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Nico sat on Will’s bunk in Cabin 7, pencil in hand. He never considered himself a ‘good’ artist, but he didn’t think he was bad either. Intermediate, he believed was the word. He enjoyed the way images in his head came to life beneath his fingers—from something intangible to something he could hold.
Will was plucking at strings on a harp, eyes closed to let the music flow. He was not as skilled as his siblings in music, especially not the harp, but he said it helped him feel connected to his Apollon divinity in times of stress.
This notebook he had in his hands had been gifted to him by none other than the Will he was semi-ogling. It was black—“You can put stickers on it, see?” Will had said when he gifted it to him, stamping a large skeleton sticker on the middle—and spiral bound, Nico’s preference. How Will knew that in the first place, he didn’t know, but now every book he’s given to use is spiral bound.
It was meant to be used as a diary, Will said. For anything he needed to get out of his system.
Sounds great. Real trauma-helpful.
The issue?
Nico didn’t know how to write.
Reading, he could… figure it out. Maybe.
But writing any bigger-than-three-letter word? He’d have better luck crossing Tartarus again.
It was a long, long game of sounding out painstakingly each and every word, then guessing Is that a c or a k? How do I write a q again? How many n’s in running?
So, kindly—screw that. He’d rather just draw. Less stressful, which is the point of journaling in the first place, no?
He was drawing a dracaena, one he remembered from during the Titan War when he was little. She tried seducing him to get him go come closer from his little cave he was hiding in, but upon realizing he had no interest, she just attacked.
Nico shudders remembering it, when he was so little and grief ridden… six years ago, now. He still has the chunk taken out of the top of his ear to remember it.
“Oh—hi.” Nico looked down to see Will flopping down on the top bunk with him.
“Wanna talk about it?” Will asked, purposefully not peering at the book in Nico’s hands.
“About what?”
“Whatever you’re writing.”
Nico’s cheeks burned. He hadn’t told anyone he couldn’t read or write. He just always made Will read the menus at restaurants because “It would take me too long to decide that way.” Not wrong, not the truth. Lying by omission, perhaps?
“Um.” Nico traced the side of his nail along the metal spine. “I…” He tilted the book so Will could see it didn’t have any words. “Cant… write.” He spat out quickly, “Or read.”
Will’s silence didn’t last long, but the sounds that followed weren’t what Nico expected. It was laughter.
“Excuse me?” Nico couldn’t help but have the corners of his lips tilt up too.
Will was giggling now, a hand over his mouth. “That explains so much!”
Nico swatted Will’s blond curls, tugging a piece and rolling away to face the wall.
Will quickly tilted Nico’s head back and pressed about a hundred thousand kisses on his face quickly. “No, no, no, I’m not laughing at you baby. I just noticed that you don’t usually read things or you struggle with instructions sometimes unless someone explains them.”
Nico huffed, sticking his tongue out. Will booped it. Ew.
Will snickered. “Hon, I could’ve taught you.”
Nico rolled his eyes. “I’m dyslexic.”
“I am too. But I took lessons and can read really well now.”
Nico held the notebook to his face. “But I’m so dyslexic. I barely even can read Italian, I was literally held back in school. Do you know how crazy that is in catholic private school?”
“Okay, okay—it’s worth a try though, right?”
Stupid Will and his stupid optimism and his stupid smile and his stupid way to make Nico feel optimistic too…
“Maybe.”