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Nico didn’t talk about their past much. It wasn’t that they were ashamed of it, per se, nor does it mean that they don’t trust Will, Angie, and every other amazing person in their life. They just didn’t want to talk about it.
Talking about the past meant talking about Mr. and Mrs. Chan. Lovely people, truly. Well, until it came to their only child. They could never really get behind the whole nonbinary thing. To them, it was just a phase, or a mental illness; to Nico, it was just who they were.
Nico loves their parents, don’t get them wrong. They gave them their best: good grades, great manners, respect, everything. They just couldn’t give up their sense of self. Nico was nonbinary. They weren’t a boy, and they certainly weren’t a girl. They just were.
But, Mr. and Mrs. Chan couldn’t let that be. They wanted a precious little girl who wore dresses, skirts, had flowy long hair, and was just the embodiment of femininity. Nico couldn’t be that. It ate up at them.
When they were thirteen, they realized why. That was probably the only good thing that came out of Quarantine (shout out Covid 19!), honestly. As soon as they had a name for that festering feeling in their heart every time they wore a dress or got called a girl, it felt like they could breathe.
There were other people like them. They weren’t some anomaly just because they felt disconnected from their gender. They were normal. That’s what the Internet said, and that’s what they thought. But, when they came out a year later, at age fourteen, they were quickly shut down.
“You’re confused,” their mother spat, crossing her arms and staring across the table at Nico. Mr. Chan set them with a look of disappointment, which was just as bad as their mother’s disgust. “You know this isn’t right. We didn’t raise you like… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at them.
Those words stung. It hurt more than anything. They tried to defend themself, but none of their words could convince them that they weren’t—in their own parents’ eyes—wrong. They ended up getting sent to their room that night, grounded for however long they were going to make ‘false claims’, as if they were some false prophet.
The hurt didn’t go away; it just got worse. Every word turned into war and everything became unnecessarily gendered. Mrs. Chan made sure to add extra emphasis on pronouns and daughter every chance she got.
Their father chose a different approach. He isolated himself from Nico (not that that was too different from before). He didn’t defend Nico when Mrs. Chan started nitpicking their entire existence.
“Did you cut your hair?”
“What are you wearing?”
“Go put on that pretty skirt I spent so much money on.”
It was painful. The once-peaceful house turned into a war zone and if Nico dared defend themself, they got punished. No phone. No TV. Just isolation. In their room. Alone. For hours.
Well, jokes on them. Nico liked being in their room. Screw them and their opinions. They had their books. It was their little escape. And their books didn’t discourage them. If anything, it encouraged them to be themself. Especially their favorite series: The Heroes of Olympus.
Don’t get them wrong, the first series is great, and it’ll always hold a special place in their heart, but Heroes of Olympus had their favorite character: Nico di Angelo. He was their namesake, after all. They could relate to him. Fear, isolation, judgement— all of it struck too close to home.
Their room was his jar and their parents were the giants keeping them contained. The books became their pomegranate seeds, keeping them alive in isolation.
It became ritualistic. Every time they were upset, or grounded, or banished to their room, or a cocktail of the aforementioned things—Nico would read about di Angelo.
Specifically the scene where Cupid outed him. Nico would hate to be outed, and they knew it was horrible—something they would never wish for— but they desperately wished for their own Jason.
They horribly wanted their parents to accept them, to love them, to care. They wanted to be Nico— their adored only child—not their rebellious daughter who “wanted a tacky nickname”. But Mr. and Mrs. Chan would never see them that way, and they practically disowned Nico.
That’s why they ran away. They dealt with the constant grounding and misgendering and arguments for two years before they couldn’t take anymore and left, having to leave their books behind.
They lived in that shitty apartment with that asshole extortionist of a landlord for six months, rebuilding themself and actually being able to be themself, before witnessing their neighbor’s murder and meeting Angie and Will.
Witnessing that murder was the best and worst thing that happened to them. They still have nightmares about it sometimes. But, if it never happened, they would have never met Angie, or Will.
They couldn’t imagine their life without Betty, Will, Angie, or any of the others. They were Nico’s family. Will was more of a father than Mr. Chan and isolation. Will taught them how to cook, how to fix a radio, how to be happy. Angie gave them a second chance— a chance to not be a runaway with nothing. Nico can’t really remember a time Mrs. Chan gave them another chance at anything.
Nico would do anything for their family, the family that took them in and loved them for them. They respected them, loved them, gave them a home. So yeah, they didn’t talk about their past, but it wasn’t because of shame. It was because they had a better future to look forward to.
They were just like their namesake. The fear, the isolation, the struggle… all of it made way for a new life— one full of love and care and acceptance. They didn’t need to read or cry themselves to sleep, although their books still sat lovingly on a shelf in their room.
Nico was happy, and, as they sat in living room, watching some sappy move with Will, they knew that they were in the right place.
“Thank you,” Nico whispered, glancing at Will.
They could see him smile, confused at the random gratitude, but, nevertheless, responded, “No problem, Nico.”
Yeah. The past was past, and the future was better, but the present was just perfect.