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Will Solace has been awake for nearly twenty-two hours, which feels like it should be illegal but is entirely normal for his line of work. It’s the kind of number that should only exist in those ridiculous standardized testing questions that he had to take in middle school.
Example: If one resident has been awake for twenty-two hours, and the emergency department has six abdominal pains, four lacerations, two chest pains, one man who insists he “accidentally” sat on a novelty shot glass, and a toddler with a bead in her nose, how many times does the resident consider jumping off the roof of the hospital building?
The answer is seven…maybe eight, if the vending machine keeps eating his money.
Alas, Will stands in front of the nurses’ station with one hand braced on the table and the other wrapped around a cup of coffee that tastes like it had been filtered through a sock...a used sock. His curls are flattened to one side of his head from where he’d accidentally fallen asleep upright, leaning precariously against a wall, while taking a piss earlier. His scrub top is wrinkled, and his badge has somehow turned backwards. There’s a small, mysterious smear on his shoe that he has decided, for the sake of his soul, not to identify. He’s twenty-seven years old and already considering whether or not to invest in those weird orthopedic shoes that he sees all the veteran nurses wearing.
“Solace,” Lou Ellen calls from behind a computer, not looking up from whatever chaos she’s charting. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks. I was worried that I was lookin’ a little too good today.” He replies, rolling his eyes in her direction.
“You want a compliment, go to pediatrics. They lie there.” She snarks back, not bothering to look up from the computer.
Will takes a sip of coffee and makes a face so dramatic that Austin, one of the med students, stops mid-bite into a granola bar.
“Is it bad?” Austin asks, hesitantly. “Vending machine still down?”
“It tastes like mud and coffee grounds had hate sex and produced a demon spawn.” Will moans and looks forlornly into the paper cup.
Lou Ellen hums. “That’s a good pot, then. Especially considering it's been sitting in the break room since Dr. D made it yesterday.”
Will opens his mouth to complain further when the charge nurse, Reyna, appears at his side like a very beautiful, very exhausted dark omen.
“Room twelve.” Reyna barks, leaving no room for argument.
Will looks at her, unblinking, and she looks back, gaze unwavering. Something in Reyna’s expression tells him that room twelve is not going to be something simple like a sprained ankle.
“Hmmm…No.” Will says, growing a backbone for once in his medical career.
“You don’t even know what it is.” The eyebrow she raises at him does not make him feel any better about the situation.
“Your face says that it's gonna be bad.”
“No it doesn’t. It says nothing. It's completely HIPAA compliant.” She barks, and…well, she's right. It's the lack of expression that's freaking him out.
So, Will just stares at her, too nervous to say anything, waiting for her to continue.
Reyna glares at him as she hands him a tablet. “Twenty-six-year-old male. Abdominal discomfort. Constipation. No bowel movement in six days. Tried stool softeners at home. Very embarrassed. Vitals are stable.”
Will blinks at the digital chart. Then, he blinks again, shocked. “Six days?”
“Six.” She confirms coolly.
“Lord have mercy.” Will drawls with a whistle.
“That’s what he said, basically, except with much more existential dread, if my rusty Italian is anything to go by.”
Will rubs his free hand over his eyes with a deep sigh. “Has he had imaging?”
“Not yet. Percy’s ordering an abdominal X-ray because he likes pictures and because the patient looks like he might attempt an escape via crawling through the ceiling tiles if anyone says the word rectum too loudly again.”
Austin makes a strangled noise behind him, trying and failing to stifle it with another bite of granola bar.
Will turns to him with a chiding glare on his face. “Do not laugh at patients.”
“I’m not laughing at the patient.” Austin swears, mouth twitching. “I’m laughing at the…ugh…the ceiling tiles!”
“At this rate, you’re going to end up being a dermatologist for rich people who hate themselves.”
“That feels mean.” Austin responds, brows scrunching as he tries to work out why the words sound so rude.
“It was supposed to.” Will snaps before turning back to Reyna.
Reyna tapped the tablet with a finger. “He’s yours.”
“Why is he mine?”
“Because Percy decided to take one for the team and is dealing with the shot glass guy.”
Will closes his eyes with a wince. “Again, I was happier before I had that information.”
“So was the shot glass guy, probably.” Again, the blankness of her face freaks him out. However, Lou Ellen snorts loudly enough that one of her monitors beeps in offense.
Sighing, Will tucks the tablet under his arm and pushes away from the desk. Like the mess that he is, his knees crack as he moves. “Pray for me.”
“You’re the vaguely religious doctor. ” Lou Ellen laughs. “Aren't you supposed to pray for him?”
Without responding, Will starts towards room twelve, trying to shift his face into something more reassuring. This is, unfortunately, part of the job. People come into the emergency department on the worst days of their lives. Sometimes, they came in bleeding or crying or scared. Sometimes, apparently, they come in because their intestines have staged a labor strike, and everyone involved has to pretend the whole situation isn’t, likely, deeply humiliating.
Will can do that. He's actually super good at that. At his core, he's a southern gentleman. He was raised by a woman who could discuss colonoscopies over biscuits without blinking. He could make talking about bodily functions sound like talking about the weather.
Still, he pauses outside the curtain of room twelve to double check the name and freezes.
Niccolò di Angelo.
Something about the name strikes him as deeply unfair. It sounds like the name of an eighteenth century poet who smoked clove cigarettes on balconies and said vaguely romantic and heartbreaking things like beauty is like a rose, striking but fleeting. It does NOT sound like the name of a man who has come to the emergency department because he hasn't shit in about a week.
Sighing heavily, Will knocks lightly on the doorframe before calling out. “Mr. di Angelo?”
There’s a long pause before, from behind the curtain, a voice answers. “Unfortunately.”
Will’s mouth twitches before he can stop it. God, he's no better than Austin. Fixing his face, Will pulls the curtain aside.
The first thing Will notices is that Niccolò di Angelo is pretty. Not, like, polished pretty, but definitely eighteenth century, nicotine addicted, poet pretty. He looks a bit like the sleep paralysis demon that Will gets whenever he’s done with a long shift, is super horny, but is also too tired to jerk off before he falls asleep.
He’s skinny, all sharp elbows and long fingers, and hunched awkwardly on the hospital bed in black jeans, scuffed boots, and an oversized sweater. His hair is black and messy, curling slightly around his ears. There are deep shadows under his eyes, and he has a notebook clutched to his chest like a shield.
His cheeks are faintly pink…maybe a little more than faintly, but Will's trying to be generous. His eyes, very dark and very tired looking, flick to Will’s face then away so quickly that Will almost misses it. Will, who has been awake for entirely too long and is, therefore, operating without a single ounce of emotional regulation, thinks, Well, that’s a damn shame.
Then he remembers why Mr. di Angelo is here and wants to slam his head into a wall.
“Hi!” Will says, trying for a bright tone, and steps into the room. “I’m Dr. Solace, but you can call me Will if you want.”
Mr. di Angelo looks at him again, critical this time. “It’s just Nico…Are you even old enough to be a doctor?”
Will sighs dramatically. “Sadly.”
“You look like someone put a twink in a washing machine, forgot about him overnight, and then dressed him in his mommy’s scrubs before sending him off to medical school.”
At that, Will can’t keep his jaw from falling open and a wounded sound from leaving his throat.
Nico's face immediately goes red. “I’m sorry!” Nico sputters. “That was so rude. That was supposed to be an inside thought. I have no excuse. I'm in pain.” Will isn't sure if the groan that follows his words is from the pain or the mortification, but it makes Will feel a little bad for him either way.
“Don’t worry. I should be able to help you with that.” Will offers what he hopes is a comforting smile and not the grimace of a man whose self esteem is now in the pits of Hell. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, examine your abdomen, and we’ll figure out what’s going on. Sound alright?”
“No.”
“Fair. We’ll need to do it anyway, but I appreciate the honesty.” Will nods with a snort. Nico makes a small sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn't cut off by a choked whimper.
Will sanitizes his hands and pulls up the rolling stool to the bed, though he has to nudge aside what appears to be a tote bag full of books to do it. There are at least six paperbacks poking out of it, all battered and decorated with a rainbow of sticky notes.
“Are you moving into the ED?” Will asks with a raised brow before he can muster the energy to stop himself.
“Emergency reading or, I guess, emotional support reading.” Nico huffs and glances at the bag.
“Ah. Of course. For the emergency department.” Will nods as if it is totally normal. Grant it, it's not the weirdest thing people have brought in today.
“I have anxiety.” Nico says defensively, and Will can't help the ugly snort that leaves him at the response.
“That tracks.” Based on Nico's suspiciously chewed-on looking nails and his tapping foot, Will could've guessed as much.
“I’m also a writer.” Nico blurts in further explanation.
“That tracks harder.”
Nico looked offended for half a second before his mouth twitches upwards.
Wanting to get down to business, Will glances down at the tablet. “Okay, Mr. di Angelo-”
“Again, it's Nico.” He interrupts, sounding pained. “Please. If you’re about to ask about my bowel movements, I refuse to be Mr. di Angelo. It makes me sound like my dad.”
Will dips his head in understanding. “Nico, then.”
“God.” Nico closes his eyes as if preparing for death.
“I promise, this is very routine.” Will reassures, tapping away at the tablet.
“For you, maybe.” Nico drops his head into his hands as if trying to disappear.
“True.” Unfortunately…but Will keeps that thought to himself.
“For me, this is my villain origin story.” His voice is muffled from where he looks like he’s trying to suffocate himself with his own hands
“Honestly, I’ve heard worse villain origin stories.” Will hums distractedly as he recalls the events of his day.
Nico lets one eye peek through his fingers. “Have you?”
Will, thinking about the shot glass man, cringes. “Yes.”
Nico seems to consider this, then he nods once. “That is both comforting and upsetting.”
“That’s medicine for ya, darlin’.”
As they begin, Will asks the questions as gently as possible. When did the discomfort start? Any vomiting? Any fever? Any blood? Any history of bowel problems, surgeries, chronic medications? Nico answers with the stiffness of a man providing testimony under extreme duress. Apparently, he hasn’t had a bowel movement in six days. He had tried stool softeners for two days. He’d eaten prunes, which he describes with a shiver. He had even drunk an amount of water that had, in his words, made him piss for five minutes straight. Nothing had worked…obviously.
“I Googled it…” Nico admits finally, voice low.
Will makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry.” Rule number one of emergency medicine: Patients always Google stuff. Be prepared.
“It said I was either fine or going to die via bowel explosion.” He groans in mortification.
“That’s what Google says about everything.” Will affirms…becauase it does. Not the bowel explosion, obviously, but the dying thing.
“I know that now.” Nico grumps, crossing his sweater covered arms around his chest.
“You didn’t before?” Doesn't everyone know that by now??
“I’m a writer. Research is my job. Unfortunately, I forgot that going to the internet for advice is worse than wandering into a haunted bog to hope the friendly neighborhood hag can help.”
Will laughs then. He can't help it. It just slips out of him, loud and surprised and genuine. When he finally collects himself, Nico is looking at him with wide eyes.
“What?” Will asks, blinking tears from his eyes.
“Nothing!” Nico says quickly. “You have a nice laugh.”
Will’s face warms at that, which is ridiculous. He's an adult. He was elbow-deep in a GSW four hours ago. He does NOT blush because a skinny, constipated writer told him he has a nice laugh. Except, apparently, he does.
“Thank you.” Will says, turning back to the tablet, poking around at nothing in an effort to look busy.
Nico appears to realize what he said because his eyes widen with horror. “No! Sorry! Well, not no. I meant it, but not in a, like, flirty way! I don’t usually flirt during gastrointestinal emergencies, I swear!”
“Usually?” Will chokes out, mind racing in a million different directions.
“Well-no. I don’t usually flirt at all. Not that many opportunities, to be honest. Writing is…uh…a solitary profession.”
Will bites the inside of his cheek to avoid saying something unprofessional. “Understandable.”
Nico groans and covers his face with the battered notebook. “I want you to know I was completely normal before this.”
“I believe you.” Will taps a comforting hand on the bed beside Nico's leg.
“You don’t actually, do you?” The blush is back, creeping down his neck now.
“I was being polite.” Will admits, withdrawing the hand. The notebook lowers just enough for Nico to glare over the top of it.
Will grins widely. Then, because he is still a doctor and Nico is still miserable, Will sets the tablet aside and gestures towards him. “I’m going to examine your abdomen now. I’ll just press in a few places. Tell me if anywhere hurts when I press, okay?”
Nico nods, stiffening as Will approaches the bed and instructions him to lay back. Will keeps his touch light and professional. Nico’s abdomen is tense, partly from discomfort and partly, Will suspects, from nerves. There’s no rebound tenderness, no intense guarding, and no signs of anything particularly catastrophic. There’s just some bloating and light discomfort.
“You’re not showing signs of an emergency surgical problem.” Will reassures after he finishes. “That’s good!”
“That is good.” Nico exhales harshly as he sits up.
“We’ll still review the X-ray when it comes back. Based on what you’re telling me, and assuming the image looks like how I expect it will, you’re still likely dealing with significant constipation. Since stool softeners haven’t worked, the next step is usually medication from…um…below.”
Nico stares at him, and Will watches as the words land. Like a slow motion car crash scene in a movie, Nico’s face crumples and fills with terror.
“No.” Nico whimpers, fingers gripping the notebook until they turn white.
“Nico-” Will winces in sympathy.
“No.”
“I know it sounds awful-” Will starts, but he's soon interrupted.
“No, you don’t!” Nico hisses back at him.
“I sort of do.” Will shrugs, trying to maintain a this is totally normal facade.
“Have you personally had an extremely handsome doctor tell you he has to-” Nico stops so abruptly that Will nearly drops the tablet as he's typing .
Silence fills the room. Nico closes his eyes. Will stops breathing. The monitor continues beeping steadily in the corner like it was enjoying the show.
Finally, in a tone as flat as paper is thin, Nico says, “I’ll be right back. I'm going to throw myself off the roof.”
“That would be a lot of paperwork for me. Also, it probably wouldn't kill you. I've checked.” Will says dumbly because, apparently, his brain decided now is a great time to stop working.”
Nico makes a wounded noise and curls in on himself. Will, attempting to find his professionalism where he had apparently dropped it somewhere between the words handsome and roof, clears his throat.
“I know this can be embarrassing-” He says gently. “But, I promise, this is common. We do this all the time. I’ll talk you through everything, and a nurse will be present to assist. We’ll keep you covered as much as possible. You’ll have privacy.”
Nico opens his eyes. He looks miserable and pale and, underneath all of that, still painfully pretty.
“It would be easier if you were mean, not all-” Nico makes a hand-wavy motion towards Will without meeting his eyes. Will’s chest does something strange and soft that has no place in an emergency department.
“Well-” Will says carefully. “I can ask my colleague Lou Ellen to come insult you, but she’s probably busy.”
The corner of Nico’s mouth quirks up for a moment. “Is she good at it?”
“She once told me that I look like a damp piece of straw with student loans.” Will admits with a fake frown. Thankfully, Nico makes a sound that is definitely a laugh this time. It’s small, but Will feels proud of himself.
A knock sounds outside the curtain before Percy sticks his head in, holding a tablet and wearing the maniacal expression of a man who’s seen both too much and not enough ED chaos.
“Hey, Will. X-ray’s up.”
“Thanks.” Will steps toward him, grateful for something to look at other than Nico’s embarrassed face and his own impending ethical crisis.
Percy leans in just enough to lower his voice. “Also, shot glass guy is fine. Took more lube than I expected, but I got it out.”
“I didn’t ask.” Will groans, eyes closing as he inhales a calming breath.
“I know, but you looked worried when Reyna presented the case.” Percy explains, voice pitched up in a whine.
Will just gives him a flat look in response. Only Jackson would mistake the worry on his face for worry for the patient and NOT worry that he'd have to fish a foreign object out of some guy's ass.
Percy glances past him at Nico and lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, man.”
Nico nods once, face drawn and weary.
Percy looks back at Will with a shrug. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I won’t. Go away.” Will shoos him away. Grinning, Percy gives him a two fingered salute before disappearing around the curtain.
Will pulls up the X-ray on the wall monitor, angling it so Nico doesn’t have to crane his neck to view it. Nico looks at the image for half a second, then grimaces.
“That’s me?”
“That’s you.” Will confirms grimly.
“I look…so full of shit.”
Will coughs to cover his laugh. “Medically speaking, you are full of shit.”
With a sigh, Nico leans back and drops his head against the pillow. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Will says as he tucks the tablet against his side and tries not to smile too widely. “The X-ray confirms constipation without signs of obstruction. So, the treatment I mentioned is appropriate.”
Nico stares at the ceiling, eyes blank. “The cursed waters.” He mutters, tone as serious as death.
Finally, Will loses the battle and laughs so loudly that he surprises even himself.
“Trust me. The enema isn't the cursed waters. The stuff that comes out is gonna be, though.”
“That’s so gross and unprofessional.” Nico squawks and makes a strangling motion around his own neck. “I can’t believe this is how I die.”
“You are not dying.” Will snorts, still laughing. Things go momentarily silent as Will types a few things into Nico's chart.
Nico's soft voice disrupts it.
“Will?”
“Yeah?” Will's eyes never stray from his notes.
“Are you sure it has to be you?” The question is so small and hesitant that Will feels it settle somewhere behind his ribs.
Lord, he is a shitty doctor. He’s been so focused on making the situation less awkward that he almost missed the hidden thing underneath Nico’s embarrassment. The poor guy is scared. Maybe not of the procedure itself, exactly, but of being exposed and vulnerable under fluorescent lights with a stranger who Nico's already felt embarrassed by.
Will softens his voice to answer. “It doesn’t have to be me. I’m your doctor, so I’m responsible for your care, but if you want someone else, we can arrange that. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Nico says, brusquely, so Will waits.
Nico twists his fingers in the edge of his sweater, paying attention to a few fraying threads. “I don’t want some random stranger. I just…I also don’t want it to be you because…you know…” He stops, shrugging.
“Because I’m what?” Will scrunches his eyebrows, unsure what the issue is.
“Tired.” Nico blurts, eyes firmly fixed on his hands. “You’re tired.”
Will raises an eyebrow as Nico’s ears pinken.
“...and handsome.” Nico mutters, looking wildly ashamed at himself.
Will, for his part, has to shut his eyes for a second, praying for strength and for his attending to smite him on the spot. When he opens them, Nico looks like he has achieved a new level of suffering.
“I’m sorry.” Nico says. “I don’t know why I keep saying these things. I think the constipation has reached my brain.”
“That is not physiologically possible, I don’t think.” Will huffs out a laugh, then sits back down on the stool, keeping a respectful and professional distance.
“Nico, I’m flattered.” Will starts, choosing every word very carefully. “I also want to be very clear. Right now, I’m your doctor. That means my priority is taking care of you safely and respectfully.”
Nico nods, looking mortified but attentive.
So, Will continues. “You’re allowed to be embarrassed. You’re allowed to make jokes. You’re allowed to say no or ask questions or request another clinician. But, I’m not going to treat you differently because you said something silly to me while you’re having the worst Tuesday of your life.”
“It’s Wednesday.” Nico replies faintly.
Confused, Will glances at the clock. Damn. It is, technically, Wednesday.
“Then I’m having the worst Tuesday of my life.” That gets another laugh out of Nico, weak but real.
“Okay.” Nico agrees after a moment. “You can do it. Just…please don’t judge me if I’m, like, weird about it.”
“I will be normal enough for the both of us. Super normal.” Will gives him a solemn nod. “Wait here. I’m going to grab a nurse to assist.”
Before Will can even move, as if by magic, Lou Ellen sweeps through the curtain carrying supplies and wearing a terrible grin.
“Alrighty!” She greets. “Who’s ready to have a terrible day?”
“Lou Ellen!” Will hissed, eyes widening as Nico makes a choking noise and sinks deeper into his sweater.
Lou Ellen turns to Nico. “Not you, sweetheart. You’re going to be fine. I was talking to Dr. Solace. He gets upset when the vending machine dies and the mechanic just told me he can’t fix it until Sunday.”
“I do not!” Will sighs, but he’s mentally back on the roof.
“You cried when the vending machine ate your dollar this morning.” Lou Ellen gripes traitorously.
“It was my last dollar.” Will defends himself. “And I knew that Dr. D made the coffee in the break room!”
Nico looks between them, eyebrows drawn together. “Is this part of the…treatment?”
“Yes!” “No.” Lou Ellen and Will say at the same time.
Lou Ellen just ignores him and addresses Nico with a competence so effortless that Will could have kissed her if that wouldn’t have resulted in immediate bodily harm and an HR complaint. She explains the process in plain language, tells Nico exactly what privacy measures they will use, and reassures him that she’ll stay in the room the whole time. Will steps out while Nico gets positioned, both to preserve his privacy and to drink water for the first time in seven hours.
Lucky for him, Percy finds him at the water fountain.
“You okay, man?”
“Jesus! Why are you always lurking?” Will clutches his chest, startled.
Percy looks at the pudding cup in his hand. “I was getting pudding.”
“From the water fountain!?”
“I took a wrong turn.” Percy lies effortlessly, shrugging as Will wipes a stray drop from his lip.
“I’m fine.” Will scrubs a hand over his face.
“You’re doing that thing where you say I’m fine like it means I’m one mild inconvenience away from jumping.” Percy squints.
“Go away.” Will points at him with a glare. "I'm not gonna jump. We've been over this. I'm completely mentally well."
“Sure thing. I’m here for you, buddy.” Percy salutes with his pudding cup before turning away and walking towards the nurses station.
Will takes one more breath before returning to the room. The next twenty minutes are, professionally, incredibly ordinary and, personally, the longest twenty minutes of his life.
Will remains calm, Lou Ellen remains practical, and Nico remains facedown in the pillow making occasional noises of muffled despair that Will pretends not to hear. Everything is done properly, professionally, and with as much dignity as the human body permits, which, frankly, is not always a generous amount.
When it is over, Will steps out to start charting so Nico can have some kind of privacy as Lou Ellen helps him through the...worst bits and the discharge paperworl.
“He’s fine.” She assures as she joins him at the nurses station. “Humiliated, but fine. I've got him all squared away”
“I knew he would be.” Will exhales.
“You like him.”
Will chokes, coughing on his own spit. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“He is a patient. That’s incredibly unprofessional!” Will barks, a little too defensively.
“That wasn’t a denial.” Lou Ellen prods in a sing-song voice.
“Lou Ellen.”
She gives him a look over the top of the supply cart. “I didn’t say to act on it, idiot. I said you like him. Unfortunately, you have no subtlety. .”
“I don’t?” Will is seconds away from reporting himself for patient harassment.
“You smiled at him using teeth.”
“I smile at patients all the time.” Will replies hopefully.
“Not with teeth.”
Will opens his mouth, finds no defense, and closes it again. Seeing his suffering, Lou Ellen’s expression softens, which is somehow worse. “For what it’s worth, he’s cute.”
“Please stop.” Will sighs as he pulls the keyboard closer.
“And funny.” She reminds him, as if Will somehow forgot already.
“I said please.” Will moans as he leans back in the swivel chair.
“And I don’t think he’s going to report you for being handsome during a medical procedure.”
Will stares at the ceiling, fingers flying over the keyboard from memory, before responding. “I hate this hospital.”
“No you don’t.” She laughs. “You hate that you met someone interesting during the least romantic clinical issue known to man.”
“Well,” Nico says from where he is, apparently, now standing next to Lou Ellen. Will has no idea when he got there. “This has been the worst meet-cute of my life.”
Will’s fingers slip away from the keyboard. Lou Ellen, from beside him, makes a noise that suggests she was pretending not to laugh and failing horribly.
Will looks at Nico, who’s looking back with a flush.
“I mean-” Nico corrects quickly. “Medical encounter. This has been the worst medical encounter of my life. Not because of you. You were great. Medically. As a doctor. With your hands. No. Not-” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”
Will bites his lip hard enough to hurt. “Nico-”
“Nope. Gotta go!” He shoves the discharge papers into his tote bag, misses, tries again, misses harder, then looks like he might simply abandon all of his possessions and flee.
Will takes pity on him, walks around the desk, and removes the papers from his trembling hand.
“Here-” he says softly and places the papers in his bag. While doing so, their fingers brush.
It’s nothing. Actually, it’s less than nothing. It’s a standard, accidental transfer of contact between a doctor and a patient. However, Nico is staring at their hands with a wavering frown.
Will withdraws first because he has ethics and a pager and the survival instincts of a man who knew Lou Ellen was two feet away.
“Take care of yourself.” Will smiles apologetically and steps back.
Nico nods. “You too, Dr. Solace.”
“Will.” He corrects automatically, causing Nico’s expression to soften.
“Will.” Nico repeats quietly. Then he leaves, nearly walks into the doorframe, and disappears into the emergency department waiting area with flushed cheeks.
Will stands there for a moment, staring after him mournfully.
Lou Ellen sighs and leans her shoulder against the desk. Her teasing expression fades into something gentler. “You’re a good doctor, Will. You did right by him. That doesn’t mean you have to pretend you didn’t notice he was charming.”
“I didn’t notice.” And he didn’t. Because Nico wasn’t charming. He was awkward, a little rude, and sooo pretty…just how Will likes ‘em.
Before Lou Ellen can say whatever mean thing she’s thinking, his pager goes off. Thankfully, room seven needs him
Life, relentless and understaffed, moves on. For three weeks, Will does not think about Nico di Angelo. Well, that’s a lie. For three weeks, Will thinks about Nico di Angelo a completely normal amount.
He thinks about him while drinking bad coffee. He thinks about him while suturing a hand laceration. He thinks about him while standing in the grocery store at midnight trying to decide whether ramen counted as dinner if he added an egg and some chopped green onions. He thinks about him when he finds, tucked behind one of the monitors at the nurses station, a battered black notebook.
At first, Will assumes it belongs to one of the medical staff. People leave things at the desk all the time. Phone chargers, hoodies, water bottles, whatever. But, when he opens the cover, intending to look for a name so he can put the notebook by the appropriate locker, he sees three words written in elegant, slanted cursive.
Nico di Angelo.
Underneath that, in much smaller print, was a single line.
If found, please do not read unless you want to be haunted or, at the very least, mentally scarred.
Will shuts the notebook immediately. Then, he reopens it just enough to confirm that there’s no phone number listed anywhere on the page.
There’s not.
“Whatcha doin’?” Lou Ellen questions from behind him, peering over his shoulder. Will jumps so hard that the notebook nearly flies out of his hand.
“Lord, woman. Are you tryin’ to scare me to death?” Will gasps, breathless.
“Nah. I’m just that good.” She smirks like the evil person she is.
“I wasn’t reading it.” Will clarifies like she has any idea what he’s talking about. Obviously, she doesn’t because she just raises a questioning eyebrow at him.
Will holds up the notebook. “He left this.” Emphasizing so that she knows exactly who he’s referring to.
“Oh cool! Now, call him.”
“There’s no number.” Will admits with a pout. He really would if there was one listed.
“Look him up.” Lou Ellen tells him slowly.
“That feels…invasive.” Will scrunches his face, uncomfortable at the potential violation of privacy.
“Didn’t he tell you he’s a writer? Don’t they, like, want to be looked up?” She asks, shrugging her shoulders.
Will does not look him up…for two days. On the third day, he’s post-shift, half delirious from exhaustion, and eating cereal from a mug because all of his bowls are dirty. As he munches, his laptop sits open on the kitchen table, mocking him. The notebook rests beside it, accusatory and black. Will stares at it, and the notebook stares back…metaphorically.
“This is stupid” Will says to his empty apartment. His apartment, which has unreliable heating, a leaking faucet, and an unpaid electricity bill on the counter, does not answer.
Will types “Niccolò di Angelo” and “writer” into the search bar. The first result is a website. From the website, Will finds an event listing at a small, independent bookstore called The Labyrinth.
NICO DI ANGELO IN CONVERSATION WITH RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE
Reading and Signing for his new book titled Bodies That Burn
Saturday, 7:00 PM
The Labyrinth
Will stares at the date. Saturday is tomorrow. Biting his lip, Will stares at the notebook. Then, he glances at his own reflection on the laptop screen. Nico was right. He really does look like a waterlogged twink.
On Saturday evening, Will stands outside The Labyrinth holding Nico’s notebook in one hand, wearing the only button-down shirt he owns. He’d slept for six hours, which made him feel less like a corpse and more like a zombie, which is an improvement. His hair’s still refusing to cooperate, but he’d given up after the third attempt at taming it with pomade. He had to rewash it to get the product out and just decided to let it air dry. Who knows? Maybe Nico’s into the electrified poodle look.
From the outside, the bookstore looks warm and narrow, crammed between a bakery and a laundromat. Plants hang in the windows and stained glass lamps light up the doorway. A chalkboard sign out front reads:
TONIGHT: NICO DI ANGELO
PLEASE DO NOT ASK IF THE CURTAIN COLOR IS A METAPHOR.
IT IS.
HE’S TIRED.
Will laughs despite himself.
Inside, the place smells like paper, coffee, and dust. Rows of mismatched chairs are set up between shelves, and a small crowd has gathered, all murmuring softly with books in their laps. At the front of the room, Nico sits beside a red-haired woman in green glasses, looking much less medically distressed than the last time Will had seen him.
Nico wears black trousers, a soft gray shirt, and a dark jacket embroidered along the cuffs with tiny silver skeletons. His hair curls around his ears, more purposefully than before. Silver rings adorn his fingers, the biggest being a skull. He still looks tired, sure, but he also looks alive in a way Will hadn’t gotten to see in the hospital. Animated and excited. Beautiful, if Will’s being honest.
Taking a steadying breath, Will snags the last seat in the back row. For the next hour, Will listens as Nico reads from his book.
It’s good…annoyingly good. The prose is strange and dark and aching, threaded with subtle humor that’s sharp enough to draw blood. The story’s about a teenage girl whose touch burns people with bad intentions, or something, who falls in love with her neighbor. Will stops listening after a while, not wanting spoilers, because the book sounds pretty good and he actually wants to read it.
When the reading ends, people line up for the signing. Will considers leaving the notebook with a bookseller and fleeing. However, Nico looks up just as Will is about to chicken out.
When their eyes meet from across the room, Nico freezes, pen raised mid signature. Unsure how to function like a normal person, Will lifts one hand and throws up a peace sign.
Nico’s face goes through several expressions at once. First, surprise, then recognition, then horror. Thankfully, it eventually settles into something soft, even if Nico’s eye twitches every time he glances at Will. The woman, Rachel, must notice because she leans over and whispers something to him that has Nico nearly knocking over his glass of water onto a patron’s book
Will, who’s dealt with open fractures more gracefully than this, stays in line.
By the time he reaches the table, Nico looks composed enough. His eye has stopped twitching, at least
“Dr. Solace.” Nico nods in greeting.
“Will.” He reminds Nico with a smile.
“Y-yeah. Sure. Will.” The silence stretches between them, then, long and a bit painful.
Rachel, who’s now sitting beside him, looks between them with the delighted expression of someone who has just stumbled into some S-tier gossip.
“You must be the doctor.” She grins broadly. It’s a little freaky. She looks like a shark wearing a red wig.
Nico makes a strangled sound deep in his throat as Will blinks. “The doctor?”
Rachel leans forward conspiratorily. “He has thirteen paragraphs written in his notes app dictating how it is possible to die from being embarrassed in front of someone with nice hands and puppy eyes.”
Nico closes his eyes as if preparing for death as Will’s ears go hot.
Rachel smiles beatifically, delighted by the reaction. “I’m Rachel.”
“Will.” He replies faintly, brain having fallen out of his right ear.
“Trust me, doll. I know.”
Nico lowers his hands enough to glare at her. “I am going to put you in my next book and kill you creatively.”
“You already did that.” She snorts and crosses her arms. “Unoriginal.”
“I’ll do it again.”
Unsure if it is appropriate to interrupt their…banter, Will sets the notebook on the table gently. “You left this at the hospital.”
“You came here to return my notebook?” Nico stares at it, but he doesn’t pick it up.
“Yeah.” Will shrugs.
“You could have mailed it.” Nico sighs, sounding a little desperate.
“There wasn’t an address. I looked.”
Rachel makes a small noise of joy. Nico glares at her again before taking the notebook. His fingers brush the cover like he’s reassuring himself that it’s actually real.
“Thank you.” Nico says quietly. “Really.”
“I didn’t read it.” Will promises, remembering the warning.
“I know.” Nico finally smiles, dry lips stretching wide.
“How?”
Nico looks at him through dark lashes before trailing his gaze along Will’s form. “You look like the type who wouldn’t. Too…good.”
Will’s throat goes dry and his brain returns to his head just long enough to fall out of the other ear.
“I need coffee.” Rachel exclaims and stands abruptly.
Nico snaps his head toward her. “No you don’t!”
“I need so much coffee.” She emphasizes and flicks a significant gaze towards Will.
“We are in the middle of a signing!” Nico pleads.
“He’s literally the last person in line, Nico.” Rachel gestures to the rest of the line which…yeah, doesn’t exist.
“Rachel.” Nico’s eyes go wide and his lips pout. It makes him look young and a little pathetic. Very cute, in Will’s humble opinion.
She pats his shoulder. “Proud of you.” Then, she leaves them alone. Nico, bless his heart, stares after her with a look of open betrayal.
Will clears his throat to speak, but Nico beats him to it.
“So…did you, um, like my book?” Nico grimaces, looking uncomfortable now that it’s just the two of them.
“I actually haven’t read it yet. I bought it when I walked in.” Will smiles. “But it sounds good!”
Nico laughs, and there it is, that weird feeling Will gets when he’s becoming obsessed with something. Unfortunately, the laughing stops too quickly and Nico’s smile falters.
“I should apologize.” He says.
“For what?” Will is confused. Nico hasn’t done anything…right?
“For the hospital.” His face flushes. “For being weird. For flirting with the hot doctor while literally constipated. It wasn’t my finest moment..”
Will leans one hand on the table, smirk playing at his lips. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do. You were working. You were kind and professional and I was-”
“Constipated?” Will interrupts before Nico can continue to disparage himself.
“Yes.” Nico closed his eyes and sighs. “You’re meaner outside the hospital.”
“I’m off duty.” Will hints about as subtly as a billboard.
Nico looks at him then, really looks at him.
“Are you?” Nico leans a bit closer as he asks, causing Will’s breath to catch.
This is the line. He can feel it under his feet. Thankfully, Nico looks like he wants to hop, skip, AND jump right over it.
“I am.” Will whispers. “And you’re not my patient anymore.”
“I’m not.” Nico replies sounding equally as breathless.
“And I’m asking you out becau-”
“You’re asking me out?” Nico’s fingers tighten around his pen, and he leans back with a start.
“I mean, I was building up to it.” Will laughs, straightening up from where he was leaning against the table. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“No!” Nico says much too quickly, then winces. “I mean, no, don’t not ask me. Please ask me. Please ask me out. Fuck. I’m totally normal, I swear.”
“You’re great.” Will reassures with a smile, feeling suddenly braver than he had any right to be. “Would you like to get coffee with me sometime? Or dinner. Or, honestly, anything that doesn’t happen under fluorescent lighting?”
Nico looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a frown, he says, “I can’t do coffee.”
Will’s smile falters, and, briefly, Will feels like crying.
Nico’s eyes widened. “No, not like that. I mean, caffeine makes me anxious, and after recent events, I’ve been told to maintain a more responsible relationship with my digestive tract.”
Will stares at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter so loud that he has to brace himself against the table.
Nico’s face goes pink, but he’s smiling too.
“Dinner.” Nico says, forcing the word out between giggles. “I could do dinner.”
“Dinner sounds amazing.” There Will goes, leaning a bit too close to Nico than he has any right to in public.
“Somewhere with vegetables.” Nico adds gravely, causing Will to laugh again.
“I’m free Wednesday.” Will grins.
Nico’s face becomes startled, as if he can’t quite believe the conversation survived all the way to this point.
“Wednesday.” He confirms with a smile right before Rachel reappears with a cup of coffee and the subtlety of a fire alarm.
“Great!” She says. “He’s free Wednesday. Nico, sign the nice doctor’s book so we can close down the shop.”
With an embarrassed laugh, Nico takes Will’s copy of the book from him and opens it on the table. His pen hovers over the title page for a moment.
What should I write?” Nico asks shyly, looking up at him with doe eyes and a blush.
“Surprise me.” Will shrugs.
Nico smiles down at the book as he writes. His hand moves quickly, elegant and sure. When he finishes, he closes the cover and slides it back across the table.
Will takes it. Again, their fingers brush. However, this time, neither of them pull away.
“Wednesday?” Will asks, letting his fingers run purposefully across Nico’s knuckles.
“Wednesday.” Nico affirms, shivering lightly from the touch.
Will leaves the bookstore with Nico’s number in his phone, the book under his arm, and a feeling in his chest that feels suspiciously like hope.
When he gets home, he opens the book to the title page.
In Nico’s sharp, slanted handwriting, the note reads:
To Will,
Thank you for returning what I lost, for not reading what wasn’t yours, and for being kind during the most humiliating event of my adult life.
I promise to be more mysterious and sexy on Wednesday.
-Nico
Will laughs so loudly that his downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.
Immediately, Will whips out his phone and messages Nico before he can overthink it.
WILL: You’re always sexy 😼
The reply comes less than a minute later.
NICO: Weirdo…thanks tho <3
Will smiles at his phone. Then, for the first time in weeks, he goes to bed before midnight. He dreams of burnt out houses, black notebooks, and a man with dark eyes who laughs like he’s surprised every time joy finds him. It’s nice. Will isn’t even mad when his horny-brain sleep paralysis demon appears, looking exactly like Nico, after his next 24 hour shift.