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It all started with a slip up. Innocent, yet absolutely deadly. At least in Nico’s dramatic mind.
To be fair to him, his insomnia had been getting worse lately and the precious few moments of sleep he got were nowhere near enough to even make a dent in the black hole that was his ever present exhaustion. He had been like a walking zombie ghost for weeks. Well, more than usual anyways.
His imagination had also been running rampant lately, fueled by his pining heart and enhanced by a frankly unhealthy amount of novels, quite a few of which quite questionable. (Honestly, how did those even exist in the camp library still? How have they survived Chiron’s watchful gaze?! Nico might need to have a word or a few with Mr. D about sneaky techniques because there was no doubt in his mind that the god had been somehow involved.)
So yup, at this point instead of sleeping his brain kept on projecting to him various scenarios of his best friend returning his stupid misunderstood feelings. Feelings he could hardly process, let alone properly understand or even allow himself to take out of the small dark box he had shoved them into. But the buggers were persistent. Stubborn even. Maybe even more or just as much as Nico himself was.
Every night, weeks on end, over and over again, Will’s smile, Will’s bright blue eyes, Will stealing glances, Will whispering sweet nothings in his ear as they watched clouds drift by as they lounged in the soft grass of the Strawberry Fields, Will taking his hand, him and Will giggling as they did inventory in the infirmary…
Then came the even stranger ones - from Will making him a handmade chocolate bar that couldn’t fit through the door of cabin 13 so they had to share it on the porch, to bouquets of KitKats and Will shoving handwritten notes under his door after midnight. Nico kept looking around the doorway for these on his way to breakfast every morning for longer than he would ever dare admit. He still keeps on hoping they might magically appear in his aviator jacket inner pockets somehow. After all, stranger things would happen in the life of a demigod every day.
Alas…
All that had triggered a couple of weeks marked by the grumpiest pouting, several accidents he absolutely blamed on the gods’ continuous insistence of messing with his life (he’s had enough of it damn it! He was not their plaything, none of them were). He would rush Olympus right this instant to give them all a piece of his mind, that is if he had any energy because as it stands those pouty weeks were spent predominantly in his cabin, away from everything and everyone, in the company of his shadows, real and metaphorical. Up until Will, real Will, had manifested right in front of him, dragged him out of bed while tearing him a new one for being a moody hermit, and mandating he come to at least breakfasts every single day. (Every.Single.Morning. Di Angelo. Doctor’s orders).
Damn him, and his caring ways. All Nico had wanted was to wallow in his misery until he was able to shove everything back in that dark box and find a way to glue its lid shut once and for all. But no…
So that’s how Nico Di Angelo, son of Hades, Ghost King, Death Breath, and gods know how many weird other titles used by those closest to him, that professed to being his friends, found himself dragging his half-asleep pyjama-clad self to the dining pavilion, more on muscle memory than anything else.
He was definitely nowhere near conscious or awake when he planted himself at the Apollo table, right next to Will, kissed him fondly on the cheek, murmuring, “Hey, sweetheart.” and promptly falling back asleep on said sunshine boy’s shoulder.
And then there were giggles.
And whispers, very loud whispers.
And snickering.
And catcalling.
And finally shaking.
The shaking was what got Nico wide-eyed and awake. And sure enough, when he finally dared open his eyes, he found himself next to a shaking, stuttering, impossibly and inhumanly red Will. (Well, technically they were all not exactly human, but the hue on Will’s skin was bordering on painful).
This was a nightmare. It had to be. One of his daydreams had finally turned sour. Or maybe this was the revenge of one of the gods that Nico had been cursing during his pouty days.
He was mortified, he couldn’t move, or breathe, or anything really. He just sat there, waiting for the inevitable punch to the gut, where Will would turn and laugh in his face. Maybe then he would wake up and quickly shadow to the other side of the world. Even the Underworld would be a preferable refuge.
Nothing came. Will was just as frozen as he was. Still shaking, still impossibly red. This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare still, but of the waking kind. The worst kind.
Slowly but surely, the realisation that he was quite awake crept up around Nico’s mind.
He needed to get out of there. Where are the shadows when you need them?
He willed every single muscle in his body to just move, please move and let him run out of there. Far away. Cabin 13 and then he would go and pay his father a visit. Won’t that be something?
But just as he was rising from the bench, debating which was the shortest escape route, a hand fell on his. And grasped tightly. Not letting him go anywhere.
Nico turned around only to find Will’s eyes fixed on his. Determined. And then a playful smile flashed on those impossible full lips.
“Where do you think you are going?” Will was still blushing. “You are staying right here and finishing breakfast like a good patient. And then you and I can go somewhere quiet to talk. Ok?... Sweetheart.”