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“You were right,” Jason mumbles, his eyelid trembling in an attempt to hold it shut, but not too shut, like he was instructed.
“About which part.” Nico readjusts the way that he’s holding Jason’s face hostage, shifting more on his knees. Jason can only kind-of see the look on Nico’s face, something that’s distinctly negative, his eyebrows sloped down tight together, knit by little creases in Nico’s forehead, the way his mouth is pressed into a firm thin line of concentration, eyes hyper-focused on Jason’s eyelashes as if each individual one has offended him in a new and unexpected way.
“This is definitely more uncomfortable than shaving my legs.”
Nico huffs out laughter that doesn’t show at all on his face, eerily. Jason closes his other eye.
He’s pretty sure makeup just isn’t his thing, not in the way that it is for Nico. It feels less like he’s getting made pretty and more like he’s being dressed up for play time, the same way he puts on stupid, shitty Halloween costume dresses when he babysits Estelle. His eyelids feel heavy and sticky with product, and he can’t really help the wriggling, urgent feeling like Nico’s going to find something horrific and gross in his skin, looking at him up close like this.
Finally, Nico’s palm releases the awkward angle he’d been cradling Jason’s head at. He pulls the brush away and frowns.
“Open your eye,” he demands. Jason obeys, blinking out the fuzzy feeling that comes with it. Nico’s eyes narrow. “Are you really sure I can’t do your eyeliner?”
It’s ironic, considering Jason is the one who has to do Nico’s make up for him half the time because his hands shake too much to do the delicate things like eyeliner himself. And yet Jason is half tempted to let him, just because of that fucking look on his face, the way his voice sounds.
Gods. As if Jason wouldn’t do literally anything Nico asked, even if it sacrificed his own comfort. He can’t even imagine the Nico di Angelo from when he was sixteen doing this kind of stuff, invading his personal space to hold his head still, hovering over him close enough that Jason can almost feel his breath against his cheeks. Seriously, he would offer a lot if it meant they could keep this kind of comfort with each other.
“If you’re really bent on it, I…I could probably do it myself.”
Nico’s face brightens in all the ways that it can, eyes widening, raising at the corners, softening his brows. Nico backs off to the edge of the bed and leans over sideways to the nightstand on his right. He takes the handheld mirror - it’s cool, shaped like a skull with ruby eyes and a black handle - and holds it up, handing Jason a tube of eyeliner.
“Will refuses to do eyeliner, he won’t even do it on himself, which I’m not saying he has to if he’s uncomfortable but I think it makes the whole thing look incomplete, you know? Like there’s something missing, something fundamental. Do you think you could make it look like a lightning bolt? Like a little zig-zag?”
And there, really, is the reason Jason does any of this at all.
Percy’s told him stupid stories about Nico when he was ten, about how he was excitable and rambly and out there, how he’d never hesitate to ask a question or talk about something if he found it interesting. Jason didn’t believe him, at least not until the first time he figured out how to tap into that part of Nico’s personality.
It takes a lot of comfort, a lot of time and patience, but it’s so worth it. It never stops feeling like he’s won when Nico opens up. Getting to hear his long winded, tangential ramblings is like a prize after months of training, like winning a brownie from his favorite cafe in New Rome for coming out on top in a gladiator battle. .
Another, less welcome part of Jason takes an uncomfortable liking to the fact that he can provide something for Nico that Will can’t. He’s trying to ignore that part, though. It is not welcome here.
He swipes open the container of eyeliner and leans closer to the mirror, very carefully adjusting his eyelid without screwing up the work Nico has already done.
Jason has nothing against Will, he really doesn’t. In fact, he thinks that he’s a really solid dude; he’s funny, he’s a brilliant healer, he cares about the people he loves so clearly that, sometimes, Jason can’t even think about it.
It’s probably not obvious to anybody except Jason that Will has feelings for Nico, actually. It’s a side effect of spending so much time around Nico, looking after him, keeping track of how he’s feeling each day, that kind of hyperfocus just…bled into him noticing things about the other people around Nico, like how Annabeth always scoots over a little bit whenever Nico comes to the campfire, like she’s making extra room for him if he wants it. How Percy always, always jokes whenever Nico is around, even if he was in a demonstrably shitty mood before Nico showed up, how he always glances in Nico’s direction out the corner of his eyes like he’s trying to keep track of how Nico is feeling. How Hazel kisses Nico on the forehead and the cheek in that order whenever they visit, how she holds his hand when they hang out and looks at him any time he speaks, no matter what.
It means he’s noticed how Will Solace rests his head on his palm and smiles like a romance movie character whenever Nico gets on a roll about something. He’s noticed how Will’s eyes light up whenever Nico brushes up against his arm, or whenever Nico laughs at something he’s said. He’s noticed that there’s always a fresh pair of scrubs in Nico’s size, even when the rest of them are dirty.
Jason blinks, fanning the first swipe of eyeliner to get it dry, leaning in even closer to try and emulate a little lightning bolt without scuffing up the shimmery blue and white eye shadow Nico put on his lids. It all looks so weird on his face, like he’s wearing a mask over his skin. He tries not to shudder - that would be counterproductive.
He manages a fairly steady little shape that does, sort of, resemble a bolt.
“Maybe I should go back over your eyelids with like a gold powder, since it already sort of looks like the sky, you know, bring out the symbolism of it,” Nico says, adjusting the mirror. Jason leans in to do the other side. “Oh, and you should pick what color lipstick you want, I made sure to sort out all the ones that would stain or anything like that so you don’t have to worry. It’s silly but I think you’d look good with something a little darker, maybe, something that contrasts with how light the rest of the makeup is, does that sound good? Or maybe even like a tinted gloss, so it’s not like, fully in your face with the color, you know?”
“I’d be fine with letting you choose the color,” Jason hums, focusing on keeping his lines straight. He’s gonna do this right, if he’s the only one who will do it at all. He can do stuff Will Solace can’t, dammit, and he’s gonna do it better than Will would even if he could.
…he doesn’t even know how to begin to address that thought.
“I have this really dark blue color,” Nico continues as if he’d been hoping Jason would give him the reins, starting to shift back and forth. It makes the mirror impossible to use, but that’s fine - Jason’s got the bolts as good as he can get them. He leans back, capping the container again. “I could even put little star shapes in white eyeliner, I mean, if you wanted, if that would be okay.”
“Do what you want.”
Nico does that whole lighting-up thing again, his head tipping back and forth as he goes, “okay, cool,” and leans over for the nightstand again, this time dragging his entire bag of makeup back with him.
Jason watches him dig into it, watches him sift through tubes and palettes and containers, rambling at a speed about night skies and matching colors and how if Jason wants Nico could do something orangey-yellow on his cheeks, like a blush, something that makes it simulate a sunset on his face.
He watches Nico’s fingernails, grown out long enough he can tape them against surfaces audibly, he watches Nico’s arms, no longer so translucently-pale, he watches Nico’s cheeks, filled out with wight he’d never been able to keep before his elongated stay at camp. He watches Nico’s mouth, his teeth, still yellow and crooked but no longer to the point of detriment to his health. He watches his lips.
Gods, if only…
What?
Jason snaps his eyes up to Nico’s - he’s waving his hands around now, not looking at Jason at all, talking about how red pigment is made - and then away altogether.
Fuck. That’s- he can’t do that. He can’t do that. That’s a boundary he’ll never let himself cross, a boundary Nico would never want him to cross, he’s- he feels gross and achy for even thinking about- about-
It’s the last thing Nico needs right now, dammit, he needs Jason to be his friend, to stand by his side and help him figure things out, not- convolute his feelings and his comfort into something it isn’t. Nico doesn’t need Jason to- to think of him like that. Like- there’s the possibility of something more than, because there isn’t. Not for them.
That’s best left to the people like Will Solace.
Nico cups Jason’s face again, tight and uncomfortable, squeezing his jaw in a way that makes keeping his mouth relaxed almost impossible. The lipstick swipes over his lips fast and unconfident, punctuated by Nico muttering soft swears under his breath, as he does. Jason can feel Nico’s hands shaking as he uses the tip of the lipstick to trace against his bottom lip, filling in where he must’ve missed before.
It feels like a loss when Nico draws back, even though the position was starting to cramp his neck and the proximity was making him sweat. He gulps when Nico examines his face like he’s trying to find faults. Jason knows he’s doing it looking for faults he made, not faults with Jason’s face in general, but it still makes him antsy.
The mirror is offered out after another few moments of scrutiny. Jason takes it, and he does look at himself, but he can’t really appreciate the work Nico’s done.
He hates how it all looks on his face, hates how it drags attention to all the places he already doesn’t like, his weird uneven jaw and the way one of his eyes closes a little more than the other, his nearly-invisible eyelashes. The colors are nice, they’re pretty, they would look stunning on Nico, but on Jason…it just looks wrong. A stranger wearing clown colors.
“It looks cool,” Jason says with as much conviction as he can muster. He smiles when he notices Nico watching him.
Nico starts putting things back into their bags, packing up the eyeliner and the brushes, the little seashell-shaped blush.
“I like the lightning bolts,” Jason makes sure to say, because they were Nico’s idea and he does think they look cool. Maybe he’ll replicate them the next time their roles are reversed. That stupid, sick little thing in him likes it, putting Jason’s symbol on Nico’s face. Ugh.
Nico zips up his bag and gets off the bed entirely, walking across the room to put it away in his dresser. Jason watches him go, testing the stickiness of his lips while Nico’s back is turned. Gods, seriously, how do people enjoy this? He doesn’t understand.
Nico comes back holding out the makeup remover wipes.
Jason blinks. “Uh…?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not stupid.” He waggles them around and widens his eyes. “I’m not going to make you walk around like this.”
“But- I-I’m fine with it, really, it looks-”
“Jason,” Nico interrupts. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing anymore, his voice dropping into that serious tone like they’re in the middle of a battle and someone is about to do something stupid, get themself killed. Jason straightens his shoulders out and leans into it. How can he not? “Please don’t lie to me.”
He takes two of the wipes. “I’m sorry,” he says. He wants to understand, he wants to enjoy looking pretty and being dolled up, he does. He wants to know what Nico gets out of it, he just…it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit him. “I-I really do think it looks cool, you know?” He swipes over his eyes, first.
“I know,” Nico says. He climbs back onto the bed and settles by Jason’s right side.
It gets lost on him, sometimes. That- that Nico can read Jason like a book, just the same as Jason can read him. It’s how they take care of each other, the two of them, how they have to. They’re both too stubborn to ever talk about how they really feel, to risk disappointing the other.
There’s another way Jason can’t compete with Will, ha. At least Will can speak up about how he feels, without fearing repercussion.
Jason wads up the wipes and tosses them into the trash bin near the door, picking up the mirror again to make sure he didn’t miss any spots.
“It’s fine if you don’t like makeup, you know.” Nico looks down at their feet. “I…I get that it’s not for everybody.”
Jason wipes a smudge of lipstick off his chin. “I like getting to help you get better at it, though.”
Nico nods without looking up from his hands. His shoulders rise, and fall. He says, “just, tell me next time, okay? If you’re uncomfortable. I want to be able to trust you, that- that what you’re telling me is true.”
It rings in Jason’s ears, something like déjà vu, like they’ve had this exact conversation before. He swallows down the bitter-sharp of guilt. “I’ll do better. I want you to be able to trust me.”
“I know.” Nico sways, and rests his head on Jason’s shoulder. “I do trust you.”
“Good. I trust you too.” No doubt Nico knows that, but it’s always good to repeat, to make sure. Nico hums his acknowledgement and lets them fall into silence.
It lasts a few moments, until Nico inevitably rocks back up onto his feet. He offers a hand out to Jason.
“Want to go eat lunch? Maybe we could go sit in the strawberry fields or something,” Nico offers, pulling Jason to his feet.
Jason rubs his mouth against the back of his hand one more time, tasting the remnants of the remover. He tries to convince himself that’s the reason his stomach hurts when he says, “or you could go eat in the infirmary with Will. I know he invited you to hang out earlier.”
Something shudders across Nico’s face, closing off. Muting. His shoulders shift. “Yeah, I guess I could.”
When they leave the Hades cabin, neither one of them reaches back to stop the door from slamming shut behind them.