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The door creaked. "Will?" Nico asked. Will looked up from his papers, blinking back to reality.
"Yes, hon'?" Nico blushed just slightly at the name—no matter how many times Will had called him as such, it always threw him for a loop.
It was as if he just swept the rug from under his feet but beneath it was a soft and fluffy foam pit that held him gently. Terror followed by the utter feeling of safety.
"I need to tell you something." Nico murmured, twiddling his thumbs.
Will put down his papers and played with a pen, something he did because Nico felt better knowing Will was actually paying attention.
"Go on," Will gave a miniscule smile. Nico bit his lip, opened his mouth--nothing came out.
He huffed and stomped his foot, running a hand through his hair. His finger was bleeding from where he picked off a scab.
Will stood up, holding Nico's hands as if he were precious. And with holding his hands he held the frustration and angst, letting it flow through their hands and out Will's feet deep, deep into the soil.
Nico's shoulders relaxed.
"Let's get a band-aid, no?" Will prompted. Nico nodded.
"Mm," Will rifled through his drawer before holding up two. "Stars or moon?"
Nico hummed. "Stars," he said, also pointing.
Will nodded and began tearing it open with skill only made for people who did the same thing hundreds of times a day.
He peeled a side off, was so, so, so careful to line it up in a way it wouldn't be weird and poke him and make him want to scratch his eyes out—
"I love you."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Fuck, fuck- "I mean I think I do. I think it's love. I- it's the closest I-I think I've ever had. I- I don't-"
His stuttering was interrupted by lips on his.
Soft lips—cherry, he thought the flavor of chapstick.
Cherries and cherries and cherries assaulted his mind.
Then soft, soft.
Soft pressing and running against the sharp and cracked lips of his own. A mild wet sensation, almost like a damp cloth pressing against his mouth.
And warm. It was so, so warm—surely, the heat that flooded his body and made his bones mush was not normal? If it was, Nico feared himself addicted.
And gods did he want to be. He craved it now, craved it like water, like air. Like the smell of fresh dirt or big caves or clean stone.
But he was blinking and suddenly Will wasn't there. Wasn't touching him. Wasn't maintaining the contact that had silenced his mind of every outside sensation.
He jolted forward and grabbed Will's forearm, then his shirt and then the collar of his shirt and suddenly his fingers were tracing the contours of Will's face and he didn't know what to do with that.
"Oh—sorry," Nico began quickly, backing up. He knew his face was red.
Will pulled him back in, a smile tugging at his lips—not new. Familiar.
"Is my Nico back to earth?" He asked—rhetorically, probably, but Nico didn't notice quick enough.
"I was always on Earth. I was right here. Did you black ou- oh. Metaphor." Nico realized when Will starred shaking his head—fondly, he thought.
He ducked away from the eye contact, not liking it at all but especially not that close.
"It's okay." Will leaned his head to whisper beside Nico's head. "I think I love you too."