Archive of Our Own

Will stole his older cousin’s cologne for this, and now it’s starting to smell rank. Could it be that this harsh gym fluorescent lighting is making the smell worse? Could it be that he shouldn’t trust anything he gets from his older cousin that smokes cigarettes for a living? Jeez. Will starts to wonder if this body spray (that is advertised to smell like axes, but how could a body spray even smell like an ax?) is pushing everyone away from him, and that’s why he’s alone in the corner of his high school gym. Maybe Nico can smell it, and that’s why he’s not here, at their first high school homecoming dance, like he promised he would be. 

Will pulls the sleeves of his sweater tight. It’s white. He knew Nico would be wearing black, so he tried to match. Opposing colors and all. It’s supposed to be cute, but now he feels silly wearing it when their school colors are purple and gold, which doesn’t match with his white sweater. If Nico was here it would make sense (maybe) but Nico is not here so now Will is alone at his first school dance of his high school career. 

He’s only fourteen. This is the start of his raucous teenage years. This is a good standing-up to teach him about the cruelties of the world. 

But he can do the macarena. There’s two and a half hours left of this party, and his mom can’t pick him up til at least another two. So, hey, he should show off that really fantastic macarena that he’s been practicing. 

Will is twenty-seven, an adult, and he knows now that the macarena isn’t a popularity magnet. He also knows now how to make a mean casserole and where to buy the biggest box of band-aids money can buy. And today he learned he can take the subway into Brooklyn from his tiny place in Queens without ruining said casserole. It’s a wonder what growing up does to a person! 

He walks down the five blocks to Percy’s new home while holding the casserole dish completely level, like his mother taught him to do before he moved away to college (he could never get it right at fourteen, and the casserole would always mix in the dish). He knocks on the door while holding the dish on his hip, and when a voice from inside cries it’s open! he slides in, bumping his shoulder on the doorway, setting foot in an adult housewarming party. 

Annabeth– it has to be Annabeth, based on the photo on Percy’s phone wallpaper– greets him in the doorway. She begins “Oh, you must be Will” until he cuts her off. 

“Hi! You’re Annabeth, right? I’m Will, a friend of Percy’s.” 

Annabeth, who was already smiling, laughs. She takes the casserole from Will’s perfectly level hold. “Any friend of Percy’s is a friend of mine. He’s just stepped out to grab the napkins I forgot to buy, but I have some other people here you can meet. Thank you so much, by the way.” 

Which is how Will began five hours of talking to multiple people he had never met (but who all knew each other), plus one person he had met once. People spilled in, praising the choice of furniture (“How did you snag this couch, Annabeth?” “Snagged it off Facebook Marketplace, you have to thank Sally for teaching me how to do that.”) and awwing over Annabeth’s story of how she got the house (“I had to battle every line of red tape imaginable, but hey, I’m not going to pass up a five minute walk from the train and a kitchen that can fit three standing people, so I fought!”)

Will swims in a sea of people as the party goes on. He misses seeing Percy as he walks in with napkins, but eventually food is served and everyone is settled in a circle in Percy and Annabeth’s living room, squished in the Facebook Marketplace couch, perched on the windowsill, leaning against the bookshelf. 

Will is half sitting, half standing against the arm of the couch. To his right, a man with the dirtiest glasses he has ever seen is listening to a rant from someone Will only knows as the one who is struggling to become a TikTok sensation. To his left, seated on the end of the couch, someone who Will is yet to talk to is mixing hummus on his paper plate. 

Starting conversations is a skill learned with age, and, at twenty-seven, Will has mastered it. He taps the arm of the couch, catching this man’s attention. “Hey,” he says with the smile that has earned him his second high school boyfriend, his college best friend, and even the approval of his internship supervisor his third year of college (even when he really, really deserved to be fired). “I don’t think I’ve met you yet. I’m Will.” 

The man takes a pita chip and dips it. “Nico. Hi.” 

“Well, nice to meet you Nico. I appreciate you taking my casserole, by the way.” 

Nico chuckles. “I liked the green beans.” He puts the pita chip with the hummus in his mouth, silent as he chews. 

“Me too! Honestly, I find a way to eat them whenever I can. My mom called me insane for asking for them as a kid, and then my subsequent roommates, but now I can eat them in freedom.” 

Nico laughs fully now. “I’m happy you have discovered that.” He uses another chip to thoroughly mix his hummus. “While you do that, I’m discovering that this dip thing is really good.” 

“Oh, hummus?” 

“Is that what it is?” He pops the second chip in his mouth. “Never had it before. Has a nice bite.” 

“Oh, yeah, the spiced ones have a good kick. I try to snag the garlicky ones if Trader Joe's has them in stock.” Will knows right here, right now, two hours into the house warming party, that he will be replaying this conversation on the long train ride back to Queens. Green beans? Garlic hummus? What is he talking about? His only solace is that he’ll probably never see this Nico again, and this Nico will probably forget his name in two months. Memory is fickle, and now it must work in his favor, please. 

Nico pauses. His eyes are hidden behind a fallen strand of his long hair, but his hands, decorated in silver rings, are frozen. “This isn’t garlicky,” he says. 

Will shrugs. He doesn’t speak in fear of bringing up another cringe food. 

From across the room, Percy speaks up. “Will is here! You guys, did I ever tell you how I met Will?” The room breaks out into no s and one shit, that dude never told me? Percy responds with, “It’s the best story.” He stands up, placing his paper plate on the thrifted and hand-painted coffee table, and says, “It was two weeks ago, first snow of the year. Just a bit of snow, you remember? I had a work conference which kept me out late, and I made it to the train station at, like, eleven. And, as you know, the MTA want us all dead, so there’s no salt on the stairs and I slip down, rolling down the whole flight like I’m a carpet being rolled out for fucking Mayor Eric Adams–” the group breaks out into laughs– “yeah! That guy! Now I make it to the ground, but I realize that the MTA has given me the wonderful gift of a broken ankle now. So I’m writhing on the floor, asking God why me, and suddenly Will comes down the opposite staircase and he’s like, wait, I’m a doctor!” 

“I did not say that!” Will bursts, earning more laughter, even from frozen Nico. “I took you to the ER–” 

“Carried me–” 

“And I stayed with him until he was given the clear to go. That’s all.” 

“I have never bonded with someone faster. I told him about the Mrs. Dodd’s fiasco in sixth grade.” 

“And I told him about Larry the squirrel.” 

“What a story that was!” 

“Who,” says the wannabe TikTok influencer, who the man with the dirty glasses now has his arms wrapped around, “the hell is Larry the squirrel?” 

“Oh my God,” Percy says, “Will, you have to tell the story, please!” 

So Will smiles bashfully and begins to tell the tale of the squirrel that broke into his high school, naming all the names he could. In a pause for comments, Nico stands up. Will immediately feels the shift in the couch. Nico slides into the hallway, and Will fiddles with his paper cup as the wanna be TikTok star (who he just learned is named Leo) asks him a question. 

Thanks to Percy’s story, Will becomes a fixture of the conversation. Not only are people listening to his stories and comments, but he is doing the same for others, too. And they all enjoy his casserole! 

After some time of laughing and talking, Will realizes his paper cup has been empty for quite some time now. He excuses himself, skirting around extended legs and paper plates, and navigates through the foreign and lovingly-decorate hallway into the kitchen. 

Nico is there, pacing in a circle near the sink– exactly where Will wants to be. “Oh, hi,” Will says. His need for water is forgotten. Nico doesn’t respond to his greeting. “Nico, are you okay?” Will asks, softly shutting the kitchen door– which was closed before he entered. 

“Fine,” he says. His hands, which were once still, are now shaking. “Uh, cool story.” 

“Oh, thanks!” 

“You, uh, must’ve went to a big high school.” 

Will chooses to ignore Nico’s pacing that is definitely wearing out the sparkling kitchen tile. “Yeah, four thousand kids can get crazy.” 

“And you said you went to GSAS,” Nico replies, pronouncing the acronym as gee-sas. “Gourdmore School for the Arts and Sciences.” 

“Yep. Everyone called us–” 

“Gassy.” 

“Hah! Yeah, they–” 

“Will, we went to high school together.” Nico punctuates his statement by pivot turning, his boots squeaking, and puking his guts into the sink. Will jumps in shock and drops his cup. 

“Oh my good–” 

“It’s fine!” Nico says once the first burst is done. “I need to get it out.” 

“Get what out!?” 

“The fucking sesame!” Nico yells, still bent over the sink. The energy to yell pulled another burst of vomit out from him. 

Will closes his eyes and covers them with his free hand. Above the sound of vomit hitting the previously-scrubbed sink, he says, “Oh, are you allergic to sesame?” 

The vomiting stops. The only sound in the kitchen is Nico’s heavy breathing. “Yes,” he stays, still bent over. But as he continues to speak, he slowly rises up. “But it’s over now. All I need to do is throw up and the reaction is completely over.” He hastily rips a piece of paper towel from the nearby roll and wipes his face. “See?” He turns around. “Perfectly fine. My throat isn’t closed up anymore. My tongue isn’t itchy. I can eat again in an hour.” 

“It was the hummus,” Will sighs. He steps forward, leaving his enclosure by the door. “You didn’t know–” 

“Shut up, Solace.” Nico turns his back again to grab a sponge and squirt dish soap on it. 

Will doesn’t fight the heat wave that crashes onto him. “How do you know my last name?” 

Nico’s sigh is quick and deadly, like a stab to the gut from a trained professional. “Because I’m Nico di Angelo.” 

Then it all comes crashing back: freshman homecoming, the white sweater, the macarena. Then more: their first kiss while waiting for the third public bus after the first two had taken a bulk of the school, Nico’s breathed yes when Will asked him to be his boyfriend, the first phone call where they talked about nerd media for three hours. Then finally: how it all crashed down at that homecoming dance. 

Nico turns on the tap to clean up his own vomit. Will picks his paper cup off the floor. He leaves the kitchen, softly shutting the door behind him, with no water in his cup. 

Will didn't see Nico at school for a week after the homecoming stand up. They didn't have any classes together, but Will still found himself alone by his locker in the morning for the first two days. On the third day, Nico didn't show up to the GSA meeting, and Will decided that he and Nico were over. One hundred percent done-zo. Will led the crusade into his single life blazing Picture to Burn from his iPod, refusing to let the end of his two month romance ruin his high school career. 

Nico returns to school one week after the homecoming stand up, but he doesn't come to the GSA meeting. Will only knows he has returned to school because he spots him lurking in the corner of the library during a period Will knows he has class. Sitting in the corner, slumped between the shelf for fantasy books and the shelf for contemporary YA, fingers fiddling with his rings (a new one sparkles, catching Will's eye from across the library). Not even the stomp of Will's light up Sketchers can get Nico to lift his head. 

Will intended to grab Nico by the collar of his ratty aviator jacket, pull him up four inches to his height, and glare into those eyes that were focused on everything but Will Solace that homecoming night. But Will's feet stop their battle charge when he realizes that Nico, still, isn't looking up. What is he looking at? Is he asleep? 

Something stirs in Will's gut, like butterflies giving their last flap before letting a sickness consume them. "Nico?" he says in his normal speaking voice. He then realizes his mistake and crouches down to Nico's level. The fabric of his jeans pulls at his knees. "Nico?" he repeats, quieter this time. "Are you okay?" No response. Will slides himself so he's sitting next to Nico, the shelf behind him digging into his shoulder blades. "I missed you at homecoming." Will is surprised that those words aren't dripping with malice the way he thought they'd be when he imagined their confrontation over the past week. 

Nico's head lifts slightly, but it drops again, like he wanted to look at Will but then had second thoughts. "Homecoming," he says, his breath wrapping around his words so that it sounds like a gust of wind. 

"Yeah, you stood me up," Will says with a laugh. 

"I stood you up," Nico says. 

"Uh, yeah? I was waiting for you the whole dance. People were looking at me weird because I stood in the corner alone for the first hour." 

"It must've been so hard for you." 

Now the anger is returning. "Yeah, it was. Where were you? You couldn't call? You know my house number, don't lie to me." 

"Hah." It's not a laugh. "I was busy." 

"Too busy to spend time with your boyfriend?" 

"Will, stop." 

All the butterflies are dead in Will's gut, and their decaying corpses are clouding his thoughts. "No. Actually, Nico, I really liked you. I thought we had something special. But now I can see you're a coward." 

Nico's head snaps up. "I am not a coward." 

"Yes, you are!" 

"And you're obsessed with me," Nico hisses, like a python about to swallow it's prey. "You asked me to be your boyfriend after knowing me for two hours! You call every night and–" 

"Because I like you! And you like me!" 

"Will, you're such a self-absorbed asshole!" Nico's volume alerts the people sitting at the three closest tables. "Not everything revolves around you!" 

"Nico, we're boyfriends, we're supposed to–" 

Nico stands. In one fell swoop, he rips the beaded bracelet Will got him for their one month anniversary off his wrist and tosses it at Will's feet. The beads crash to the floor, scattering under tables and the shelves and the audience's feet. "Take your fucking bracelet. I hope you kill yourself tonight. I hope you get over your obsession with me so I can finally find peace." 

Will stands, too. He steps on a bead and it digs through his shoe to stab his foot. "Go fuck yourself, di Angelo. And I'm not fucking obsessed with you! You're just a coward who can't handle commitment!" 

"Yeah, keep it coming, Will, I totally regret standing you up at the homecoming dance now." 

"You should! You really should!" 

This is where Nico punches Will in the face. The alarming sound of silver rings on soft skin makes the crowd go wild. "Kill. Your. Self. Solace." 

"Fuck you." 

Nico laughs bitterly. "Don't worry, I got your mom to help me do that." 

That is the last conversation Will and Nico will have for thirteen years. 

Will returns to the house warming party and realizes it's time to leave. He feels bitter to leave the party when he was just beginning to find his groove, but after running into Nico di Angelo, his two month high school boyfriend, and watching him throw up, Will fears that he will not find his groove again tonight. 

As he says his goodbyes, the man with the dirtiest glasses stops him. "We should keep in touch," he says. "Do you have Instagram?" 

So that's how Will gets everyone in the circle's Instagram. But, as he is waiting for his train (minus casserole dish, because he was not going back into the kitchen to retrieve it), he can't help but peruse his new Instagram friends' profiles. It doesn't take long for him to find a photo of Nico on Hazel's profile, the second most recent one taken at a graduation. 

The post is captioned: congrats on your masters & never having to write another paper ever again nico! i'm so proud of you <3 

On auto-pilot, which he has perfected from years of internet stalking, he checks the comments. There's only two, one from Percy (the last pic looks like we're at a baby shower and nico is the baby) , which an account named di.angelo.nico responded with i hope you die. Will is comforted to know that Nico still wishes death upon those who wrong him. 

Will taps the username and is led to a private account. The profile picture is a large black dog, and the bio just has his name and a lyric from a song that Will feels like he should know but can't remember. Underneath the bio, Instagram tells him that five people he knows follow Nico, so he should, too, right?

Will remembers Nico slumped in the library, the cuts on his own cheek from Nico's rings, and all the times Will heard his name be spat out of Nico's mouth to another person when they had the misfortune of passing each other in the school halls. Not for the first time since becoming an adult, Will feels all the regret, shame, and guilt rest on his chest like a warm, hand-knit straightjacket. He lets his neck lean as far back as he can while sitting on the narrow train station bench. 

He still doesn't know why Nico stood him up at homecoming, but he does know that their relationship took an immediate turn after their library fight. Nico became cold, taking every opportunity to hurt Will: stealing his pencil case, spreading rumors, and tripping him in the halls. To retaliate, Will became angry: soon, the whole GSA (which Nico never returned to) had heard Will's tale of betrayal and heartbreak (that became increasingly more dramatic with every retelling), Will would follow every mention of Nico's name with that asshole , and targeted all his chocolate milk cartons at the back of Nico's head in the cafeteria. Their relationship that they lovingly dubbed as solangelo to their GSA friends had become a feud. 

Looking back with his adult eyes thirteen years later, Will wonders why they were so enraged all the time. Surely they had better things to worry about– he remembers struggling in English class at the time. But he does remember coming back from winter break and receiving his new schedule, realizing that, if Nico's schedule hadn't changed, then they would be sharing a math class this semester. Will held his breath all through to fourth period, but Nico wasn't there. In fact, Nico wasn't in the halls anymore. Nico had disappeared, and Will didn't know when or how. 

He didn't ask questions. By the end of ninth grade, most of the fury had passed. By eleventh, it was a fun party story. By college, Will realized that he was an asshole, and there's nothing he can do about it anymore. 

Until now. Will's life is perfectly mature and well-adjusted: he lives alone in a nice apartment, he's working through his medical residency, he has a cat, he goes on a run when he can, he flosses every night, he knows how to use a slow cooker, and he knows he was an asshole at fourteen. Can he make it right? 

The train sweeps him home in due time. Will's hands feel lighter without the casserole and he doesn't know what to do about that. His bed is warm and the plushie that was gifted to him at fourteen is still soft. 

Will does not actively think about Nico again for two weeks after the housewarming party, but he does think about him passively. He walks to the train station every morning, sees someone in a black jacket, and thinks fourteen-year-old Nico would’ve been so obsessed with that jacket. He passes a poster at the hospital about safe sex for queer couples and thinks Nico missed that GSA workshop. He scrolls through his Spotify playlists on his lunch break and spots his cringe pop punk playlist and thinks wasn’t Nico really into MCR at fourteen? And when these thoughts come, Will shakes his head. He lets them pass. Because he will not, under any circumstances, think of Nico di Angleo at twenty-seven-years-old. 

Until Nico di Angelo is at Will’s dentist office, sitting in the plush armchair by the window, and the only empty seat in the waiting room is right next to him. And Will’s rain boots are heavy enough to alert Nico of his presence as soon as he finishes signing the waivers. Nico is silent, but his cringe is loud. 

Will is not going to beat around the bush. He needs that empty seat. He’s getting his wisdom teeth out today, and he’s not going to spend the next hour or so (because, yes, he arrived an hour early) standing by a poster demonstrating how to floss just because the guy who stood him up thirteen years ago is also in this dentist office. 

“Nico?” he says. He steps in front of Nico, and the raindrops on his boots slide to the carpet, giving him a spotlight. 

Nico takes a deep breath. He does not look up from his phone. From this angle, Will can see that he’s opening a messaging app. 

“Can I sit here?” Will asks, pointing to the empty seat. 

Nico begins to type. “It’s a free country.” 

“Thanks.” He plops himself into the chair, the plastic cushion making a squeak as he relaxes. Nico is typing super quickly. He was not typing when Will entered the room. 

Will takes his own phone out of his pocket. It immediately opens to his Google tab when he turns it on, and he is greeted to a WebMD article titled What You Should Know About Wisdom Teeth. As a med student, he knows the importance of doing your readings before a new adventure. But it’s hard to focus on the section titled Possible Problems Later when Nico just made the biggest, most exasperated sigh one can make only through their nose. 

So, as Will is oft to do, he bites the bullet. He closes his phone screen and rests it on the table separating his chair from Nico’s. “I can’t believe you’re here, Nico.”

Nico doesn’t answer until he very obviously presses the send button on his text. “I have a cleaning.” 

“I’m getting my wisdom teeth out.” 

“Good for you.” 

“Nico, you have to admit, this is insane. We dated in ninth grade in a small, nowhere town, and then we–” become bloodthirsty teenagers feeling pure rage for the first time– “lose contact–” (Nico hah -s at this)-- “and now, thirteen years later, we meet through a mutual connection in the biggest city in the world. And we share a dentist. This is insane. You have to admit this is insane.” 

“This is insane.” 

“Thank you!” 

Now they’re staring at each other. The receptionist calls someone’s name, and Will doesn’t need to pay attention to know it’s not his. 

“Why do you think we’re running into each other?” Will asks. Under his fingertips, he feels his phone vibrate. He does not look away from Nico’s eyes. 

In this moment, as a jazz playlist plays from the receptionist’s speaker, Will can see why he fell for Nico so quickly. Nico’s eyes are so dark that it’s hard to separate the iris from the pupil. Fourteen-year-old Will wasn’t exaggerating in the poetry he wrote instead of doing his math homework: Nico’s eyes are perplexing, and you can stare into them for three lifetimes and never find what’s going on behind them. Will used to find that hot. He asked Nico out two hours after meeting him by telling him your eyes are hot . But now Will finds it unsettling. 

“I think,” Nico says, thought cut off by Will’s phone vibrating a second time. “I think this is a cruel coincidence.” 

“But don’t you think–” 

“I think we’re adults, and whatever fling we had at fourteen isn’t relevant to us anymore. And I think you should check your phone, someone is really desperate to talk to you.” 

Will looks down at his phone, and finds that someone really is blowing up his phone. He swipes at the notification, and just from the first words in it he can tell something is wrong. He grips his phone with both hands and finds, oh, his friend who was supposed to give him a ride home after the surgery has suddenly caught the most disgusting stomach bug in the world and can’t make it. So now WIll is going to be put under complete anesthesia, get his mouth ripped open, and then figure out how to get home. 

“Fuck,” Will breathes. He locks his phone without responding to the text. Then he leans back in the chair, the cushion emitting a second squeak. 

A pause, then Nico says, “What.” 

“What, what?” Will says, eyes focused on the still ceiling fan. 

“What text is making you deflate like this.” 

Will turns only his head to look at Nico. “My ride cancelled on me.” 

“Damn. That sucks.”

“And I’m getting wisdom tooth surgery under complete anesthesia. I can’t get home by myself.” The unsaid unless… weighs heavy above them. Will can’t help but notice Nico’s phone is still locked. 

“You can’t get home by yourself,” Nico says, nodding. 

“Yeah.” The pout is instinctual. 

“That sucks.” 

“It really does. My research has taught me that it is best to have company when recovering from wisdom tooth surgery because you’ll be disoriented, in pain, and need help administering pain medication–” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Will, I’ll take you home.” 

Will beams. His pout is gone and his posture is proper. “Really? Nico, thank you–” 

“But do I have to stay with you? Don’t you got, like, a roommate or something?” 

“I live alone.” 

“Please, how convenient.” 

“I’ll let you eat my food and use my Netflix.” 

Nico bites the inside of his cheek. “I need to do remote work.” 

“Then you can do it at my place! While watching my Netflix and eating my food!” 

“And cleaning up after your bloody gums?” 

Will leans over and grips Nico’s hands, causing him to drop his phone. It lands with a soft thud on the maroon carpet. “Please, Nico. We can consider this a reunion.” 

Nico’s eyes are half shut, like he’s trying to block out Will from his vision. “Fine. Oh my God, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

Will does not hug Nico at that statement, because he has self control. Though the fourteen-year-old in his brain begs differently. 

Nico goes into his appointment– just a cleaning, he brags– before Will is called in. In his moment alone, his fidgeting fingers find his messaging app. By the time he is called in for his surgery, he has texted two people (his best friend who he went to high school with and Percy Jackson) the same message: Nico di Angelo is at the dentist w/ me. He’s going to take care of me after my wisdom teeth surgery. If I go radio silent tomorrow or you see me suddenly hideously deformed, you know what happened. He doesn’t see the responses as he slides his phone into his back pocket and begins the walk to his surgery room. 

Will wakes up from the surgery sobbing and with three different tools in his mouth. The oral surgeon needs to help him stand, then walk him to the lobby. This is where Nico finds him. He drops his phone into his lap, drops his jaw to his chest, and drops the annoyed air that has been on him since the house party vomit. 

“Oh my God,” Nico mouths, barely audible. 

“I’m dying,” Will says, leaning against the counter like he’s trying to keep balance on a swaying ship. 

Nico rises, hastily dropping his phone into his pocket. Will feels the urge to grip him, to hold onto the one person who can help him. But even in his mind boggled state he knows that it wouldn’t be welcome. Nico is here on an insane coincidence, and is doing him a favor because… what? Because Will could get hurt otherwise? Aw, that’s sweet! That’s kinda hilarious, actually, given the leather jacket that’s swallowing him whole. Aw, Nico di Angelo and his big jacket, looking at him with squinting eyes that would take three lifetimes to figure out. 

“Why are you giggling,” Nico says flatly. 

“You’re sweet,” Will says in a dopey tone.

“Okay, let’s get you home.” 

Will hums. Forgetting the anesthesia, he lets go of the counter, then immediately remembers the anesthesia. Nico catches him. “God, fine. I guess this is what I’m doing now,” he mumbles to himself. 

They wait in the lobby until the Uber Nico called comes. (It wouldn’t be until much later when Will would ask if he himself paid for the Uber or if Nico did.) Will is mostly silent, letting the post-surgery terror tears dry on his face. Nico doesn’t text anyone. Will doesn’t have the coordination to check his phone. 

The Uber ride is short. Nico offers Will an earbud, and they listen to music together. Will doesn’t register what it is, but knows that it’s soothing. He tries to do the macarena to it, but it takes too much energy. 

Getting to Will’s apartment is rough. There’s no elevator, so they have to walk up four stories. All the while, his knees were shaking and he kept losing track of what floor they were on. It was only the promise of his warm bed, which Nico kept reminding him of, that kept him from curling up on the stairwell floor. 

Nico has to take the keys out of Will’s hand and unlock the door for him. He has to find Will’s bedroom, push him onto the bed, pull off his shoes, and throw a blanket over him. “Sleep,” he commands over him. 

Will groans. Very slowly, he says, “Your bedside manner sucks.” 

“Shut up. I'll be outside.” 

“No, don’t leave,” Will says, drawing out every letter. 

“I’m literally in the next room over.” Nico takes another step towards the door. Will pouts. Nico takes the doorknob. “Yell if you need me,” he says, then steps out of the room and shuts the door. Will may have imagined it in his anesthesia haze, but Nico’s voice sounded considerably softer on that last line. 

The sun sets while Will sleeps. He wakes up to his room tinted in dark blue, the way it usually is when the sun is about to give up. He sits up, and notices his head feels significantly lighter now. And he’s almost pleased until he opens his mouth and is reminded of the two cotton balls (maybe more?) stuck to the back of his mouth. 

He gags. Then he remembers that Nico is in the next room. He gags again. 

But would Nico still be here, if so much time has passed? There’s only one way to find out (and only one way to get these cotton balls out of his mouth), but that way is also ridiculously painful. 

He has to leave his bedroom. He might see Nico. Oh, goodness, that’s terrifying! 

With a deep and loud inhale through his mouth, Will stands. He takes many small steps to open the door. No Nico in sight. Another deep and loud inhale through his mouth, and he steps further into the living room. He notices most of the lights are on. A third deep and loud inhale through his mouth, and– boom, to his left, in the kitchen, is Nico di Angelo. 

Nico has his head up like he has been watching Will throughout his trek out of his bedroom. The light from his laptop illuminates half his face, while the sunset from the window behind him gives him a halo. For an unforgivable second, Will allows himself to take this image in and compare it to fourteen-year-old Nico, like there isn’t a thirteen year gap between their relationship. “Good, you’re awake,” he says. “I made you mashed potatoes.” 

Will smiles. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to.” 

Nico just shrugs. He stands and moves to the fridge, taking out a tupperware. He goes through the motions of putting it in the microwave, and once the microwave door is shut and the timer is on, he turns back to Will. “How are you feeling?” 

“Much better. I needed that sleep.” 

“Mhm. You did. You’re much more tolerable now.” 

“Ha, ha.” 

“But before you eat…” Nico moves across the kitchen to a plastic bag Will wanted to forget. “You have to clean the, um, surgical site, I think. You got a little syringe. I’ll make you lukewarm salt water.” 

Will’s heart feels warm. It’s nice. It’s probably a side effect of the anesthesia. “Thank you. I’m the doctor here, how do you know how to do all that?” 

Nico opens a cabinet and pulls out a glass. “I’ve read the instructions your dentist gave you, dumbass.” 

“So rude.” 

“Get those cotton balls out of your mouth. You sound disgusting.” 

“Yes, doc.” 

The microwave beeps as Will tosses the third blood-soaked cotton ball into his tiny bathroom trash can. As he makes for the fourth (this is what happens when you get six wisdom teeth out in one go), Nico appears in the doorway, a cup of water in hand. “It’s warm and has table salt. Just fill the syringe and–” 

“Nico,” Will says softly. He tries to put a hand on Nico’s shoulder, but realizes that not only did that hand just dig into his blood-soaked mouth, but also this is a stranger he’s being way too soft with. It doesn’t matter that there was a time they weren’t strangers. This is their situation now, he has to be appropriate. 

(Will only needs two more lifetimes to figure out Nico’s eyes. He can do it, he just needs time.) 

“You’ve done so much for me,” Will says. “Thank you.” 

Nico just shrugs. “It’s okay. I got a lot of work done, so.” He averts his eyes, finding the grout on the walls way more interesting than it should be. “Your potatoes are on the table.” 

“Thank you. Really, I can’t thank you enough–” 

“Then don’t.” Ah, yes, there’s Nico’s biting charm. Will missed it. “This is weird.” 

Will’s face heats up. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I’m going home.” Nico doesn’t move. But he doesn’t look at Will, either. “Bye.” 

“Goodbye.” 

“Don’t choke on your blood clots.” With that, he takes a step backward, then turns, then is out of Will’s sight. 

Will hears the front door close loudly when he’s spitting out the last of the blood in his bathroom sink. 

Two weeks later, Will is working the night shift. He left his phone in his locker when he clocked in, as he always does, and therefore does his rounds blissfully unaware of the outside world. 

On his eleven PM break, Will returns to his locker. He plans to spend his break eating the tupperware of random, unrelated foods he scraped together this morning. He does not plan to see the missed call from Percy, from just fifteen minutes earlier. 

No one calls at 10:43PM for no good reason. When Will finds a place to sit in the break room, he calls Percy back. 

A sing-song voice greets him before the second ring. “Oh, Will!” 

This is not the voice Will was expecting. He was expecting something more anxious or in pain. “Percy?” 

“Nope,” the voice says, popping the P. “Nico.” 

“Oh– what?” 

“I don’t have your number, but Percy does,” Nico says in that same sing-song tone. “So I took his phone.” 

Will’s heart picks up the pace. His brain flips through every possible emergency scenario for why Nico would need to take Percy’s phone. “Why? Is something wrong?” 

Nico’s sing-song tone drops. “Yeah, um, Will?” 

Now there’s no pace for Will’s heart to pick up. There is no heartbeat at all. “Yes?” 

“You were sooooo weird at fourteen.” There’s a loud cackle, and that jumpstarts Will’s brain. 

“You’re drunk,” Will says flatly. 

“Nope! Just thinking about that God awful haircut.” As Nico continues to cackle, Will stares off into the middle distance. There isn’t much left of his break. There isn’t much left of his sanity. There isn’t much left of his respect for Nico. But Nico can’t see Will’s dead expression, so he continues: “I hated you sooooo much. Like, God , I wanted you dead! You wanted me dead! And you know what? I’m twenty-seven years old. I have a masters degree in social work. And you’re a– what, doctor!” Another long, loud cackle. “Shit, Solace, look at us.” There’s a somber moment as Nico inhales. Will still doesn’t speak. “Have you ever been in love, Will?” 

There’s a pause here. It takes Will a moment to realize it’s purposeful, that there’s not another cackle waiting around the corner. He swallows. He speaks: “I think I have.” 

“Not with me, I hope.” 

Will sighs. Against himself, he smiles. “No, not with you.” 

“Who?” 

Will looks at the tupperware sitting on the table below him. He opens it up with one hand, the other still holding his phone. “I think I was in love twice? Juries still out on the third, because that ended awfully.” 

“Ouch.” A pause. Will pops a grape into his mouth. “Who was the first?” 

Will chews. There really isn’t much left of his break. “I was sixteen. I liked her a lot, she liked me. It was a nice three months.” 

“Ooh, long term. That’s, like, a record long relationship for you.” Nico snorts into the phone. 

Will grins. “Yeah, yeah. Everything with her felt so strong. But one day, she just said she couldn’t. I was too intense. And that was the last time we ever spoke to each other.” 

“Shit, Solace, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I was sixteen! Fell in love at least one more time after that.” 

“And she’s the one who has to live with turning down a doctor,” Nico says, stretching out the last er sound until Will giggles. 

The TV in this break room catches his attention: it’s the local news, now announcing the time. There’s only twenty minutes left of his break, and Will really needs to have a meal before the next six hours of his shift. He pops another grape in his mouth. “Your turn. Have you ever been in love?” Nico hums, then giggles, then cackles again. “Shit, how much have you had to drink?” 

There’s a slapping noise, like Nico is trying to smother his laughter. “Just, um… three shots,” he says. “Really fast, though.” 

“How fast?” 

“Don’t go doctor on me.” Nico sighs, long and loud. “Percy and Annabeth were gifted this disgusting liquor, and I was invited to help try it. They’re both asleep, I finished the bottle.” 

“What do you mean by finished?” 

Nico laughs. “Please, there was literally a… shot. And a half left? There was literally a shot and a half left, Solace. Now, shut up, I gotta tell you about my love life.” 

Will rolls his eyes enthusiastically, then feels sad when he realizes Nico can’t see. “I’m rolling my eyes right now, by the way.” 

“Thanks,” Nico says, drawing out the ss . “This wasn’t love, but it sure as hell was painful. And embarrassing. And fucking hilarious. And painful. And I almost killed myself over it. But, hey, it’s really funny.” His voice grows hushed next. Will could imagine Nico leaning forward wherever he is, and Will does the same in this hospital break room. For a second, he feels like a teenager: huddled over his phone, waiting for his boyfriend to spill a secret, or even at a sleepover, or a campfire, or the other places fourteen-year-old Will imagined he’d go with fourteen-year-old Nico. “I had a fat crush on Percy Jackson in high school.” 

“No way,” Will says, grape halfway to his mouth. 

“Yes! Oh my God it was awful! I had just moved to the school, and I was like, fuck, I hate being gay. I don’t want to be gay anymore. And then– look! It’s Percy Jackson! Have you seen Percy Jackson?” 

Will laughs so hard he drops his grape. “Unfortunately, I have.” 

“He’s a real curse to us all. Shit, shit, fuck–” 

There’s a scuffle from Nico’s end, and Will chews on a grape like it’s popcorn at a movie. He can make out Nico’s cry, but it’s muffled, like he’s being yanked away. 

“Hey, who is this?” someone new says. 

“Hi, it’s Will.” 

“Oh, hey– down, boy!” There’s a whine now, unmistakably from Nico. The new voice: “Nico stole my phone.” 

“Sorry, Percy,” Will says. 

“Did he do anything… weird?” 

“No, no. I was the weird one, actually.” 

“What?” Percy is cut off by a loud groan. “Nico, dude, it’s so cold out here!” Will hears a muffled I have a jacket! in the background, and can practically hear Percy roll his eyes. “Nico stole my phone, then snuck to my backyard to talk to you.” Then, in a quieter tone, like he’s walking inside: “He must really like you.” 

The grape in Will’s fingers goes cold, burning his fingertips. “Hm, I don’t know about that,” Will responds. 

“Okay. Well, I gotta make sure Nico sleeps tonight. Thanks for chatting with him, Will.” 

Will’s heart clenches. “Anytime.” 

(He means it.) 

Will wants to talk to Nico, but has no means to. Percy swept in before he could ask for Nico’s contacts. Maybe an Instagram, even if Will already found it on a stalking spree? Hell, Will would settle for a BeReal, though his heart holds on for a phone number (the most intimate form of contact). But his connection to Nico faded when Percy snatched his phone back. 

Could Nico and Will ever see each other again? 

Will shouldn’t want that. Absolutely, in no way should he want to see Nico again. And, in fact, it’s totally weird that the reason he wants to see Nico is because of a conversation Nico probably doesn’t remember. This is why no one should get attached to drunk people. 

But it is totally normal for him to want to see his good friend Percy again. It’s totally normal for him to see a TikTok with some seals at an aquarium and send it to his good friend and the only marine biologist he knows. It’s so, so normal for him to ask his good friend for help in picking out paint for his kitchen. Because Will likes seeing his good friends, and he likes sending them TikToks, and he likes help with household chores. 

Percy arrives on a Sunday evening, only twelve hours after Will got out of his latest shift at the hospital. Will opens his apartment door to find him standing in a summer camp tee, hair in a goofy headband, and a serious expression on his face. 

“I’m ready,” Percy says. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Will responds with an appraising smile. 

The painting begins smoothly: they lay out the tarp, mix the paint, and choose music without fuss but with a lot of fun. It’s when Will is on a stepladder, one hand holding a paint roller and the other sporting rose pink paint on every fingertip, that Percy drops the bomb. 

“So what’s up with you and Nico?” 

Will drops the paint roller. It splatters against his foot. Now his Croc is pink. “Nothing!” he says too loudly. 

Percy raises an eyebrow at him. “Really?” 

Will picks up his paint roller, stifling a sigh. “Yes, really.” 

“It’s just that…” Percy trails off, staring out the window. Will wants to jump out that window, just to catch that train of that. “Nico doesn’t drunk call just anyone.” 

Will presses his roller hard against the wall, letting it squeak loudly as he rolls. “Is drunk calling something he does often?” 

Percy doesn’t answer immediately. He steps off the stepladder, dips his roller in fresh paint, steps back on the stepladder, and rolls three layers of paint on the wall. Then, after sufficiently strangling Will without even acknowledging him, Percy speaks: “If he does, that means there’s a lot on his mind.” 

That sentence– those eleven words– stir a storm in Will’s gut. (A passing thought: is this how Nico felt when he was throwing up at the house party? Or how he felt when he drunk called Will? Which one?) “Well, did Nico tell you how I met him?” 

“No? Why, is there something I should know?” 

Will steps off the stepladder and towards Percy. “We dated in high school.” 

Percy just blinks, still standing on the stepladder, still holding that roller with too much nonchalance to be real. “Huh?” 

“Yeah. We met in ninth grade, and he left school after fall semester. But for that one semester we were together, we dated.” Will swallows. “Did you know?” 

“No,” Percy says slowly. He looks more confused than offended. “What happened? Something had to have happened.” 

“Well. Um.” In a moment of panic, Will tries to laugh it off. The laugh is short and dies fast, like it was sniped. “We were dating for a really intense two months. We were never really friends, it was more like we met and then we were boyfriends. And it was going great– or, as great as a romantic relationship between two fourteen-year-olds. But then he stood me up at the homecoming dance. I next saw him a week later, and we had this fight, and from then on we just hated each other. We wanted each other dead. But he never returned to school after winter break, so everything ended there. Or I thought it did, until your housewarming, Percy.” 

“I always know how to bring a group together,” Percy says. His tone is tight, like he’s begging for this conversation to remain casual. (Will knows the casual air of this whole day– his only day off for a week– was destroyed the second Percy said Nico’s name.) “Nico transferred to my school for the spring of his freshman year– which was my junior year. That’s when we met. I was one of the first people he talked to at that school, actually. And he was…” Percy waves his paint roller loosely, like he’s trying to paint his thoughts instead of saying them. “He was going through it.” 

“Because of me?” 

“No,” Percy says. His voice cuts Will before he notices that he just said the exact wrong thing. And then Will notices that he just said the exact wrong thing, and he makes a face. Percy laughs at it. “Well, I won’t say you’re, ah, ‘relationship–’” he put “relationship in air quotes– “made things any easier. But, Will, believe me– Nico had a really rough go of it when he was younger. He’s been through some shit I wouldn’t wish on anybody. It’s a miracle and a testament to his strength that he made it out okay.” 

Will nods, blinks, and swallows. “That’s good to hear,” he says. He has to nod, blink, and swallow again to keep back tears. “But why would he be calling me?” 

“Because Nico is a mysterious little fucker?” Percy laughs at himself, and Will laughs at the shock of the swear. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve been trying to figure Nico out for the past thirteen years and I have yet to come close to any conclusion.” 

“He switches up on you,” Will says, looking out the window. 

“Yep. But enough of that. I always feel weird talking about Nico behind his back. I’m afraid he can hear me.” 

“He probably can.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him.” Then, Percy hops back on his stepladder. “This kitchen won’t paint itself. Come on, Will, I need to tell you about this third grade field trip that visited my aquarium last week.” 

So Percy talks about the aquarium and Will thinks about Nico. Will has the unnerving feeling that this is not the last time they will share this dynamic. 

Will goes to the hospital. He saves lives. He comes home. 

Will goes to the hospital. He saves lives. He comes home. 

Will goes to the hospital. He saves lives. He comes home. 

He comes home, and he thinks about Nico di Angelo, the fourteen-year-old with the aviator jacket that ate him alive and the MythoMagic obsession that took over his mind and the bangs that covered his eyes until Will’s own mood-ring-wrapped fingers pushed them out of the way. 

He comes home, and he thinks about Nico di Angelo, the teenager with the fire on his tongue and the ears that could hear his name anywhere and the rough go of it. 

He comes home, and he thinks about Nico di Angelo, the adult with a masters degree in social work and the sesame allergy and the recipe for mashed potatoes. 

He comes home, and he thinks about Nico di Angelo, and he yearns. 

Fuck, he thought he was done with being fourteen. 

Will requests to follow Nico on Instagram four weeks after the drunk call. It has also been four weeks since their last contact. And now Will is extending his hand across that divide, feeling the cold air grip his bare skin, waiting for Nico to just touch. He’d take a tap, he’d take a squeeze. He just wants to figure out how much of the Nico he knew is in this twenty-seven-year-old’s body. He can figure it out by touch alone, but please, please, please, he just needs a chance. 

Nico accepts Will’s follow request the next day. The instagram account, di.angelo.nico, unlocks. Will is surprised to see more posts than he expected, dating back a few years. He spends good time on each post, analyzing every detail to piece together Nico’s life. The posts are mostly artful photos, and they turn his account into more of a scrapbook than a gallery of his life. There’s no photos of Nico alone, just of him with other people, but that’s to be expected. Not even fourteen-year-old Nico liked photos of himself. 

Two days after Will gained access to Nico’s account, he lies in bed, letting the Wednesday morning sun lie over him from his window. His fingers hover over his Instagram DMs. He searches for Nico, and starts a message. 

Then he panics, closes the app, and moves to his notes app to craft this text: Hey, Nico, it’s Will! Do you want to grab coffee or something sometime? 

He spends thirteen minutes analyzing those two sentences. He reopens Instagram, painfully opens his DMs, drops the two sentences to Nico, then immediately closes the app again, suddenly invigorated to jump out of bed and make himself breakfast. Or go to the gym. Or do his laundry. Or deep clean his bathroom. Or look at the text Nico just sent him! 

His heart threatens to jump out of his chest so it can read it before his eyes could, but Will holds himself together to read: hi, i’ll grab coffee w/ you.  

Will sits up, swinging his legs across the bed and throwing off his blankets in the process. The plans are hastily made: Will has a free day next Tuesday, and he could meet Nico near the school he works at in the evening. They’ll just pop into a tiny cafe and chat. They won’t let the past thirteen years hang over them. They’ll chat, and drink coffee, and all will be well. 

(Will wonders if Nico still has the habit of blowing on his coffee before he drinks it. He wants to show off his newfound enjoyment of oat milk lattes.) 

“I don’t remember what I said,” Nico says at the cafe on a Tuesday when Will didn’t have work. “I mean, I remember making the call, and I think I asked an invasive question–” 

“No you didn’t,” Will rushes in, but Nico keeps moving, wide eyes boring into Will’s like he’s being interrogated and needs to prove his innocence. 

“And I think I mentioned Percy. Shit, I did. I can see it on your face.” 

“Nico.” Will’s hand jerks to Nico’s, but the thirteen years hanging above them halt it. “It’s okay. Really, don’t worry about it. You did nothing wrong.” Will caps his statement with the smile he gives his pediatric patients before letting them choose which band aid they want.

Nico’s brow furrows. “You don’t need to protect me. I know–” 

“Nico, please, stop. I didn’t want to meet so I could berate you about one phone call.” Will takes a deep breath. Nico mirrors it. Did he learn that in grad school? Does he teach that to the kids he meets in his school? 

“Then why did you want to meet?” Nico asks, voice tiny. 

There’s a fire in Will’s gut. He drinks scalding hot coffee with oat milk to put it out. It burns his throat all the way down. “I want to apologize. Nico, I’m sorry for how I treated you when we were fourteen.” Nico’s breath hitches. Will can see what’s coming, so he pushes through: “Please, let me say this. I’ve been waiting to say this for years, and it’s been eating me up since our paths crossed again. Please, let me.” He takes a deep breath to recover the air he lost in that rush. “Okay. Nico. I was an asshole. I reacted disproportionately to you leaving me at the homecoming dance. Goodness, it was a high school dance, I shouldn’t have been calling you those names and targeting your friends and– you get the idea. But I did do that, and I’m sorry. I was immature. You don’t need to be my friend now, because it’d take a lot of convincing to me to be my own friend if I was in your shoes, but I just want you to know that you deserved better. That’s all.” 

They blink in unison. Nico slowly begins to breathe again. He takes a sip of his coffee, but not before blowing on it first. “Will. We were fourteen.” Then, he starts to smile. “You know how shitty fourteen-year-olds are?” 

Will starts to smile, too, one centimeter at a time. “Yeah, they are.” 

“They’re the worst, and I work in a school full of them. I got a masters degree so I could work with them.” Nico shakes his head, laughing. “What I’m saying is: don’t beat yourself up about it. Really, it’s fine. I don’t hold it against you.” 

“Really? Because I thought you did, when we first ran into each other.” 

“I was throwing up.” 

“Well, you know.” Now there’s a full smile on Will’s face, shining in relief. “I just wanted to make it clear: I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, too. We were awful.” 

“Absolute nightmares.” 

“Do you know why I stood you up?” Nico says, smile gone. There’s something turning in those eyes. “Did you ever find out?” 

Will takes another sip of his latte. He wonders if it will ever cool. “No, I never did. How could I?” 

“I just thought– well, word travels. I always thought someone knew, or that someone found out, and it traveled, and, Will–” 

Will sticks a finger out. He can’t stop it before it rests on Nico’s lips, silencing him. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I want to,” Nico says, his breath wrapping around Will’s finger. It chills him. 

“But don’t do it because you want to please me or something–” 

“Might as well.” With one gentle hand, Nico pulls Will’s hand down. “My sister died.” 

Will is cold all over, and he can’t drink his latte to warm him up, because he is, alas, paralyzed. “Bianca,” he says. It’s not a statement, not a declarative, but a sound from his heart. 

“Car wreck on the way to the dance.” 

“No,” Will whines. Or is it his heart doing the whining? 

“Yeah.” Nico nods into his mug. “She was the last piece of family I had in the state. We were living with a family friend, Alecto, but he knew I would be a problem without Bianca. He was right. I finished the semester with you, then over the holidays, I was shipped here. To New York City. To live with the father I never met.” 

“I’m so, so sorry, Nico,” Will says, breathless. “I can’t believe I treated you the way I did, and I–” 

“Shh, Will. Stop. You didn’t know, and there was nothing you could’ve done to help. Don’t beat yourself up for acting in the only way you knew how.” 

Will wipes away a tear with the same finger that silenced Nico just a moment ago. “You’re so wise now.” 

“Thanks. Someone has to be, being a high school social worker.” 

Will stares at Nico in wonder. He takes in all the details: the scratch marks on his left cheek, the tattoo that peeks out of his shirt sleeve, the nail polish on the edges of his nails, the bangs pinned back by clips, the red lips touched by vaseline, the eyes that take three lifetimes to understand. 

“I want to be your friend,” Will says. “I do. Fuck, it’d be so nice to be…” 

It’d be so nice to kiss Nico. It’d be so nice to run his thumbs along the bridge of Nico’s nose and feel the freckles. It’d be so nice to listen to Nico wax poetic about whatever song he’s currently obsessed with. It’d be so nice to make new memories with Nico to replace the thirteen-years-old ones. 

“It’d be nice to… what?” Nico says, those pretty eyes crinkling at the edges. He’s smiling. Fuck, Will is making Nico di Angelo smile, and maybe fourteen-year-old Will was onto something by asking Nico out on a date after knowing him for two hours. 

“It’d be nice to kiss you,” Will says in one breath. Then he hears himself, and his heart stops beating. “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I just said that.” 

Nico is smiling. “It’s okay.” 

“Is it? Goodness, I feel fourteen again.” That earns a loud laugh from Nico, but Will ignores it. “Please forget I said that, oh my God.” 

“It’s okay. Really, Will. Hey.” Nico inches his hand across the table, palm up. “I wouldn’t have drunk called you if I didn’t think it would be nice to kiss you, too.” 

Will, against his own wishes, beams. “Really?” 

Now Nico is fully laughing, head tilted up and everything. “God, you sound fourteen.” 

Will drops his head to the table. “Please, I’m twenty-seven, I’m done with being a teenager.” 

“Fine, fine.” Then Nico’s laughter fades to a resting point. Will looks up, and finds a tiny frown. “But I don’t want this to be like it was, back then.” 

Will lifts his head so he’s sitting upright. It takes forever. “What?” 

“I mean, I don’t want any relationship we have now, at twenty-seven, to be the same as what we had at fourteen. I want to take things slow, and to communicate, and not love-bomb each other, and…” Nico tilts his head. A piece of hair flops onto his cheek. “I think I want you.” 

Will moves that piece of hair off Nico’s face. It’s too tender for fourteen-year-old Will, who was all loud declarations and practicing tongue kissing in the English wing after the dismissal bell rang. “I think I want you, too.” 

Nico grins widely. There’s none of these wide grins on his Instagram. Will is glad he’s witnessing this one live, organically. He’s glad he’s not a teenager anymore. He’s glad Nico di Angelo is sitting in front of him. And, thank every good being in the universe, he’s glad he finally has a job and can take Nico on a date nicer than their local pizzeria.