up for a family outing tomorrow?”
“Sure. Let me warn Will I won't be here.”
Bitterness and anger curling in his chest.
“Alright. Great.”
A raised eyebrow.
“Right.”
Years ago, a Goddess promised to make his love life interesting.
Today, Percy Jackson looks at Nico di Angelo, walking at his side on a sunny beach, and feels the words die in his throat.