Archive of Our Own ^beta

Will Solace has a mile-long list of things he is grateful for, and the number one slot (well, the number one slot after his family, friends, and the smooth, sultry tones of boy bands pretending to be younger than they are) belongs to coffee.

Well. Usually the number one (nine or ten really) slot belongs to coffee.

If the fourteen fluid ounces jam-packed with caffeine, sugar, and flavoring were doing their job and keeping Will awake so he can board his plane at 2:03 in the morning, then yes, coffee would be the apple of his eye, as it usually (read: not really ever. He’s got his priorities in order, thanks very much) is.

However, on this particular Tuesday morning (Monday night?) coffee is decidedly not performing the job that was assigned to it, and has instead taken it upon itself to splash all over Will’s already filthy t-shirt.

Will’s already filthy yellow t-shirt.

“Crap,” Will sighs to himself, clenching his teeth and rooting desperately around in the nest he’s made for himself out of his jacket, carry on, and Various Other Shit, searching fiercely for a napkin. Fishing one out from under his laptop, he leans back against the gritty airport wall behind him and tries to wring the coffee out of his shirt, knowing it’d be pointless to try.

“Now boarding flight 2319 from San Francisco, California to Memphis, Tennessee, rows twenty through twenty-five.”

Gripping his now half-empty coffee cup in one hand, Will hoists himself up, quickly grabs his jacket off the floor, slings his carry-on across his shoulder, checks his pocket for his wallet and boarding pass, and joins the line of sleepy passengers trying to get on the plane. The line moves fairly quickly, since only idiots and broke trauma care doctors with piles of college loans take the cheapest flight at arse o’clock on a Tuesday. He hands the woman behind the desk his ticket, flashes her a smile he doesn’t have the energy to maintain for longer than strictly necessary, and manages not to reply “you too!” when she tells him to enjoy his trip.

Once onboard, he has to struggle to maneuver his twenty-pound carry-on to the back of the plane. (His twenty-pound carry-on, holding three days worth of clothes, toiletries, and presents from his mom to bring home with him. The only thing keeping that sucker closed is the sheer force of his positive attitude.)

Will grimaces. The strap of his bag is cutting into his shoulder, and the fluorescent lights that somehow only make the dark outside even worse are making the stain on his shirt look putrid.

He stumbles his way to his row, twenty-two, and looks to the window seat to find it already occupied. Sitting in seat 22C is a boy who looks barely old enough to drink, and even if he is legal, Will thinks he might not even be able to keep down a thimble full of hard liquor, he’s so skinny (not that Will drinks all that much. Not really his area. But still, his roommate is Penelope Frasier. He knows what he’s talking about.)

Scrawny and underage usually aren’t Will’s type, but if the airplane lights aren’t doing Will any favors (and they aren’t, he looks like he’s gotten clocked in the jaw by a yellow highlighter), the pocket of shadow this kid is inhabiting is doing wonders for him, painting his olive face in shades of black and sepia, drawing attention to his sharp cheekbones, and complimenting his black shirt and dark jeans beautifully.

Scrawny and underage is definitely attractive, to be sure, but he’s also currently in Will’s seat.

“Excuse me,” Will says politely. The kid looks up from the book he’s reading. “I think you’re sitting in my seat.”

Scrawny and underage puts his book down on his lap (and now that Will is getting a good look at him, he realizes scrawny is the wrong word. Slim, or angled, maybe. There are definite lines of muscle underneath the black t-shirt, the kind that make Will’s stomach tense excitedly).

“No. This is seat 22C.”

“Right,” Will agrees easily, “which is the number I’ve got on my ticket.”

Slim scrunches up his nose, digging into his pocket. “Me too.” He pulls out a crumpled boarding pass that Will doesn’t check to see if he’s telling the truth.

“Huh.” Will shifts his carry-on to his other shoulder (Lord, this thing is heavy). “Guess they made some kind of mistake, then.”

Luckily, a flight attendant scuttles their way from the back of the plane. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Will fixes her with a grin, eyes apologetic. “Yeah, we were both booked for the same seat.”

“Oh!” She looks flustered for a second, then asks to see both their tickets. Will gets his out of his pocket (without spilling any more of his coffee, which is a victory if he ever saw one) and hands it to her, Slim leaning across the woman in 22A (and would you look at that, he’s got back muscles to match, mmh) to hand off his own.

The flight attendants eyes quickly flit over their boarding passes, widening when she sees the error. “You’re right, I’m so sorry about this mix up. You’re already settled here,” she glances down at Slim, “so is it all right if I lead you to an open seat a few rows up?” She focuses her gaze on Will, smiling winningly and tossing her head back so her hair rolls pleasantly off her shoulders.

Will would respond to this thinly veiled attraction, were he not a confirmed homosexual and dealing with the most excruciating carry-on ever packed.

“That would be great, thank you,” he exhales gratefully, adjusting the bag that he had apparently filled with ingots instead of clothing and other necessities.

Will follows the flight attendant back up the narrow aisle, unable to resist glancing back to see what Slim is up to. He’s got his nose in a book, the cover of which Will can’t see.
________________________________________________________________________

9 hours later, after shamelessly napping on the floor of an airport that differs from the first only in location and bathroom quality, and changing into a clean shirt in said bathroom of better quality, Will is once again battling his overstuffed carry-on as he shuffles down the aisle of another airplane, one which will bring him home to New York.

Reaching row nineteen, he pulls his half-finished Sudoku book out of his bag and tosses it onto the empty seats. He’s absolutely shit at Sudoku, and has been told as such on many occasions, but he loves trying anyway. After wrestling his carry-on into the overhead compartment, he flops down on the seat, scoots over to the window, and sets himself up to fail, but to do it spectacularly.

He spends five minutes penciling in numbers at random when someone puffs out a gust of air above him. Will looks to his left to find Slim himself settling in beside him, opening a laptop on his tray table and gently pushing a backpack beneath the seat in front of him.

A startled “hey!” flies out of Will’s mouth before he can stop it. Slim looks at Will briefly, mumbles “hello,” and turns his gaze back to his laptop, fingers flitting across the keys.

Will stares at him for a second, then tries again. “Do you remember me? We—”

Slim’s voice glides smoothly over Will’s, cutting him off lightly. “Yes.”

Beat. “Okay, then.” Will finishes lamely.

Beat. “I’m Will Solace.” It was only a matter of time before the unmanageable friendliness popped out of him like bread from a toaster.

“Nico di Angelo,” Slim replies, not turning his head from his laptop.

Beat. “Nice to meet you,” Will offers politely, a last-ditch effort in conversation.

Slim nods. Will revisits his Sudoku book to entertain himself.
________________________________________________________________________

An hour into the flight Slim (Nico) stretches, powers down his laptop, and starts rifling through his bag, leaning over to root around under the seat in front of him.

Not that Will’s watching him.

No. That’d be creepy.

….Sudoku only lasts Will about twenty to thirty minutes at a time before it starts pissing on his brain cells, alright? He can only take it for so long. It’s not his fault if he happens to glance to his left and see Slim (Nico) hunched over, clutching moodily at the patch of hair that flops gracelessly onto his forehead, frowning at the computer screen with a ferociousness so intense it’s endearing. Or if, when he checks back five minutes later, he finds a completely different Slim (for chrissakes’, Will) slouched next to him, black hair pushed thoughtlessly in all directions, fingertips pounding the computer keys, a wide, crooked smile splashed messily across his thin face. Will can’t help himself. He likes watching animated people. And dammit if Sl— Nico isn’t the unexpectedly animated person Will has ever seen.

So, yes, Will has been watching him for he past twenty minutes, and he’s got his eyes on him now as Nico breaks the surface, a threadbare laptop case in hand for his pains.

With careful fingers, Nico lays the case flat on his tray table, jiggling the zipper to try and get it unstuck. Will can see silver stitching embossed on the side in a familiar crest. A woman swathed in a peplos stands proudly, resting inside a circle baring the words “γνῶθι σεαυτόν”—“know thyself.” Will knows that although he can’t see it now, if he were to carefully study the circle entrapping the woman he would find “ἓν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα” hidden there, “I know one thing, that I know nothing.”

It’s a crest Will has seen over a thousand times before, one that decorates several t shirts at home and a sweatshirt crammed into his bag, and one imprinted into the medical degree he’s got hidden somewhere in his apartment.

“You went to Trojan University?!” Will half shouts, inordinately excited at this new excuse for a conversation.

Nico jumps, then whips his head around to stare at Will. “Yeah. Did you?”

Will nods, half wanting to break out into the fight song, but other half sensing that would make Nico overly uncomfortable. Not to mention the other passengers. Will’s not known for his vocal talent.

“What year did you graduate?”

“I graduated from the College of Arts and Sciences in 2010,” Nico relates hesitatingly.

Internally, Will flips out, as he’s wont to do. “Oh, no way, man! I finished at the College in 2007! What was your major?”

“Pre-law.”

“I was pre-med, that’s probably why I don’t remember you.” Will frowns, trying to prove he’s a kind and thoughtful person by having a complete memory of this kid in his college years rolling off the tip of his tongue. He’s coming up empty. “Do you know anyone from around my year?”

Nico colors slightly. “Um…Percy Jackson? And Annabeth Chase?”

Will is experiencing a minor earthquake. “Yeah, I know Percy and Annabeth!” He casts his mind over the host of people he’d seen them hang out with over the years. “They don’t live too far from me now, actually…” he trails off, because he’s just managed to pick Nico out of the mosaic of people he’d met at Trojan. Will’s admittedly murky memory of Nico di Angelo consists of a skinny, nearly invisible little boy with moon eyes that were nearly always looking adoringly at Percy, who’d been kind enough to point him in the direction of his first class.

Bearing this stick figure in mind, Will openly stares at Nico, eyes roving his figure appreciatively.

Nico scowls at him. “What?”

Will clears his throat awkwardly. “Nothing, I just…I remember you, a little from college. You’ve changed a lot. You look good.”

A flush creeps its way across Nico’s cheekbones, staining them lightly in the horridly lurid light of the airplane. “I don’t remember you from University,” he says coldly, changing the subject.

Will waves this off. “Yeah, I knew Annabeth from one elective, and Percy by default. I never hung around them much until after we graduated. I still see them around every now and then.”

There is a brief, light silence while Nico finishes zipping away his computer and stores it under the seat in front of him.

“So what were you doing in California, then?” Will refers back to their first thirty second meeting on the plane from San Francisco.

“I was visiting my sister, she goes to the sister school over there, University of Jupiter.” Nico explains. “What were you doing?” he asks hastily.

“I was visiting my family too! Not anyone from school though.”

Nico nods.

“So, uh, what did you do with your Trojan degree?” Will tries, feeling as though he’s taking a survey.

“I’m an administrator.”

“What’s that?”

“It has to do with people’s will’s and stuff.”

Will still doesn’t know what the job is. “Okay. How does it have to do with people’s wills and stuff,” he prods, grinning.

Nico inhales deeply. “It’s like…if someone dies, and they don’t leave a will behind, you know, to decide which member of the family gets what, etc., etc., the family hires me, and I sort it all out.”

Will lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Pretty morbid stuff.”

“I guess.” Nico agrees quietly, face closed off.

“But still cool,” Will tacks on hurriedly, not ready to probe the dark waters of Sudoku just yet. “It’s like you look after them after they’ve died. That’s pretty neat. Besides,” he adds, “I’m not one to judge about the possible morbidity of ones’ profession. Trauma care doctor.” He explains when Nico looks at him quizzically. “You don’t know morbidity till you’ve seen a guy wheeled in holding his own hand.”

Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to hide his obvious excitement at the gruesome image. “You’ve seen that?”

“Oh yeah. Wanna know what happened?”

Will spends the next few hours regaling Nico with his most awful hospital stories, trying as hard as he can to break the kid’s false exterior and make him squirm.

________________________________________________________________________

“Hey, so, here,” They are just outside the exit to the airplane, standing uncomfortably in a New York airport that smells even dirtier and grimier than the ones in California or Tennessee. Will hurriedly rips a piece of paper out of the back of his Sudoku book, scribbling his cell number on the back and holding it out to Nico. “If you’re ever bored, or you just feel like it, look me up.” He smiles easily.

The kid grips onto the paper, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “Yeah, sure. Thanks Solace.” He offers a small salute, then turns on his heel to walk off towards what Will assumes is the baggage claim.

Will stares after him for a few seconds, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He types out a text to Penelope on autopilot, letting her know that he’s getting the usual from the Thai place. Shouldering his carry-on for the soon to be last time, he makes his way out of the airport and hails a cab, the familiar smoke of the city mingling with the crisp, clean scent of an evening November.

Thirty minutes later Will is forcing himself up the stairs to his apartment whilst internally battling his bone-deep, trance-like lethargy and overwhelming enjoyment of Pad Thai. Reaching his front door, in a comatose acrobatic achievement he’ll never be able to recreate, Will gets his keys out of his bag and unlocks and opens his door, all without dropping the ten pound carry-on or the food. Mentally jotting down his moment of dexterity so he can tell Malcolm and Shane the next time he’s at the hospital, Will stumbles into his apartment, blindly slamming the door behind him. He untangles himself from his duffle bag turned carry-on turned unbearable burden, toes off his converse, and carefully sets the food down on their kitchen counter top.

“Penelope?” He asks the room at large. His apartment stays silent. Will flicks on a light switch as he pads down the hallway. When he reaches Penelope’s room, he finds a shut door, a strip of light glowing from underneath, giving her away. He knocks gently, then pushes the door in to find his roommate slumped on her unmade bed, a bottle of wine dangling from her fingertips.

“Marker, what happened?” Will asks softly, crossing the cluttered room to sit on the edge of her bed.

Penelope sniffs, running a hand through her short, untidy curls. “The fucker dumped me,” she mumbles.

Will doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t want him to yet. Instead, he offers food. “I picked up Pad Thai. Wanna eat in the bath?”

She stills for a second, then nods, reaching out to link her arms around Will’s neck so he can carry her piggy back into the bathroom.
________________________________________________________________________

Will Solace first met Penelope Frasier when he was starting his residency, fresh out of medical school. She was a barista/waitress at the coffee shop that was equidistant from the hospital and the apartment he was sharing with Cecil and Lou Ellen. The first time he went for coffee and told her his name was Will, she wrote “Won’t” on his coffee cup in an effort to rage against the machine. Because Will would very much like to think of himself as Someone Who Doesn’t Take Shit From Nobody, he called her Marker, as “PEN” was the only acceptable part of her name that would fit on her nametag. Two months later, when Malcolm managed to convince her to go out on a date with him, she agreed only if Will would double with the partner of his choosing. Will had opted for his boyfriend at the time, Fletcher, who’d he’d been dating for nearly a year and had yet to realize was a smug douche. The date had been catastrophic, ending with Fletcher walking out and Will and Penelope abandoning Malcolm in Central Park to go get hammered. They’d been best friends ever since they both woke up fighting the hangover.
________________________________________________________________________

Penelope is solidly in the tub when Will reenters the bathroom, idly fiddling with the faucet to make the water scalding. Will sets the takeaway down on the floor, then opens the cabinet above the sink and pulls out the autumn spice mini candle and lighter. He coaxes the flame to life, touches it to the wick, then places the candle proudly on the toilet, allowing its soft light to throw gentle shadows on the otherwise dark walls.

Penelope can pretend she hates scented candles all she wants, Will knows she’d have to be inhuman not to love autumn spice in the bath.

Will makes himself comfortable against the bathroom wall, body parallel to the bathtub. He is facing Penelope where she lounges, making a palace of their scratched tile.

Silently he pulls out her Styrofoam carton of rice, drizzling pineapple coconut curry over the top before sticking in a pair of chopsticks and handing it over to Penelope. She leaves it to float in the bathwater, accepting the can of orange soda he’s cracked open for her and taking an indulgent sip.

Will eagerly flips open his Pad Thai, ripping the paper holding his chopsticks together and wasting no time mashing the chicken, noodles, bean sprouts, and peanuts into a Jackson Pollock of an aluminum container. He stuffs the first bite into his mouth and nearly spirals into a food induced orgasm.

Opening his eyes, Will sees Penelope moodily pick at his noodles. He pulls at his soda, then clears his throat, looking at her meaningfully.

She sighs around her mouthful of Pad Thai. “It’s not even that I miss him, it’s that it should have been the other way round. I should’ve been the one to break up with him.” She eyes her rice curry as she picks it up out of the water, watching Will lean over and take a chopstick-ful, not dropping a single grain of rice into the bath.

“It was after my shift today,” she continues. “He met me at the shop, walked me here, and did it just outside the front door.”

“That sucks, Marker,” Will notes, rooting around in his noodles for a piece of chicken.

“I mean, Ricky was a complete bastard.”

Will coughs, and she whips her head up to glare at him. “He was a nice guy, Penelope,” he says softly.

She scoffs, her body tensing and sending waves rippling out towards the edges of the tub. “Too good for me, then?”

Will shakes his head, refusing to buy into her self-loathing. “No, Marker, not too good for you, just, I think maybe not good for you. He wasn’t enough for you.”

She scowls fiercely, turning her face to the wall. “Fuck you, Won’t, fuck good guys.”

He unobtrusively eats his dinner and lets her be sad for a little while. After a few minutes her body relaxes and she faces him again, makeup smudged but eyes dry. He smiles sadly at her, then pulls out his phone and puts on Elliot Smith’s New Moon, the tinny speakers enough in the cramped bathroom. Will makes sure she eats through all of her curry then throws the empty carton away and pulls the plug in the bath, letting the water drain around her. He picks out the biggest towel they own, wraps her in it, and carries her bridal style into the bedroom, watching as she sleepily puts on her pajamas and slips beneath the bedcovers. Will shuts the light off as he leaves, reentering only to place a glass of water and two aspirin on her bedside table.
________________________________________________________________________

Will starts off next week beautifully, with a night shift while he’s on call, a day off, and then a twelve hour shift the following day. He is absolutely dead on his feet and was less polite than he ought to have been to the sixteen year old he and Malcolm were setting a broken leg for, but hey, he’s on his third cup of coffee, give him a break. Will strips off his gloves, lobs them towards the trash can, misses entirely, and has to endure Malcolm’s derisive laughter for the walk of shame to pick them up and dispose of them properly.

“So, how was the family?” Malcolm asks as he and Will jog towards the break room. They have fifteen minutes and counting to wolf down food.

“Thanks for asking, man, they’re all good,” Will responds seriously. “Brett just had his tonsils out the week before I visited, but he’s recovering fine.”

“What grade is he in now, fourth?” Malcolm hazards.

“Seventh.” Will jimmies the handle on the break room door, then throws his weight against it, causing the door to jump open.

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to trick it,” Will winks.

Inside, Malcolm makes a beeline for the coffee machine while Will gets his lunch from the refrigerator and plops down next to Shane at the dingy table.

“I’ll never understand why you don’t just buy your food at the cafeteria,” Shane sets his book down, rubs at his eyes, then looks at Will fondly, leaning back in his chair.

Will shrugs, taking a bite of leftover burrito. “I ‘ave thood a’ ‘ome.” He swallows hugely. “Why waste money on buying more here?”

The door slams open and an irate woman stomps in. She’s about to open her mouth to begin what’s sure to be a huge rant, but Malcolm stops her, stepping forward in a concerned, nervous, and most importantly well-practiced fashion.

“Oh my god…Nadia…” he starts cautiously. “You have,” he motions wildly in her direction, looking overly sick.

“Blood,” Will gags from his chair, while Shane tilts his head back in mock fear. “You have blood all over you.” He pretends to retch.

She pulls the tie from her hair, sending her dark, chocolate brown hair cascading down her back. “Very funny,” she sneers, gathering her tresses up and retying them into a neater ponytail. She wrenches the refrigerator door open, manhandles a can of Coke open, and chugs half of it down fiercely.

“What happened to you?” Malcolm asks as he stirs his coffee. “You seem a little tense,” he tacks on, taking a moment to glance in the direction of Shane and Will and roll his eyes.

Will has never seen anyone wipe soda away from their mouth with such rage. “Patient,” Nadia spits. “Guy comes in with a fucking nail embedded in his wrist and keeps cursing at me, won’t even let me fucking touch it.” She takes another drink. “God, I hate people.”

“Why didn’t you use the one-two-three fuck you rule?” Shane inquires. “After a patient uses the f-word with you three times, give them a little paralytic,” he explains to Will’s questioning look.

“Isn’t that a little…” Will trails off.

“Morally ambiguous?” Shane offers. “Yeah, well.”

“Don’t worry, Will, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Malcolm reassures him, leaning against the counter top. “With that talent you’ve got for calming people in a hospital down, you’ll never have to use the ‘one-two-three fuck you’ rule.”

“I wanted to, but Dr. Clove was observing the patient next to me, I didn’t want to risk it,” Nadia drains her can of soda and flicks it into the recycling bin.

Will is about to interject when all of their phones chime simultaneously. Malcolm groans while Will crams as much of the burrito as he can into his mouth, Nadia thumbing open her phone and reading the message.

“Burns. At least 2nd degree. And a laceration.”

“Bed number?” Shane asks, tossing his book to slide across the linoleum floor and come to a stop at his bag.

“Five.”

“Gold team, mobilize!” Malcolm shouts as the other three tail him out of the room.

Once they get to the trauma center, Will only has eyes for the patient. Or rather, only has eyes for his injuries. Felicity, their trauma team head, is barking orders at them.

“Nadia, hook him up with an IV with electrolytes, we don’t know if those burns are 3rd degree. Shane and Malcolm, you’re on burns, Will, you’re on cuts.”

Will nods, then steps up to the patient’s arm (“Whoa, whoa, what’re you doing? It’s a scratch, a scratch!”) and removes the blood-soaked cloth to get a look at the wound. It’s a messy, jagged cut extending from elbow to wrist, bleeding freely under a layer of grit. Will turns to ask the patient how long he’s been bleeding, but the Latino boy is far too preoccupied with asking Malcolm and Shane what their doing to the nasty burns on his hands.

Instead, Will tries to ask the guy who came in with him, but stops short, a “whoa!” springing from his lips.

Standing in front of him is none other than Nico di Angelo, messenger bag slung over one shoulder, hair still handsomely mussed, charcoal grey suit resting on his frame, with a skinny black tie underneath the undone jacket.

Will mentally scribbles over every time he used the word “kid” to describe this creature. Nico di Angelo is most certainly not a kid, Nico di Angelo is a man, a lean, fit man who looks unfairly appealing in a suit that is making his skin look like smooth, milky coffee.

“Will!” Nadia shouts, taping down the IV.

“Right,” he shakes his head, putting on his most charming smile. “We meet again, Nico di Angelo. Do you know how long he’s been bleeding?” He jerks his head in the direction of the man on the bed, remembering that Nico had decidedly not texted him in the days since Will had given him his number.

Nico’s expression mirrors Will’s insides. “Erm…I got him ten minutes ago, so…maybe fifteen before that?”

“Would you happen to know his blood type?” Will requests politely, leaning with all his weight on a new, clean cloth that’s covering the wound.

Nico shakes his head. “Valdez, you know you’re blood type?”

“Man, I can’t even remember who I woke up with this morning,” Valdez says jovially. “How the hell should I know my blood type?”

“Felicity, we need O negative!” Will shouts.

“Already on it,” she replies, waving over a nurse holding a cooler.

“Two IV’s?” Valdez remarks, eyeing the nurse. “Man, I must be something special.”

“We’re just going to do a transfusion,” she says soothingly, slipping in the needle and sending O negative into his bloodstream.

Will spends the next twenty minutes cleaning and stitching up the cut on his patient’s forearm. When he cuts the thread and tapes gauze over the wound, Shane, Malcolm, and Nadia are still hard at work on Valdez’s burns. Apparently he’ll have to be kept overnight to treat them properly.

Will takes the opportunity to talk to Nico. At this point, he’d take any opportunity to talk to Nico, who has spent the chaotic half hour silently surveying their work while leaning casually against the counter top, looking thoroughly out of place amongst their scrubs and antiseptic.

“So what happened?” Will gestures to Valdez, still being swarmed with trauma fellows.

Nico unfolds his arms from his chest and stands up. “Leo’s a mechanic. He burned himself by…I don’t know, something to do with grabbing a sheet of hot car part because he was so excited he forgot he wasn’t wearing gloves.”

Will laughs, surprised at Nico’s frankness. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Nico shifts his weight to the other foot. “He says that protective gloves impede his ability to hear the metal as it speaks to him.”

Will lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “So how’d you get dragged into this?”

Nico shrugs. “Leo works in the autoshop around the corner. He knows my office is down the street, so instead of calling for actual help, he phoned me, and I brought him here.”

Will nods, focusing most on the newfound knowledge that Nico does not work far from where he works. He doesn’t ask exactly where, though. Don’t want to seem too stalker-y.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Nico innocently clearing his throat. Will realizes enough time went by without any dialogue to be considered an “awkward silence.” As soon as he thinks this, he starts drowning in his own fabricated awkwardness and clears his throat too, trying to dispel the tension he might have made up. Unfortunately, he is apparently not as adept at clearing his throat as Nico is, makes a noise akin to a housecat being run over by a lawn mower, and has to spend the next thirty seconds coughing viciously to make up for it. Looking up from where he’s bent double, Will can see Nico smirking at him, and trying unsuccessfully to hide it.

“So, this is where you work?” Nico asks once Will takes his full height.

Will puts on the air of a man who hasn’t just lost his dignity in a melodramatic coughing fit, thanks very much. He hopes his smile appears to be dashing as he responds “yup! This is my Dexter’s laboratory!”

Nico quirks up his lips minutely. “So you’re going to keep him overnight?” He jerks his head in the direction of Leo Valdez.

Will nods. “We’ve got to make sure the burns are getting treated properly.”

Nico takes a step closer to the hospital bed. “Valdez! I’m going to head out.”

“No prob, hey, thanks for sticking around, man!” Leo grins, then winces as Nadia wipes something across his hands. “Hey, watch it! You’ll put me out of a job!”

“I’ll send Calypso over with some clothes and stuff, okay?”

“Ah shit!” Valdez swears, twitching violently like he wants to jump up. “I forgot to tell Calypso! She’s gonna flip!”

“I told her already when we first brought you in, she said ‘that’s just like him, probably wasn’t looking at what he was doing, the idiot.’”

Valdez looks slightly disappointed. “She only said that after I told her you were okay,” Nico offers quietly.

Valdez perks up. “Knew she cared about me, at least a little,” he says cheerfully.

“Right. I’m gone.” Nico waves goodbye to the group by the hospital beds, meets Will’s eyes and nods. “See you around, Solace.”
________________________________________________________________________

Will squints his eyes against the light forcing it’s way through his curtains and groans, shifting underneath his bed sheets. He blinks furiously, then hefts himself up off his stomach and onto his elbows, the lifting the sheets on his back and creating a cavern of warmth out of his covers. He waits like that for a moment, looming over his misshapen pillow, then swivels his head to the left as slowly as possible, as though his neck had settings like a dial. He casts his eyes downward to alight on the clock: 2:38 pm. He collapses back onto the bed with a huff, then rolls over, staring at his ceiling, giving himself the motivation he needs to get out of bed. Taking a deep breath he flips the covers off himself, swings his legs out over the side of the bed, plants his feet firmly on the floor, and stands up solidly, intending on attacking the day and making it his bitch.

After brushing his teeth and pulling on a faded sweatshirt with a picture of the Black Night facing off against Gandalf, Will makes his way into the kitchen, playing Queen’s A Night at the Opera on his phone as he goes. Rattling around the cupboards, he grabs a bowl and the box of Lucky Charms, filling the bowl three quarters of the way up with cereal. Shaking a bit into his hands, he tosses some Lucky Charms into his mouth and munches on them while getting the milk carton out of the fridge. Holding the bowl in one hand and the carton in the other, Will sloshes milk over his cereal, finagles the cap back onto the carton, replaces the milk and knocks the fridge closed with his hip. He goes spoon hunting to find an empty drawer and a full dishwasher. Will shrugs. He was a resident for gods’ sakes. He’s eaten in less than ideal conditions at questionable speeds before. He tips the bowl back into his mouth, chewing noisily on the cereal while slipping into his vans by the door.

Will leisurely makes his way down the two flights of stairs of his apartment building to the first floor. The sunlight timidly getting in through the flat, small windows near the ceiling is bathing the grasshopper green walls with hues of delicious yellow. Will feels inordinately good for a day after being on call for twenty-four hours at the hospital. He stops on the landing to pet the calico cat belonging to the young couple upstairs. She purrs softly, rubbing her head against his legs sweetly as “You’re My Best Friend” crescendos from his cell phone in his back pocket. Will ambles down the last flight of stairs singing along to Freddie Mercury, damn however off key he sounds (hint: it’s a lot). He pushes his hair back from his face and opens his P.O. box, takes some more Lucky Charms (“hey, maybe that’s why he’s having such a great afternoon!” is what he doesn’t say out loud, though he thinks it) and picks out his mail, saving the sorting for when he gets back upstairs. He closes the P.O. box, locks it, pets the calico that he’s going to call Freddie from now on one more time, and traipses back up to his apartment, skipping ahead to “Seaside Rendezvous” on the album and turning it up as loud as it will go, tossing down the mail and dancing atrociously in the privacy of his own apartment.
________________________________________________________________________

After he’s showered and put on clean clothes, he picks up the mail again, toweling his hair dry with fervor. He mentally files away the electric and cable bills that have come to call, tapes two letters marked for Penelope to the wall by the refrigerator for her to see when she finishes work, and is left with a light blue card bearing his name on one side. He flips it over and grins instantly.

He wore me down.

You’re invited to the engagement party celebrating the upcoming union of Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase.

Friday, December 2nd at their place of residence.* 7:00 pm.

Please RSVP to Annabeth!*

At the bottom, in smaller print, it reads

*If you are receiving this it is assumed you know where we live and have Annabeth’s number or email address. If you don’t…this card was probably mistakenly delivered. Sorry.

Will laughs out loud, then immediately heads to his bedroom to fire off an email to Annabeth, announcing his definite attendance.

Then he pulls on his jacket, grabs his keys and heads to the grocery store to pick up something easy Penelope can help him throw together for tonight. It might be oven pizza. Who knows.
________________________________________________________________________

When Will returns twenty five minutes later (bearing not oven baked frozen pizza, but instead Kraft mac and cheese, which is only slightly better), Penelope is curled up on the couch watching television.

Will shucks off his coat, puts some water on to boil, strolls over to the couch, and flops onto her.

“Hi, Marker!” he sings into her stomach.

“Oh my god, Won’t, what the fuck, get off me,” she snarls, kicking at him viciously. He wriggles to the side, leaving her marginally enough room, and takes stock of her. She’s looking much better than she was this weekend, the circles under her eyes are less pronounced and her usual acidity is back in full force.

“How was work today?” He asks her.

“It was fine,” she answers, not moving her eyes from the TV. Will looks at it himself and sees it’s that episode of Parks and Rec where Donna and Tom take Ben to “treat yo ‘self.”

“Yeah? No assholes today?” Penelope left the coffee shop right around the time Will graduated and now co-owns a thrift store in the village.

“No assholes today.” She grins, looking away from the television to appraise him. “You get something for dinner?”

He nods. “Mac and cheese.”

“Yes!” She pumps her fist in the air, then falls back onto the couch. Will stays next to her, watching Ben lose it in full Batman attire while waiting for the water to boil.
________________________________________________________________________

Trauma work is Will’s sedative. It pins him against a backdrop of broken bones and mangled tissue while the weeks ebb and flow around and above him, beyond his attention and control. When he looks up again it is Friday, December 2nd. He hasn’t read a book start to finish in three weeks, the last vegetable he ate was six or seven days ago at the earliest, and he can’t remember the last time he hasn’t fallen asleep in the shower. More to the point, today is Percy and Annabeth’s engagement party, and Will is just returning from venturing out into the bitter wind of Winter to pick up the painting he’d gotten framed as a present. He grins at the artwork, nestled among tissue paper in a navy blue bag. It’s stunning, “The Sun Sets Sail” by Rob Gonsalves, and features blue curling waves and a ribbon-like bridge over them that dissolves into open sky as the clouds beneath it form themselves into sailing ships. It’s perfect for Percy and Annabeth, Will thinks as he slips out of his shoes and sheds his coat, scarf, hat, and gloves, but what’s even more perfect is the absolute knockout price it had. Will was lucky enough to spot the thing in a low-scale art shop, where it was thought to be a fake but Will could instantly tell was the real thing. He’d bought the painting, which usually sold for over two-hundred, for fifteen dollars, and was astoundingly pleased with himself.

Will glances at the clock, sees that it’s nearly six already, yelps, then slides as best he can over to the bathroom, opens the door into his face, and stumbles inside to shower, managing not to kill himself.
________________________________________________________________________

Will can hear terrible dance music from down the hall of Percy and Annabeth’s apartment building. He grimaces as he knocks on the door. Percy always did have awful taste, and Annabeth’s isn’t much better.

The door flies inward to reveal Annabeth, the party in the background creating a halo around her. “Will!” She cries, flinging herself into his arms.

“Annabeth!” He laughs right back, hugging her with one arm while holding the painting in the other. “I hear you finally gave in to the turd!”

Annabeth pulls back, rolling her eyes. “I think it’s because I’ve been around him for so long,” she says seriously. “I’ve become desensitized.”

“Our prayers are with you,” Will sets the painting down and crosses himself. “We hope your soul can be saved.”

She laughs, then pulls him into the apartment. Inside the music is even more repulsive. Will’s face distorts at the gruesome sound he prides himself on not being able to identify. When Annabeth notices his obvious pain, she snorts.

“Go on, then,” she waves him in the direction of an iPhone in a dock. “Work your magic.”

Will starts off, then backtracks to hand her the present. “Here, Annabeth, you and Percy will love it.”

She takes it from him, smiling. “Thanks, Will.”

He hugs her again. “Seriously,” he says, holding her tightly, “I’m really glad it’s worked out with you two.”

When he lets go, her eyes are bright. “Here,” she fusses, trying to focus on something else, “let me put your coat somewhere.” He shirks it off, handing it to her, then goes to try and deal with the abysmal music.

He makes it three steps before an enthusiastic “Will! You made it!” stops him. He turns to see Percy coming over to him, drink in hand. “Yeah, of course, man,” Will grabs Percy’s outstretched arm and does one of those bro handshake/hugs that he’s perfected over the years. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Even in the dim light of the party, Will can see that Percy’s different. It’s subtle, but he looks a little lighter, a little less worried, a little calmer, a little more settled.

“Congratulations, Percy,” Will clasps his shoulder. “Well done.”

Percy grins like he’s trying stretch out his face. “Thanks, man, really. By the way, great sweater!”

Will beams down at his torso. Annabeth had sent out an email explaining that this engagement party would also be their annual ugly sweater Christmas party, so everyone had better dress accordingly. Will had donned a green pullover decorated with a Christmas themed Pacman: all the characters had Santa hats, Pacman ate ornaments instead of questionable white balls, and there was a bedazzled Christmas tree in the center.

“Thanks! Penelope gave it to me last year.”

Percy gives him a sly look. “Hey, are you and her….” He trails off, eyeing Will.

Will nearly chokes on the laughter forcing its way out his throat. “God, no!” He snorts.

Percy starts waving his hands in Will’s direction. “Oh, hey, man, I didn’t mean to—”

Will cuts him off, still chuckling. “No worries, dude. I’m going to fix your music, okay?”

Percy pulls a disgruntled look. “Whatever, man.”

Laughing, Will walks away, edging through the crowded living room to the iPhone nestled in the dock. He sees Clarisse La Rue from across the room, and catches the beer she tosses at him, nodding in thanks. Finally at the low table in the corner hosting the music player, he cracks open the bottle, slurps from it loudly, and sets about fishing his phone from his jeans pocket. He sorts through it for a playlist marked “Engagement Party.” Damned if Will doesn’t come prepared.

He switches the phone playing the abysmal music with his own, leaving the offensive piece of technology to sit in the corner and think about what it’s done. Will presses play, and “Changing” by The Airborne Toxic Event sways through the speakers.

Will sits back on his metaphorical haunches and crosses his arms over his chest, satisfied with his work. Mission completed, he sips from his bottle and leans back against the wall, enjoying the free beer and what’s now good music.

He’s looking around the room and jamming out to what’s now “Songs About Your Girlfriend” when he chokes on the bottle in his lips, sending beer ricocheting through his sinuses. Coughing to get the acrid taste out of his nose, he double checks to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he saw and yes, there is Nico di Angelo sitting on a sofa, chatting with Leo Valdez (who’s burns have healed nicely, mental nod to Nadia, Malcolm, and Shane) and someone Will doesn’t know. Valdez is sitting next to Nico, shoving chips into his mouth, while a blond-haired boy with glasses is sitting on a coffee table across from them.

Will wants to go over and talk to Nico, but he hesitates as he sees a beautiful girl with choppy brown hair sit on Valdez’s other side, slipping into the conversation with the ease familiarity brings. Nico looks so comfortable, it’s as though an electric current that had been keeping him frazzled is now quiet. He’s more relaxed than both times Will has seen him, and Will doesn’t want to spoil that.

For the first time, Will doesn’t know where he stands with someone. He doesn’t like it much, this uncertainty of what Nico wants to hear. With everyone else he knows, their relationship is clearly marked out, or is mapped out within the first few moments of meeting, but any landmarks Will can use to orient himself bounce off Nico like rubber on the sidewalk. Will’s completely in the dark with Nico, and while it makes him distinctly uncomfortable, it also leaves him feeling excited, like he’s trying something new.

Will waits with what passes for patience, wanting the people surrounding Nico to leave so he can talk to him. Finally, a girl over and pulls Valdez off the couch, swaying her hips invitingly (you’re welcome) A few minutes later, the other boy and girl follow suit, joining Valdez and his partner on the makeshift dance floor. Seizing the opportunity, Will pushes off from the wall he’d been leaning on, strides across the room, and plops himself down what could be considered a little too close to Nico.

Whatever. Will’s got Dutch courage and a take-no-prisoners attitude tonight.

“Fancy meeting you here, eh?” Will pulls a false British accent and has the audacity to think himself clever.

Startled, Nico looks up. “Solace! What are you doing here?”

Will takes a moment to look Nico over before responding. He’s wearing a genius Christmas sweater that’s got skeletons wearing Santa hats and strung with fairy lights on it. Will’s insanely jealous.

“I was invited, duh,” Will answers, flicking Nico in the arm, yet still not totally sure if they’d reached that point yet. Nico flinches slightly, so maybe not.

Nico’s eyebrows furrow. It’s adorable. “So why are you talking to me, then?”

Will gasps dramatically. “You wound me, di Angelo. Honestly, you’re one of four people I know in here, please keep me company.”

This is technically a lie. Will actually knows about half the people in here, but hell, he doesn’t want to talk to them, he wants to talk to Nico di Angelo.

Nico raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s Christmas!” Will begs.

“‘Four serial suicides and a note!’” Nico mutters to himself, smiling, before saying to Will “It’s not Christmas, it’s barely December.”

Will has not heard that last sentence, because Will is far too preoccupied with the fact that Nico di Angelo watches BBC Sherlock oh my god yay. Will has had a hardcore crush on Martin Freeman since March of 2011.

Will wants to suavely engage Nico in riveting conversation on the stylistic choices made in the directing of BBC Sherlock and his opinion on the nature of the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, but all he think to do is wrestle madly with the blanket on the armchair behind Nico, throw it across his own shoulders, and say “‘I’m in shock, look, I’ve got a blanket!’”

To his shock and ultimate delight, Nico laughs at the reference. Suddenly, he looks bit more interested in the conversation.

“Have you seen all the episodes?” Will asks rapidly, he does not take this shit lightly.

“Of course I have.” Nico seems almost offended. “Do you watch Dr. Who?” he asks eagerly.

Will shakes his head sadly. “No, I never got into it.”

Nico looks disappointed. His eyes lose their focus on Will’s just the tiniest bit as he asks “Supernatural?”

“Nope, just the ‘sherlock’ part of ‘superwholock,’ Will answers, dismayed as Nico folds himself back against the couch, seemingly giving up on the conversation.

“What about Avatar: The Last Airbender?” Will asks hurridly.

The question brings Nico back to life. He sits up straight and gives Will his utmost attention as he answers “Yes!”

Will latches onto the talking point as though he were hanging from a cliff. “Which was your favorite season finale?”

Nico really considers Will’s question, rolling it around on his tongue and pursing his lips. Will likes him all the more for it. “Probably the second one,” he answers finally. “It sets so much up for the third season, and they all have to make really hard choices.” He meets Will’s eyes. “What’s yours?”

“The third one,” the answer comes to Will easily. To his surprise, Nico scoffs beside him. “What?”

“Typical,” Nico shakes his head. “Everyone always picks the last one.”

“Yeah, cause it’s clearly the best,” Will argues. “Everything that you could possibly want to happen in an episode happens.”

“The way he defeated the Firelord was such a copout!” Nico shoots back, animated. “Nobody understands it, cause it didn’t make any sense!”

“It totally makes sense! The avatar uses his,” Will falters. If he’s being honest with himself he didn’t get this episode either. “His avatar powers to save the day! Whatever!”

Nico resembles the cat that got the cream. “See? You didn’t understand it! It was all ‘the avatar can do anything to save the day, woo’ bullshit all over again! It’s just like the avatar state!”

“What’s wrong with the Avatar state?!” Will is outraged, and in his opinion, rightfully so.

“The avatar can literally do anything in the avatar state! He’s way too powerful!” Nico is genuinely invested in this argument about a cartoon character, it’s fantastic.

“Yeah, but if he’s killed in the Avatar State, the avatar ‘will cease to exist!’” Will quotes the show directly, pulling out all the stops for this argument. “He has to risk everything to be that powerful! That’s why the season finale for the third season is so good! Because Aang has to risk everything! And the Firelord nearly gets him!”

“But he doesn’t,” Nico argues back as Will drains his beer. “The avatar always has something else, it’s like Superman!”

Will eyes his empty bottle. He doesn’t do this often, but what the hell, he’s carrying on a conversation with Nico di Angelo, he’s going to need more fodder.

“I’m going to get another drink, do you want anything?” Will offers. Nico considers this for a moment, then nods. “If they’ve got Jack Daniels, I’ll take it.”

Will nods, then plunges into the crowd to retrieve more alcohol.
________________________________________________________________________

“Dude, Aang would totally end up with Katara!”

“No,” Nico shakes his head firmly, despite his blood alcohol content. “She’s too old and mature for hic—him.”

Will takes the bottle of champagne out of his hands, swigging from it. Two hours earlier he’d returned with his beer and Nico’s unnecessarily hard liquor. When they’d both finished that he’d gone out hunting again and had appropriated a champagne bottle for them to get truly hammered on. If Will was going to get plastered, he was going to do it in style.

“Aang is mature!” He says, or he thinks he says. “He’s the Avatar! He’s had past lives and all that, he can talk to ghosts! Ghosts give him advice! He’s totally mature!”

“No!” Nico is waving his hand at a point somewhere above Will’s left shoulder. “He’s twelve!”

“He’s one hundred and twelve! ‘Sides, who else would she end up with, Z-Zuko?” Will slurs.

Nico flushes a deep red. He grabs the champagne bottle from Will and guzzles it.

“Oh my god.” Will stares at Nico open-mouthed. “You ship Zutara?”

“They’re cute together,” Nico mumbles, finger tracing the lip of the bottle.

“You’re going against the entire show! You, you heretic!” Will accuses dramatically.

“It’s symbolic!”

“I can’t even talk to you right now.” Will swipes the bottle, spins a full one-eighty degrees away from Nico on the couch, and slumps moodily, swallowing mouthfuls of champagne, intending on never speaking to Nico again ever for his ludicrous shipping choices.

…..except he has to break his vow of silence. He has to know something important, or else he and Nico can’t be friends.

He shifts slowly towards the other man, angling his body so he’s facing him rather than the rest of the party.

“Nico?” Will asks softly.

His reply is a cold hand picking the champagne out of his grip.

“John and Sherlock…” Will trails off. After twenty seconds of scrutinizing the wall on his left, Nico sighs.

“Moffat’s insane if he thinks Sherlock’s not homosexual.”

Yes! Will almost stands up and pumps his fist in the air, but instead he casually replies “Ohmygosh I know right!”

That’s right, Solace. Be cool.

“That whole thing with Irene Adler was ridiculous,” Nico adds. “In the books, it clearly states that he hates women,”

“‘He despised the sex,’” Will chirps, positively ecstatic.

“Exactly,” Nico replies, raising his eyebrows and allowing himself a small grin at Will’s quotation.

That’s right, di Angelo. Will thinks to himself. You think you can outnerd me? You fool. I am the master. No, “I am the…..mast-nerd!”

Nico pauses in the middle of a monologue catalyzing each and every moment in the nine episode series where Sherlock’s overt gayness betrayed itself.

“What?”

Will’s cheeks smart. “N-nothing.” The letters trip over themselves in his mouth as he tries to prove to Nico that he’s not a complete idiot. (He totally is.)

Laughter bubbles out of Nico’s chest like a hot spring. “Did-did you just say you were the ‘mast-nerd?’”

Will tries to shake his head vigorously. It doesn’t go as planned. It occurs to Will that he’s drunk. He’s very drunk. He’s very drunk and drunkenly in awe of drunk Nico di Angelo drunk laughing at a drunk pun drunk Will made. Drunkenly.

Will wants to know if Nico would have laughed if he’d made the pun sober, because he can’t kid himself, vomit-inducing puns are the shit Will lives for.

“Hey!” Will interrupts Nico’s laughter because he’s remembered something. “How come you never texted me?”

Silence.

“You know, after the plane ride?” Will prompts him. He looks to his left to see Nico fiddling with his skull ring, eyes down on his shoes.

Instead of pushing him further, Will waits for an answer. Finally, Nico looks up at him.

“You were just some guy I met on a plane, I didn’t know anything about you! What…what if you were a murderer?” Nico asks triumphantly. “What was I supposed to do, play right into your trap?”

Will raises an eyebrow at him.

“I just….what would we have talked about?” Nico asks defensively.

“What would we have talked about?” Will repeats incredulously. “Avatar, Sherlock, superheroes, Chipotle, I don’t know!”

Nico shrinks into himself. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll text you first thing tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Will asks hopefully.

Nico looks over at him, alcohol making his eyes bleary. “Yeah, alright, I promise.”
________________________________________________________________________

Will’s phone buzzes him awake at, he checks the clock, 6:30 in the godforsaken morning. He’d only been asleep for four and a half hours, and it’s his day off. Great.

Gritting his teeth, he throws an arm onto his bedside table and fumbles blindly for his phone. Freeing it from the charger, he brings it into bed with him, pulling the covers over his head and settling down to read the message.

Morning, Sunshine

It’s from an unknown number. Will wonders for a moment if he gave out his contact information to someone at Percy and Annabeth’s party last night, when his phone pings with another message.

I got up to take a piss, and I thought, why not keep my promise?
Hope your hangover’s not too bad.

The hangover hits Will like a truck, along with other memories of last night. Groaning in his blanket cocoon, he forces his mind over the events of the evening, and remembers he’d made Nico promise to text him first thing in the morning.

He hadn’t expected Nico to be such an early riser.

Right as rain, LeBron James he types back, sitting up and feeling his brain smash into the back of his forehead. Yourself?

He gets out of bed with as little muscle movement as possible, opens the door as quietly as possible, and tip toes into the bathroom, wincing with every step. He slides three aspirin into his hand without rattling the bottle too much, then fills a glass in the kitchen. Downing the tablets, he brings the glass back to bed with him, swaddling himself under the covers and checking his phone for any more messages.

Fine. Jack Daniels and some Champagne isn’t going to do much to me.

Blinking the headache out of his eyes, Will barely resists typing out “well, good for you.”

That must come in handy.

You have no idea.

Yup.

Will is adding Nico to his contacts when another text comes in.

We had a lot more in common when you were drunk.

Sorry for being hung over and boring at 6:30 in the morning, we can’t all awesome at small talk all the time, Will shoots off furiously before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets hitting send, worrying if he came of too rude or abrasive.

Did you just say I was good at small talk? Were we on the same plane ride?

Will laughs out loud. Nico was right, he’d barely said two words to Will on the trip back to New York until Will forced a conversation out of him.

Point taken.

Thank you.

What are you doing? Will can’t think of anything else to say, and besides, he’s genuinely curious. Nico doesn’t seem the type to face the day so early without a good reason, Will wants to know what he’s up to.

Sacrificing the unborn.

Liar.

Nico takes longer to respond to this one, giving Will enough time to wonder, a little fearfully, if he is sacrificing the unborn.

Fine. My sister is visiting for the engagement party. We’re just hanging out, watching tv.

What are you watching?

Twenty minutes later, Will is politely yanked out of a doze with a ping.

ABC Family is marathoning Studio Ghibli movies, Howl’s Moving Castle is ending now.

What’s Studio Ghibli?

…what.
You don’t know what Studio Ghibli is?

Will thinks he may have personally offended him.

It’s Japanese animation, My Neighbor Totoro is about to start, go turn it on!

And the exclamation mark on the end is why Will finds himself stumbling reluctantly out of his bedroom and onto the couch, flipping to ABC Family, and becoming completely engrossed in the spectacular musings Studio Ghibli. He watches all of Totoro and then Spirited Away, trading snarky comments and awed revelations with Nico until afternoon light seeps into his apartment.
________________________________________________________________________

I just don’t see Superman as being very intelligent, you know?

HONK!

Will looks up from his phone just in time to jump out of the way of an oncoming car. Half running, half squabbling over to the sidewalk, Will catches his breath, then types away at his phone to tell Nico what happened.

I was just almost hit by a car.

Good thing you’re a doctor.

A doctor, not immortal. A car would’ve hurt me.

Yeah, but you’d probably get priority at the hospital, right?

Dick, Will sends back fondly. But seriously, smart Superman?

No way. Batman’s definitely the smartest.

Will sighs in satisfaction at Nico’s characterization of Clark Kent and his subsequent judgment on Batman. Really, the guy was a marvel.

God, this is frustrating.

Will frowns at his phone.

Why, what’s going on?

This estate is a bitch to sort out, I’m not going to be home for hours.

Do you want me to bring you some dinner, I’m not that far away from your office

Will bites the inside of his cheek as he hits send. He and Nico have been texting pretty constantly for the past two weeks, but they haven’t met in person since the engagement party. Will fidgets, nervous Nico isn’t ready to see him again.

That’d be great, actually, thanks

Will’s chest relaxes as he pushes into a nearby deli. He gets the first thing he sees on the menu because he’s been working for nine hours straight and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to be creative with his meal choices. Will grabs two bottles of water and an apple (no, he can’t leave the medical degree at the door) and lays them on the counter, pulling open his phone.

I hope you like…Will squints at the scrawled menu high on the wall…caprese, cause that’s what you’re getting.

….

Will frowns at his screen, then accepts the aluminum foil bundles from the girl behind the counter, handing her a couple of dollars. “Keep the change!” he calls out as he throws himself at the door, spinning out into the bitter wind.

What’s wrong with caprese?

Dude, I’m Italian.

So?

I lived in Italy until I was ten.

Will groans as he checks street signs. Trust him to pick the one nationality sure to collapse under Nico’s (sort of understandably) harsh judgment. Then he reconsiders as a thought comes to him.

So wait, do you speak Italian?

Sì, naturalmente.

Will’s breathing picks up as he spots Nico’s office building. Holy fuck. That’s hot.

Is what he doesn’t text. But it is unfairly sexy that Nico di Angelo can speak Italian. Damn it.

Will doesn’t bother replying because for one, he’s riding the elevator up to Nico’s floor, and for another, he needs the few precious seconds to reorganize the sandwiches, water bottles, and apple currently flooding his arms so that he gives off the impression of at least remotely having his shit together.

Arriving at a door marked “Nico di Angelo, Attorney at Law” and hopefully looking the slightest bit in control of himself, Will knocks gently, then pushes at the door with his knee. It opens in, revealing a scruffy haired Nico with his head in his hands, elbows resting on the desk in front of him.

“Knock knock,” Will says brightly, then promptly stumbles over the empty chair on his side of the desk and falls gracelessly into it.

Nico lifts his head and smiles with a quick flash of his teeth. “Smooth move, Solace.”

“They call it the ‘twork.’ Get it?” Will holds for a second, barely containing himself. “Because you’re at work?”

Nico drops his head back into his hands, fingers pulling uselessly at his hair. “That was awful.”

“Wasn’t it though?” Will cheerily unloads the food onto the desk. He raps smartly on Nico’s head.

“What?” Nico peeks up through his fingers to see Will holding the apple in his face.

“You need to eat this.”

Nico frowns scornfully. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Will shoves the apple into his mouth forcefully. “Doctors orders,” he says sternly as Nico almost chokes.

He watches with satisfaction as Nico swallows the chunk of fruit Will’d manhandled into his mouth, grumbles a bit, then takes another bite of the apple, pushing his hair around on his forehead.

“You’re testy after seven pm,” Nico says rudely.

“You’re testy when your fiber’s low,” Will shoots back, unconcerned and opening his sandwich.

“So,” Will leans back in his chair, taking a mouthful of tomato and mozzarella. “This is where you work huh?”

Nico nods, clenching the apple in his mouth as he uses both hands to type. Will leans back in his chair, chewing contentedly. He takes in the office around him. It’s small, with warm, cherry wood and a good-sized window on Will’s right. There’s a bookcase crammed with thick, leather-bound volumes Will could lift for exercise, and on the wall next to it rest two diplomas from Trojan, the insignia winking at Will in the soft light.

“Augh!” Nico shouts around his apple, banging a fist on the table. He pulls the apple from his mouth and looks around for a moment.

“Really, Solace?” He raises his eyes to Will’s mockingly. “No napkins?”

“I didn’t realize we would be dining on a mahogany desk, my apologies.” Will taps his fingers lightly on the wooden armrest of his chair. “What’s wrong?”

Nico sighs, wiping his mouth on his forearm. In his manically tired state, Will failed to notice Nico’s varying state of dress. Namely, his grey dress shirt with sleeves rolled back over his elbows, tie loosened around his neck, and jacket hanging off the back of his chair. Will notices it now, and is acutely aware of the ratty scrubs he’s wearing. Oh well.

“This woman left behind an estranged husband, a new, though apparently devoted boyfriend, a son whom she hasn’t spoken to in ten years, and a daughter who has proof of semi-occasional correspondence. Dividing this lady’s fortune is a nightmare.”

“That sounds terrible.” Will wants to help, it’s what he does, but this is so far out of his area that he can do little more than blink at Nico. “Why don’t you take your mind off it?”

Nico leans back in his chair, hand rubbing at his eyes. “Can’t,” he grumbles.

“Here,” Will tosses the sandwich at him. “Eat that and forget your troubles.”

Nico glares at him, then unwraps the package in his hands with an air of resignation and contempt. Dubiously, he takes a bite. “S’not bad,” he admits, then takes another bite with much more gusto. “Good job, Solace.”

Will grins in victory, then sets about trying to distract Nico. “So what kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing you would know.”

“Try me, hipster.”

Nico huffs out a breath. “My Chemical Romance, Muse, Fall Out Boy.”

Will nods, soaking up Nico’s words like a sponge does water. “Okay. So, pop punk, then.”

He earns a pair of narrowed eyes. “Rock.”

“Pop punk,” Will corrects. “The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Def Leppard are rock.”

“Fine, then,” Nico says stubbornly. “Punk.”

“Ramones are punk, not the bands you said. I still haven’t gotten over My Chemical Romance, by the way.”

Nico stares disbelievingly. “Yeah, right.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “My mom got worried when I was in high school because I was always listening to Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Nico fumbles, eyes glued to Will’s face. “Me too,” he surrenders.

Will smiles to himself. If he’s scoring the number of times he’s managed to relate himself to Nico di Angelo, he’d give himself a point.

“What other music do you listen to?” Nico wants to know as he caps his water bottle.

“Little of everything,” Will shrugs. “I’m in an alternative phase right now. You ever hear The Vaccines?”

Nico shakes his head.

“Man,” Will leans back in his chair, head lolling to one side happily. “They’re so good.”

“Maybe I’ll listen to them.”

“You should.”

They spend a few minutes in silence while Nico polishes off the rest of his sandwich and Will watches headlights grow blindly bright and then pass out of his frame on the street below.

“Do you play videogames?” Nico asks suddenly.

Will shakes his head no. “I never really got into them when I was younger.”

Nico nods, but doesn’t say anything more. Will can see his eyes straying back to the computer, and jumps to hold his attention for just a little longer.

“What movies do you like?”

“Horror movies.” He smiles just the tiniest bit.

“Fits in with your job, and all,” Will adds laughingly.

Nico meets his eyes and flashes a grin. “Exactly.”

“Any other movies?”

Nico shrugs. “Captain America, Iron Man, Spider Man, you know.”

“No Thor?” Will questions.

Nico wrinkles his nose. “Definitely not.”

“What else? Any other genres?”

Nico chews on his sandwich before answering. “I like thrillers, like Inception, Silence of the Lambs, you know, those kinds.”

“Have you seen Birdman?” Will offers, because apparently it’s a thriller and it might be something for them to talk about.

Nico looks at him blankly. Will takes it as a no.

“What about the classics?” He asks, determined to get to genre he knows something about.

Nico twitches his shoulders absently. “What do you mean?”

“Like, all the great eighties movies. Back to the Future, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Breakfast Club,” he stops at the lack of recognition on Nico’s face. “You’ve never seen the Breakfast Club?”

Nico shakes his head.

“Dude have you seen Star Wars?” Will is half-kidding, but the joking tone curdles in his gut when Nico shrinks into his chair guiltily.

“You’ve never seen Star Wars?!”

“I never got around to it!”

“You never—” Will breaks himself off, catching his breath. “You never got around to watching the greatest science fiction cinematic feature ever written?”

“Hey,” Nico waves his hand in Will’s direction, “Dr. Who is—”

“You can’t compare Star Wars to Dr. Who!”

“How would you know!” Nico argues, mozzarella clicking in his teeth. “You’ve never seen it!”

“I don’t have to.” Will stops himself, and takes a deep breath. “You have to watch it, I have it at home, when are you free next?” he forces this out determinedly, unsure if Nico is ready for this kind of gig but steeling himself to offer it anyway, because someone’s got to shove culture down the guy’s throat and at this point, he’d like it to be him.

Nico looks dumbfounded for a second, then numbly gets out his phone and flicks through the calendar, telling Will that yes, he is free the Saturday after Christmas, and yes, he is totally okay with coming over to watch this landmark of science fiction, and yes, he will eat anything Will sets in front of him, is 6:00 okay? And Will nods enthusiastically while his internal organs play musical chairs because he has found himself in a thing with Nico di Angelo that could almost be a date, and he will have to deal with this later.
________________________________________________________________________

It is later, and Will is attempting to deal with it.

It’s not going well.

Christmas flew over Will’s head like an airplane. Without Percy and Annabeth’s annual Ugly Sweater Party, Will found himself shit out of luck for holiday plans. Thankfully, Penelope’s parents decided to vacation this year in the Caribbean, leaving her with nothing better to do than watch Christmas specials with Will while eating continuously. It was glorious.

The problem, though, is that now it’s after Christmas. Specifically, it’s the Saturday after Christmas. When he has his….thing. With Nico.

He kicked Penelope out of the apartment an hour ago (“Why, Won’t? Have you got a date?!? With a boy???” “Shut up, Marker!”) and has spent the last thirty minutes cleaning obsessively. When the living room is spotless (read: when everything that could be considered dirty has been sent flying into Will’s room) and the clock reads 5:30, Will calls for Chinese food and gets into the shower, hoping the hot water will allow him to think through whatever this is.

Okay.

So.

…..Will grimaces as he scrubs shampoo into his hair. This is getting him nowhere.

Listen, he tells himself, You’re getting too worked up about this. It’s clearly not a date, you don’t even know if he likes you, you’re just going to hang out and watch Star Wars, chill the fuck out, Will!

So he does. He pushes any and all anxiety out of his mind, and instead concentrates on singing “Australia” by the Shins at the top of his lungs, damn the neighbors.

He’s dressed and toweling his hair dry when the doorbell rings for the first time. Knowing it’s the food, but anxious anyway, Will answers the door and graciously accepts the bag from the delivery boy, giving him more tip than he probably deserves. Setting the bag down on the kitchen counter top, Will pulls his phone from his pocket and puts on Alex Turner’s Submarine, letting the dulcet tones spill over his apartment like pancake syrup. It relaxes him as he throws the towel into the laundry room, nodding along to “Stuck on the Puzzle (Intro).”

The clock ticks over to 6:00, and Will is rather desperately is trying to figure out how to best position himself in a way that looks casual, but not like he’s trying to look casual. He settles on a sort of lounging on the couch in a manner that resembles a cheetah preening on a tree branch in his head. Will realizes this is a moot point because (knock knock) he’s going to have to stand up anyway to answer the door when Nico knocks. Which he just has.

Getting off the couch and nearly tripping himself in the process (best get it out of his system now) Will marches purposefully to the door and swings it inwards, nearly hitting himself in the face but missing by centimeters. “Hey!” he says cheerily, because he is excited to see Nico di Angelo again. He’s learning he’s always excited to see Nico di Angelo again.

“Hey,” Nico answers much less cheerily, following Will into the apartment and handing him his coat. Will hangs it on one of the hooks nailed into the wall while Nico examines the bills and other notices that pass for wall décor.

“We’re a little disorganized,” Will admits sheepishly. “So, do you want to do food now, or start movie and then food?” He’s releasing awkwardness like some kind of pheromone.

Nico shrugs. “Food now, I guess.”

“Great, because I’m starving,” Will grabs the bag of Chinese food and hauls it over to the sofa. He sets the food on the floor, parks himself next to it, leaning back against the couch, and invites Nico to join him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Nico makes himself comfortable and starts pulling food towards him, loading up his plate. Will, does the same, and mentally adds more vegetables to Nico’s plate because yes, the shiny diploma does signify education.

They eat in silence for a while. Or rather, Nico eats. Will picks at his food, preferring to languish in the anticipation of what’s to come.

After a few minutes Nico puts down his fork. “Will the awkward silence be our primary form of entertainment, or do we get to do small talk too?”

Will sighs happily. “Okay. I’ll start the movie. Just, take a moment. This is important, this is the last few seconds before Star Wars changes your life. Remember how you feel now. There’s no going back.”

Nico looks at him strangely. Will smiles. “Are you ready?”

“Am I ready to sit and passively watch a television screen,” Nico folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the couch, thoroughly unimpressed. “Hmm, I think so.”

Will sets his food down, hugs his knees to his chest in preparation, and presses play.
________________________________________________________________________

As the credits roll, signaling the end of the film, Will gently turns the television off, a satisfied smile on his face that comes with good food and brilliant entertainment, and turns to Nico for his thoughts.

He sniffs. “Dr. Who is better.”

Will chokes, disbelief and no small amount of indignation flooding his throat and stealing his breath. “What?” he wheezes.

“It is.”

Will takes a sip of soda to steady himself. “Are you telling me that you think that the mind of,” he gags “Steven Moffat is better than George Lucas?”

“This was riddled with plot-holes,” Nico begins what’s sure to be a well-thought out argument, one Will is happy to interrupt.

“So is Dr. Who!” Will shrieks.

“How would you know?” Nico bites back angrily.

“I’ve heard enough people talk about it! I don’t even have to have seen an episode to know that you could play catch through Moffat’s plot!”

“Look, I can prove it to you,” Nico assures him. “I can prove in one episode of Dr. Who that it’s better than this.”

“Fine,” Will grits out. “But first you have to finish Star Wars, and there’s six movies.”

“Fine.” Nico agrees angrily. “Put in the next disc.”
________________________________________________________________________

I can’t watch the entire Star Wars series straight through. I need a break. One episode of Dr. Who in between the sixth and the first Star Wars.

Will smirks down at his phone, then types back.

Not a chance. The knockoff sci-fi will have to wait.

“Who’re you texting?” A slightly drunk Malcolm lies sprawled out on the couch, feet dangling across the armrest, champagne flute dancing in his grasp. It is New Year’s Eve, and the majority of Will’s friends have gathered in Shane’s shoebox apartment to celebrate with slightly more expensive booze and stellar music.

Will’s eyes dart to his phone in time to see the words You shit flash onto his screen. He smiles to himself. “A friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Malcolm waggles his eyebrows, raunchy grin slip-sliding on his face.

“Yeah,” Will laughs back. “Speaking of friends,” he jerks his head towards the far corner of the room, where Shane and Penelope have been trading their standard insults for a good twenty minutes, in much closer proximity than usual. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully at Malcolm. “Did you see that one coming?”

Malcolm takes a swig of champagne, Will watches the bubbles tumble down the glass, winking in the soft light. “Nah. I dunno’ if it’ll last.”

“If there’s even anything,” Will adds, Malcolm pointing his glass in agreement.

The door careens open and Cecil and Lou Ellen burst onto the scene, shaking the cold out of the creases in their jackets. “Hey everybody!” Lou Ellen shouts, a chorus of greetings bouncing back at her. Will watches from the corner of his eye as they separate, making their respective rounds, leisurely waiting for them to find their way over to him as Malcolm goes to refill his glass. Finally, Lou Ellen laughs away from Felicity and Cecil snatches a handful of chips before they meet at Malcolm’s vacated couch and collapse into it.

Will crosses his legs, leaning back comfortably in the beat up old armchair he’d helped Shane find when he’d first moved in. “Hey, guys!”

Lou Ellen sinks as far into the couch as gravity will let her, chin resting on her chest, gaze parallel to the floor. “William.”

Cecil tosses the chips into his mouth and crunches out “Hi, Will!”

“What have you guys been up to?” Will asks politely. “How’s work?”

Lou Ellen grins, eyes flicking up to meet his, and proudly exults “I get to work on my first film!”

“What?!” Will cries, falling out of his chair to hug her in congratulations. “That’s amazing!”

“Yep! I’m not, like, in charge of special effects or anything, but I still get to be part of the team and work on it!”

“That’s so great!” Will exclaims. “What about you,” he turns to Cecil. “Anything happening?”

Cecil shrugs. “Same old, same old.”

“What’s new with you?” Lou Ellen asks as Will climbs back into his chair.

“Work is pretty much the same, although there is something new,” he makes the split-second decision to tell them about his friendship and see if he can grill them on Nico. “Do you guys remember Nico di Angelo? From college?”

Will had met Cecil and Lou Ellen in his junior year, when they had all lived on the same floor. They had hung around Percy and Annabeth even less than he had, so he wasn’t expecting them to remember Nico at all, but it’s worth a try.

Lou Ellen shakes her head, but Cecil quickly jumps in with “yeah, yeah, he was that kid that always used to wear black, remember?” He starts jostling Lou Ellen’s arm. “Followed Percy Jackson around everywhere?”

Lou Ellen purses her lips. “I….guess I know who he is,” she concedes reluctantly. “Why?”

“I ran into him a couple of months ago,” Will explains. “On a plane, actually.”

And then there are the expected twin reactions of “whaaaat?” and Lou Ellen has to go and get a beer and then Will is forced to try and put his weird relationship with Nico into words.

“So,” Cecil says slowly. “You guys are, like….friends now?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know,” Will laments cheerfully. “We’re kind of in between people who sort of know each other and friends. We’re like work friends, maybe.”

Lou Ellen sips her beer. “Seems like you’re having fun,” she notes.

“He’s pretty cool,” Will explains, smiling. “Well, he’s kind of an asshole, but we have a lot in common, so we’re good.”

Lou Ellen wrinkles her nose. “What do you two have in common?”

“We watch a lot of the same TV shows.”

Lou Ellen snorts. “Of course you do.”

“Who knew being a nerd could actually help you make friends?” Cecil jibes, eyes glittering.

“Everyone.” Will deadpans. He can’t help himself. “Everyone knew that. That’s how you make friends, through common interests.”

Cecil is about to respond, but all of a sudden the lights go out and people are shouting “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” And in the dim light Will can see that everyone around him is latching onto someone and kissing them happily. Cecil and Lou Ellen, Penelope and Shane (whoa), it seems like soul here has a default kiss-mate, save Will. And rationally, rationally Will knows that this isn’t true, knows that Malcolm probably doesn’t have anyone either, and Nadia’s girlfriend hadn’t been able to make it, but still, it stings. Will wants a boyfriend, a partner, a relationship, whatever. He just wants someone to instinctively reach for him when it’s time to kiss someone as the clock ticks down.

He stays a little while longer to make his friends happy, then leaves when people are having trouble walking in a straight line, the loneliness smoldering in his stomach.
________________________________________________________________________

Will’s internal clock kicks his eyes open no later than nine o’clock the next morning. He wants to stay in bed and waste time on his phone but first he has to satisfy his curiosity. He slips out of his sheets, toeing across the cold floors, and quietly surveys the apartment, ending with Penelope’s bedroom. Once he’s sure she’s not there, he crawls back into bed, cradling his phone and intending on texting Penelope to make sure she’s okay. Or with Shane. Or both. Preferable both. When he clicks the phone to life, however, he sees a list of messages sent between 12:30 and 4:00 am. From Nico di Angelo.

Will fires off the text to Penelope, then thumbs over to his inbox, settling in for whatever the hell this is.

12:30 By the way, happy new year

1:17 This party is boring, I’ve already spammed everyone’s phone with pictures of random shit.

1:53 Annabeth is so drunk she’s pretending to be Sherlock and has made Percy her John. It’s disgusting. I’ve got pictures.

1:59 I never got around to asking you if you’ve read the books.

2:24 I have found Jason’s Jack Daniels. Pray alcohol makes this more bearable.

2:28 New drinking game: every time Percy and Annabeth do something horrifyingly adorable, I take a shot.

3:06 I am stopping because I had four shots in the past half an hour. You must be so pleased.

3:15 I tried to play pac-man on my phone and almost threw up.

3:18 I’m trying to figure out what episode of Dr. Who to show you.

3:18 It only has to be better than Star Wars, so I can pick basically any episode

3:21 Percy and Annabeth AND Jason and Piper are making out, I think I deserve another shot.

3:40 I beat Leo in beer pong, but only because he fell over.

3:56 I really did like those star wars movies. Han Solo is fucking hot.

The first thing Will wants to do is say “I told you so,” but he’s not sure if that’s the right thing to do. Then he thinks Fuck it, it’s nine am, he’s not going to be awake for another five hours, and gleefully berates Nico for not trusting Will’s nerd-tastic judgment in the first place.

Then he scrolls back up to the rest of the messages, chewing through them with thoughts he won’t put out to Nico, not yet. It’s pretty obvious that Nico’s not entirely over Percy, which means the New Year’s Eve party and their engagement party over Christmas must have sucked royally for him. Will stores this away for later, vowing to shield Nico from Percy’s obliviousness whenever he gets the chance, and instead sets about making one-sided plans for the next movie night, where he can shamelessly gloat like the jerk he is inside.
________________________________________________________________________

“This is not the proper way to pay homage to a Star Wars film,” Will complains as he dumps his bag onto Nico’s desk.

Nico looks up to him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one with the trauma surgeon’s schedule, Solace.”

“We can work around that!” Will tries, dragging the chair to join Nico behind the desk and forcefully rolling his chair off to the side.

Scowling, Nico rattles around for the DVD. “No we can’t, and move over, asshole.”

They have ploughed through the first five Star Wars films, with Nico vehemently denying that he liked them even though Will shows him text evidence. As per Nico’s request (read: refusal of anything else) they are watching the last installment in segments at Nico’s office, because “this is fucking ridiculous, I can’t just wait for you to have a solid two hours where you’re not cutting people open.”

Will disagrees. Nico doesn’t care.

They manage to squeeze in thirty five minutes of Nico muttering at Anakin to “make a good decision, idiot!” before Will shakes himself and hits pause. “I’ve got,” he slides back his scrubs to squint at his watch “thirteen minutes to get to the hospital.”

“That’s fine,” Nico says smoothly, powering down the laptop and sliding it into the case.

“We’ll probably be able to finish next time!” Will says optimistically, haphazardly throwing his shit into his bag and wrestling his coat on.

Nico perks up animatedly. “Yeah, and then, Dr. Who!”

Will takes a deep breath. “About that…”

Nico looks up from where he’s packing up his things to take home and looks at Will suspiciously. “What, Solace?”

“Well, I was thinking…the new Marvel movie is coming out soon.”

Nico raises his eyebrows.

“Maybe, after we finish Star Wars, we can see that.”

“And then you don’t have to watch Dr. Who.”

Will picks at his sleeve innocently.

Nico chews on his lip. “Only cause it’s Marvel.”

“Yes!” Will half-jumps in victory, smiling hugely as he makes to bolt out of Nico’s office before he changes his mind.

“After that, though, Dr. Who!” Nico calls after him.

“Whatever you say,” Will tosses blithely over of his shoulder, making for the street.
________________________________________________________________________

It is Sunday.

Specifically, it is the last Sunday of the month of January.

As decreed in the Regulations for Recommended Roomate-ry, Article Three: Grime and Punishment, the last Sunday of every month shall be Cleaning Day.

Or, as Will fondly calls it, the Spic and Span-a-thon.

They have each tackled one event. Will, having failed to vacuum his bedroom more quickly than Penelope had vacuumed hers, is resigned to scrubbing the oven while Penelope leisurely mops the kitchen floor.

“Here, I’ll go really slowly, so you have a chance at finishing before me.” Will doesn’t have to look to know she’s smirking evilly.

“Just you wait,” he grits out, furiously rubbing at a spot of who-knows-what. “The Broom-closet Brigade will prove triumphant, Marker.”

“You’re pretty confident for someone who hasn’t won in,” she slings the mop over her shoulder, dripping water into the hallway while she checks the score sheet taped to the inside of the closet. “Three months!”

“This one’s ours, Marker, you wait and see.”

“Sure thing, Won’t, and then—”

“Done!” Will nearly smacks his head against the oven door on his way out, but it’s worth it to see the thrill of victory slide from Penelope’s face.

“Fuck.”

“So that means,” Will trills, positively delighted as he grabs her hand and leads her into the living room, snagging Windex on the way. “You get to do all the windows and mirrors, while I vacuum the hallways.”

Penelope grimaces. “You cheeky little shit.” She pulls the bottle out of his grasp and shuffles to the windows.

“So,” Will begins as he plugs in the vacuum. “What’s with you and Shane?” She always brings out his viciousness, the least he can do is apply it politely.

He glances over her shoulder to catch her smile in the bathroom mirror, before she drains it neutrally from her face, lips tight.

“We-ell,” he begins after a moment, hooking the thumb of his free hand through his belt loop. “I saw you guys suck face on New Year’s Eve,” he maneuvers the vacuum as close to the bathroom door as he can get. “And I was like ‘what the hell, I thought they hated each other’ and then,” Will leans against the doorjamb, letting his torso fall into her space. “You didn’t come home that night.”

Penelope squints at a spot on the mirror. “Surprised you didn’t ask sooner. Did you not want to get in the way of our blossoming relationship?”

“Honestly,” he trails her out of the bathroom, dragging the vacuum behind him as she moves into the living room. “I just thought your relationship was dangerous already and didn’t want to get near it with sex being thrown in.”

Penelope quits pretending to wash the window and turns to face him, hands defensively on hips. “I don’t know, I went home with him and we had fantastic sex, which I will describe to you in detail,” she adds in, seeing his squeamish face. “And then he asked me out for coffee, and I just….didn’t say no.”

Will nods slowly. “Okay.” He turns back to the vacuum, starting it up and moving into the hallway.

“That’s it?” Penelope demands at his retreating back. “You usually have to know everything about my love life.”

And it’s true, Will does want to know everything in disgustingly specific detail. But, he likes the idea of Shane and Penelope. He thinks they could really work. So he backs off, shrugging, telling her “I’m not going to get involved with this one.” Will gives her bemused face a soft smile before cutting in with, “by the way, I just finished vacuuming.”

“Oh, fuck me.”
________________________________________________________________________

Will is vibrating, he’s so amped up. “Come on, Nico! We’re going to be late!”

Nico ambles behind him, trying to act aloof but Will can see that his eyes are bright. “The movie starts at 7, Solace. It’s 6:39. Unless a meteor is about to strike the Earth, I think we’re fine.”

Will glances up, just in case. Turning back to Nico, he exclaims “I am so fucking excited for this Marvel movie.”

Nico takes a deep breath, smiling hugely. “I know. Did you watch any of the trailers?”

Shaking his head, Will explains “I didn’t want to ruin anything for myself. I did see one thing on tumblr, though. A gif.”

Nico looks at him strangely. “It’s pronounced jif. Like the peanut butter.”

“No, it’s gif, with a hard g,” Will argues back.

He can physically see the rage rattle its way through Nico’s bones and sink it’s claws into his muscles. “No, the creator of the jif,” he draws the ‘f’ out for emphasis, “uses the soft g.”

Nico is right. Will knows he’s right. Lou Ellen’s explained it to him a million times. However, disagreement is straightening Nico’s spine and battering his hands around like a marionette, so Will’s content to let this go on for longer than necessary.

They bicker all the way into the theater, through the purchasing of tickets and snacks, through the choosing of seats, and through the sitting down in said seats. Nico has just finished insulting everything from Will’s hair to his taste in music, when the lights dim and the previews roll.
________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, after they have fangirled outrageously over that fantastic movie and Will has shut the apartment door and chucked his keys in the direction of the table, he fishes his phone out of his pocket to find a message on his screen, the little ghost signaling that it’s from Nico (yes, he added the ghost to Nico’s name, don’t judge him).

Now we get to watch Dr. Who!

Will sighs, kicking off his shoes and falling onto the couch.

I guess so, he sends back glumly.

When are you free next?

I’ve got a shift tomorrow that ends at noon. He’s going to be positively brain dead but what the hell, maybe dulled senses will make him blind to Moffat’s crap.

Fine. Come over to the office then, I’ll have food.

Sure.
________________________________________________________________________

Sunrise is a long time coming when Will resignedly silences the alarm on his cell phone. It’s 3:27 am, and Will is expected at the hospital in thirty-three minutes. He spends some time staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the energy to kick exhaustion in the face and get up. After another few minutes, he realizes he’s going to have to deal with lightly tapping exhaustion on the back, then running for the hills. Trying to trick his eyes into believing he’s awake, Will rises unenthusiastically, tosses the covers to the side in a very pathetic motion, and nearly falls to the floor as he gets out of bed. Clomping his way into the bathroom, he remembers that Penelope is still sleeping soundly and tries to clomp a little less loudly (it fails.) When he’s finished splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth, Will checks his phone to see that ten minutes have past, it’s now 3:37, and he’s got to get his shit together and get on the subway. Half-heartedly trying to cram energy into his actions, Will pulls on the first pair of scrubs he touches and slips into his shoes. Pocketing his phone, Will does a kind of hurried shuffle into the hallway. Grabbing his keys, coat, and a granola bar, he bids the apartment farewell to the apartment and locks the door behind him, making for the subway entrance closest to his building.

He works from four to noon, and it is hellish, more so because everyone else arrives at the trauma center looking like death warmed up, so Will has to stick his aching tiredness and be awake and downright exuberant. It’s disgusting, but if no one acts like they know what’s going on and aren’t taking power naps in the bathroom, then nothing gets done. Usually Will can count on Shane to pick up some of the slack, but this morning he’s as dead as the rest of them.

After a solid eight hours of plastering a smile over grinding teeth for both his terrified patients and his trauma team, Will steps out of the hospital, unable to tell if he’s more tired or hungry. Trudging the few blocks to Nico’s office, he lets himself into the building, punches the elevator button savagely, and barely stays upright for the ride to Nico’s floor. Will gets off the elevator and knocks at the now-familiar nameplate. When no one answers, he pushes at the door to find it open, with the room inside empty. Will slides into one of the chairs to wait for Nico, crossing his arms and reveling in the fact that his mouth isn’t pinned up into a gross smile anymore.
________________________________________________________________________

Will gracelessly sneezes, the harsh movement hitting his chest against whatever he’s leaning on. Wrinkling his nose, Will slowly opens his eyes to find his face pressed the warm mahogany that can only be Nico’s desk. Slamming his eyes shut and praying to every god he’s ever heard of, Will picks his head up inch by inch, and yes, Nico still isn’t here. Sitting up in the chair, Will shakes himself, takes a swig from the water bottle he’d bought at the hospital cafeteria, and checks the time.

One o’clock. Okay. He’d passed out for an hour and Nico hadn’t…stapled a note to his face, or anything? Maybe he hadn’t come back into the office at all, maybe he had a meeting or something.

Will decides to wait around for a few minutes to see if Nico shows up (now he’s in Nico’s office, but if he steps outside that door he’s in a building full of hallways and people who potentially want to sue him, he’ll stay right here, thanks very much).

He spends three minutes Doing Nothing on his phone (mobile Sudoku treats him even worse than paper Sudoku), then gets up, stretches the kinks out of his spine, and looks around Nico’s office for something to entertain himself with. Spying the bookshelf, he ambles over to it and carves out a space for himself on the floor, getting comfortably packed into the corner under the window. Drawing his knees to his chest, he mentally prepares himself to judge the shit out of Nico’s reading collection.

(He’d just woke up from a nap after working an eight hour shift, faking math just wasn’t going to cut it this time around, alright? Give him a break.)

He starts with four enormous law textbooks at eye level that are so important they don’t even have titles. Swooping past those so as not to offend his literary taste (yes, he’s got medical textbooks at home that are twice the size, but at least those have got pictures) he comes to a beautiful leather bound book that, upon further investigation, reveals itself to be a copy of The Marvel Encyclopedia. As his intestines piss themselves with excitement, he allows himself to only examine the book from all angles, but not open it. If he gets inside he’ll nerd-gasm immediately, and that might ruin the mood. After a thorough ogling which includes him holding the volume in the light from the window for effect, Will sets it back down and moves on. There are more law books, and then, at the end of the shelf, a few small, raggedy paperbacks, worn threadbare from always being kept inches from someone’s fingertips. Will picks one up, squints at the chipping type on the front cover, admits defeat, and opens the book to read, in simple, unassuming text: The Iliad and the Odyssey. Flipping quickly through the rest of the paperbacks, he realizes they’re all epics or Greek mythology. Will is completely stumped. He’d never pegged Nico for being into this stuff, and is wonderfully out of his area here; the only experience he has with mythology is the stories he hears in his mom’s soft voice, calloused fingertips tracing his ear and making patters on his scalp. Will opens the book to try and get through some of it, but stops when he realizes that there’s writing in the books. Someone, and he’s willing to bet it’s Nico, has underlined, boxed in, and scrawled notes in the margins of this book.

Will wants to try and read this thing, but he has a feeling Nico would see it as a huge invasion of privacy. Instead, he murmurs the titles softly to himself, storing them away so later he can read them, or at least read a summary of them online.

Just then, Will hears the betraying thomp thomp of someone approaching the office. Panicking, he considers trying to get up and hide the evidence, when the door opens and Nico slips into the room holding oh my god is that Chipotle yes.

Trying not to look very much like a kid with his hand in the candy basket, Will greets him with what he hopes is a casual “hey, Nico!”

He leans back awkwardly against the wall. “Guess I fell asleep, huh?”

Nico doesn’t seem to think much of him sprawling out on the floor. “Yeah,” he says, setting the food down on the desk. “You were out for, what, an hour?” He trails off when he sees the clutter of books around Will. Nico’s posture goes rigid as he folds his arms protectively over himself, staring down his nose at Will, the picture of displeasure.

“I didn’t read what you wrote!” Will scrambles up from the floor and takes a step toward Nico. “I woke up and, and you weren’t here and I got bored so I was looking through your books, and I found…them,” he gestures to the mythology texts spread out on the floor.

“But you didn’t read them,” Nico states flatly.

Will shakes his head violently. “No way, man. I saw that you had written stuff and stopped looking through the books.”

Nico scrutinizes him for a second, then moves across the room to put away the books left on the floor. Will hurries to help, only bonking Nico once or twice in the small space.

“I didn’t know you were into this stuff,” Will tries to bat away some of the awkwardness and tension radiating off Nico.

“I minored in it in college,” is the tart reply he gets.

After a few moments where Nico unpacks the food and Will does his best not to feel too out of place, Will throws out his best attempt to win Nico back.

“So…Dr. Who?”

There are a few brief seconds where Will thinks he might’ve failed, that Nico is too far gone into himself for even nerd impulses to bring him back, but then the stars wake Nico up again, and he smiles almost despite himself.

“Yup…Dr. Who.” Will moves his usual chair behind the desk.

“What am I going to be subjected to?” Will asks as Nico hands him a burrito.

“How much of Dr. Who do you know?” Nico ignores Will’s question entirely.

“I pride myself on knowing squat about Dr. Who.”

“Congrats, now I have to explain it to you,” Nico gripes around a forkful of guac and beans. “The premise is that there’s this alien called the Doctor, he’s a Time Lord. Basically, all you need to know is that he can travel through time and he can go anywhere in space that he wants, and he brings these human companions with him, for company.”

“Right,” Will nods. “And what does he do?”

Nico grins. “He saves the world.”

“So every single episode the world is in danger of being destroyed?”

“Pipe down, Solace, like the same thing isn’t true in every superhero comic book.”

“Point taken,” Will allows. “But don’t the Doctors like change or something? I always see different people on BBC.”

“The Doctor can’t die, instead, he regenerates; he gets a new body.” Nico explains patiently.

“So which one are we watching now?”

“We’re watching the tenth doctor, David Tennant,” Nico sticks his fork between his teeth as he clicks onto Netflix. “Now,” he turns to address Will directly. “Do you want to start with a more intense episode, because some of them are meaningful, or do you want one of the calmer ones?”

“Start? I thought we were only watching one,” he’ll watch Dr. Who for Nico, but only a concentrated amount of it.

“We watched six of your thing,” Nico argues.

“There were six movies, not decades and decades of episodes!”

“Three,” Nico says stubbornly.

“Fine.” Will sticks out his tongue. “I guess something less intense, then.”

Nico eagerly moves his chair closer to the computer and scrolls through the episodes, selecting one called The Christmas Invasion.

“This is a good place to start because it’s David Tennant’s first episode.” Nico explains. “Here’s what you need to know: the Doctor has just regenerated, so he’s a new person, the blonde who’s taking care of him is Rose Tyler, she’s been with him for a year, her boyfriend is black and named Mickey, her mom is named Jackie. Any questions?”

Will has about a thousand, but decides it’d be better off if he just kept them to himself for now. He shakes his head, and Nico presses play.
________________________________________________________________________

“What’s that?”

“It’s the TARDIS, it’s the Doctor’s space ship.”
________________________________________________________________________

“Who is she?”

“I told you before, that’s Rose’s mom.”
________________________________________________________________________

“Who are they?”

“They’re the aliens that are going to attack the Earth.”

“Why London?”

“It’s always London.”
________________________________________________________________________

“Really? Maniac santas?”

“Oh, and you’re not campy?”

“…fine.”
________________________________________________________________________

“….the UN, really.”

“Shut up, Solace.”
________________________________________________________________________

“You’re just going to ignore that he quoted the Lion King?”

“I really don’t want reasons to like it.”
________________________________________________________________________

“aHEM! His hand gets cut off? Star Wars much!?”

“….you know, I didn’t catch that until now.”

“ugh!”
________________________________________________________________________

As the theme music plays again, Nico turns to look at Will, thrumming expectance shielded under bleak indifference.

“It got intense really quickly,” Will offers.

“Yeah, I love that.” Nico smiles broadly. “It’s so different from the last doctor, because he was much more laid-back and kind of go with the flow. It’s cool to see the Doctor being more aggressive and intense for a change.” His eyes move to Will’s, and his hands, which he was using animatedly, wilt slightly. “It is kind of campy, though.”

“Yeah, but I like that stuff.” Will grins, “It kind of seems like that’s the worst part of the show.”

Nico nods enthusiastically. “It definitely is.”

“So, maybe this Doctor Who business is up my alley after all.” Will allows, only a little reluctantly.

“Yes!” Nico’s whole face lights up with excitement.

“But Star Wars is still better, though,” Will declares adamantly.

Nico waves his hands at him. “Fine, whatever, are we watching another one of the three episodes now?”

Will nods, taking a bite of his burrito.

Yanking himself closer to the desk with a jolt, Nico scrolls through the list of episodes, concentrating outrageously as he says “I want to show you one of the funnier ones…”

Will picks idly at his tinfoil until Nico exclaims “here!” then shifts his attention to the little screen between them.
________________________________________________________________________

He sits through (reluctantly enjoys) twenty-two and a half more minutes of David Tennant saving the world, then makes his exit when Nico gracelessly kicks him out of the office, complaining that he actually does have a job, Solace. Will’s facing his own apartment door thirteen minutes later, wrestling his keys out of his pocket and clicking the door open.

Inside, he’s immediately confused by the set of masculine shoulders standing at the sink, is halfway to understanding when he recognizes them as Shane’s, and has put two and two together enough to shoot Penelope a shit eating grin when he whips his head around to find her clearing the dinner table.

“Hey Shane,” he calls out, keeping his eyes on Penelope, who’s face has hardened considerably when he walked in the door. “Marker.”

“Won’t,” she cocks her head to the side, blonde curls falling across her face. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?” and with that she’s got him by the crook of the arm and is dragging him unceremoniously into the bathroom.

“You didn’t tell me you and Shane had progressed to Domestic Date At Home,” Will accuses as she flips on the light.

She flies around and puts her hands defiantly on her hips. Offensive had always been Penelope’s defensive. “You didn’t ask, jackass!”

“Yeah, because I wanted to give you guys space, but this is a milestone, Marker!” The excitement rippling through his voice leeches the antagonism out of her, leaving her trying to bite over her lips quirking up.

“Yeah, well, I like him, Won’t. We argue like assholes but then we fuck like rabbits. I like it.”

Will lets his shoulders relax. “Good to know. Now get out, I’m going to take a shower.”

Once she ducks out, he rinses off quickly before darting stark naked into his room across the hall, pretending he can’t hear Penelope’s wolf-whistle. When he steps out fully dressed ten minutes later, he finds them eating ice cream out of the carton, drizzling caramel and marshmallow fluff into their open mouths.

“We have bowls, you know,” Will remarks as he swipes Penelope’s spoon and eats caramel right out of the jar.

“Ah, but why make the diabetes wait?” Shane deadpans.

Will figures he’s allowed one dig at their apparent couple-dom. “Are you guys going to start, like, licking whip cream off each other’s noses?”

In reply, Penelope viciously shakes their bottle of whipped cream and hits Shane square in the face with a stream of it. “No.”

Shane blinks, then raises a hand to wipe it off his nose. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he assures Will as he sticks his finger into his mouth.

“So, Won’t,” Penelope begins as Will carefully pours marshmallow topping onto a spoonful of chocolate ice cream. “Is now a good time to ask about the guy you’re always with?”

Will sighs, trying to concentrate on the flavors on his tongue instead of the question in his ears.

“You did just ask if we’re going to lick things off other things,” Shane adds in helpfully.

“Don’t help me,” Penelope kicks his chair.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shane reaches for more caramel.

“Come on, Won’t,” Penelope turns her attention back to Will. “Tell me.”

“His name is Nico, I knew him from college.” Will explains tiredly. “I ran into him on a plane and we started talking, and then we started hanging out. We’re not dating, or anything, we’re just friends.”

“That’s it?” Penelope seems disappointed. “I thought you’d be making out or something.”

Will shakes his head, adding a dollop of chocolate sauce onto his spoon.

“Do you think you will be making out?” Penelope wants to know.

“I don’t think so,” Will answers around his ice cream.

“Do you want to make out?” she asks shrewdly. Will starts, then gets up to retrieve the carton of vanilla ice cream from the fridge so Penelope can’t see his face. Here’s a question Will’s been not-so-subtly shoving out of his mind since he and Nico began hanging out regularly. As he broods into the chill of the freezer, eyes roving over oven-baked pizzas and fudgsicles, the thought of yes, I want to stick my tongue down his throat and my hand down his pants arcs flippantly across his mind. Yeah, Will wants to make out with Nico. He’s super hot. But he’s also not entirely over Percy, and so a partner to suck face with is not something Nico needs right now, Will can spot that from a mile away.

“Yeah, but I can’t make out with him and still be his friend, so I’ll take just being friends,” Will answers as he slams the door shut and sits back down at the table, tossing the vanilla out like an offering.

Penelope quickly grabs it off the table and shucks the lid off, digging her spoon in eagerly. “Hasn’t he ever heard of friends with benefits?”

Will shakes his head. “That’s not what he needs right now. I’ll just stick to friendship.”

Shane salutes him as he snags the spoon right out of Penelope’s mouth and sticks it in his own, leaving her squawking beside him. “More power to you.”
________________________________________________________________________

And so Will quietly recognizes his own soft desire for Nico di Angelo and then cracks it gently into smoothed pieces, leaving them to shower lightly over the universes in his head, darkened behind the brighter stars that lap up his attention. He can’t act on this thing that doesn’t even coalesce into real want in the back of his mind, and so rather than be bothered by it, he plainly buries in his mental graveyards, with a headstone to remember it by, not to be reminded of it.

So life goes on as it always has, just with significantly more Nico di Angelo than before. He and Will continue to trade bits of pop culture back and forth, Will reaching back into his residency to dish out How I Met Your Mother and Nico starting him in on the likes of Supernatural and Attack On Titan. Nico has wormed his way into Will’s new normal, and Will is more than happy for the fellow nerd-companionship.

He’s heading home from a twelve hour shift at the trauma center, only standing upright by the slack grip he’s got on the overhead poles of the subway, when an advertisement settles in Will’s mind. He doesn’t know why it catches his attention, but it’s 2:47 in the morning, he’s not exactly keen on asking himself the hard questions. It’s only when he stumbles awake nine hours later that he realizes it’s an ad for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s fantastic collection of Greek and Roman art.

Tentatively, Will googles the exhibit and finds a lot of pictures of statues and clay that look…ancient and sort of nice, Will guesses. Mythology was never his area. He’d taken a couple of literature and art history courses for shits in college, and knew his way around a few of his favorites, but the Epic Poetry that he’d studied slid from his brain like it was an oil slick.

Still, according to his New and Just Slightly More Personal Than Before knowledge of Nico di Angelo, he’s into this kind of stuff. Taking him to the Met for this is something Will can do for his New Normal, right?

He sends Nico a text with the link for the exhibit and hopes so.
________________________________________________________________________

Turns out, throwing Greek Mythology at Nico is a surefire way to get him really excited really quickly. He doesn’t say anything, but Will can see it in the way he holds himself a week later, when they’ve decided to visit the museum and are only a few blocks away. Enthusiasm had slid cunningly under Nico’s skin, finding outlets in the way he would wave his hands around frequently whenever he talked about how frikkin cool the exhibit was, betraying extensive research he’d done online, or in the way he would bare his teeth in what Will is learning is an energetic smile.

When they finally reach the Met, Will jogging a little because Nico’s pace is manic, Nico literally bounds up the stone steps, latches onto the door, flings it open, and steals quickly inside, Will half a second behind him.

Once through the door, Nico makes a beeline for the information desk. “We’re looking for the exhibits on Ancient Greece,” he barks at the woman sitting behind the brochures on upcoming events, skipping any and all pleasantries. According to her overly-polished name tag, Bethany curls her lip and looks as though she’s about to sock Nico in the jaw with the sheer force of the promised acid in her tone. Will quickly smiles brightly behind Nico and apologizes so earnestly with his eyes that he thinks he may be dilating his own pupils through mental strength alone. Thankfully, she restrains herself, and is satisfied by merely stabbing a finger in the direction of the exhibit. Before Nico can say anything in reply (it could have been just a thank you, but Will’s not taking any chances) Will grabs Nico’s hand and starts running in the direction she’s pointing towards, knowing excitement alone will kick Nico’s body into gear and force him to keep up.

They turn a few corners and then stop (read: Nico stops and clamps even harder onto Will’s fingers to prevent him from hitting a vase) and the pressure building steadily inside Nico since he pounded on Will’s apartment door an hour earlier whooshes out of him, spiraling lazily into the well-lit, soft room housing the artifacts. He looks around, eyes wide as he takes in the exhibit. Will wants to share his excitement but can’t for the life of him recall anything important about the tremendous amount of Greek mythology surrounding him. Instead, he cobbles together his halfway decent Art Judging Skills and starts to mentally critique the pot next to him, waiting for Nico to adjust.

“This is so cool,” Nico whispers fervently.

“Ready to explain all of it to me?” Will smiles hopefully.

Nico nods, pulling Will towards a vase in the corner of the room. He examines it for a moment, then gasps excitedly. “I…I think this one is showing Heracles!”

Will looks at it himself, having no earthly idea how Nico knew it was Heracles, but borrowing his wonder all the same. “Who’s Heracles?”

“He’s Greek Hercules,” Nico explains animatedly, eyes darting back and forth over the clay surface. “He was punished, and so he had to complete twelve labors, and this is him kidnapping Cerberus, and here’s him with the boar, and look!” Nico points to some part of the vase Will can’t see. “There’s Odysseus, and Jason, and…”

It is an absolutely shit explanation that doesn’t help Will at all, but Nico’s still jabbering on excitedly, and Will isn’t about to spoil that. He dutifully follows Nico from artifact to artifact, allowing the usually reserved man to geek out fully unchecked. Will’s picking up a few random details from Nico’s spastic murmuring, but for the most part he’s completely clueless, wandering around in Nico’s tracks and imitating the enraptured people around him, pretending to be captivated by history itself when he’s really just quietly plotting how to get that light to shine out of the back of Nico’s eyes again.

After half an hour Nico staggers down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall to take a break, eyes still whipping feverishly around to try and see as much as he can. Will slides down next to him with a sigh, enjoying the sensation of not standing for a change.

He lets Nico ogle for a few more minutes, then brings up something he’s been meaning to ask since they’d walked in the door.

“So, you know, when did you get into all this stuff?”

And just like that, something abruptly stops inside Nico. Some bastard (Will) has carelessly shuffled in front of Nico’s streak of dazzling excitement, causing it to fracture, to make new joints and snap where it could not bend, to timidly find its way around new corners, to try and steal through newfound slats and slink through crude shadows. Will could’ve kicked himself, but he can’t take it back.

Nico falters, drawing his knees to his chest and staring at the corner where the wall and the ceiling meet. Finally, he speaks.

“My sister left those books for me.”

“Oh.” Will spins this round and round in his head, desperately wanting to know the meaning of “left” (it could be innocuous, she could’ve gone away to college, or maybe not) but stopping long before a question can even turn acrid on his tongue, knowing it wasn’t worth it to weigh Nico down with his curiosity.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, Will processing what Nico said, when Nico opens his mouth again.

“She—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Will cuts across him reassuringly. And he doesn’t. Nico doesn’t owe Will anything, certainly not the stones he carries in his back pockets.

“No, it’s okay,” resolve pulls Nico’s lips down at the corners, but only just. “She was in a car accident when I was ten.”

Will blinks slowly, trying to chew through an appropriate response, when Nico continues. “I found those when I was fourteen. I could see why she liked them.” He smiles wryly to himself, and in that instant Will can see, stretched out ahead of him, the galaxies, the star-studded oceans Nico had to cross to get from where he was when he was ten to where he was when he was fourteen. His respect and admiration for this man, already impossibly high, grows.

“I ate those up and became obsessed,” Nico finishes with a self-deprecating smile.

Will blinks, then grins back. “Nerd.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, because he’s the kind of asshole who raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Have you looked at yourself recently?”

“Fine,” Will surrenders easily. “Um, so there are some other paintings on display that I really want to go check out, you don’t have to come with me, I’ll just be a few minutes.” Forty-five to sixty, he amends in his head.

“I can go with you,” Nico offers after a moment, pushing off the wall to stand up.

“You sure?” Will scrambles up beside him. “This is really important to you.”

Nico shrugs. “I’m good here.” He swivels his head around one last time, staring appreciatively at the exhibit, then settles his eyes on Will, waiting for him to lead the way.

Will pauses for a second, then surrenders to his excitement boiling over, because yes, he is going to see the art, he is going to be changed by something that hasn’t been changed in decades. He is going to wade through the various shouts into the void and handpick his favorites, he is going to dive headfirst into the runny colors of human nature and decide which ones he likes best.

And Nico’s going with him, so that’s an added bonus right there.

“Which ones do you want to see?” Nico prompts after a few moments.

It takes Will less than half a second to decide which piece he wants to view first (remember the gallery it was in, Will knew which piece he wanted to view first when he woke up this morning.)

“Gallery 901,” he mutters to himself, then sets off with a very determined step in what he thinks may be the right direction, possibly.

When they find gallery (when Nico spots a map) Will locks onto the Joan Miró’s gorgeous work like they’re opposing magnets, sucking in a breath and quietly treading towards it. The painting is just the word Photo in curling calligraphy, a blot of blue dabbed on the side of the paper, and the words ceci est la couleur de mes rêves written below the dot. Will stares at it, drinking in the image he sees behind his eyelids when his mind floats away.

Nico comes up beside Will and leans down to squint at the writing. “This is the color of….my kings?” he says, confused.

“Dreams,” Will breathes. “This is the color of my dreams.”

Nico rises to his full height and shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to appraise the painting.

“It’s not a photo, it’s a painting,” Will interrupts Nico’s nonverbal skepticism of the artwork. “That’s why it’s so great. And even if it were a photo, how could you photograph the color of dreams?”

Nico tilts his chin in begrudging agreement, then waits comparatively patiently while Will scans the work, eagerly taking his fill of the painting. When he’s finished, Will leads them six feet to the right to see Max Ernst’s Gala Éluard, then drags Nico across the museum to introduce him to Degas’ ballerinas (“this is better, at least they’re paintings of people, even if the girls are kind of creepy,”) and Van Gogh’s Shoes.

“What next?” Nico asks, and Will’s mind leaps to the expressionists but his stomach bangs on his abdominal wall in rage and forces him to reconsider.

“What about some food?” He suggests, praying that Nico decides to hear this for what it is (I am starving my stomach will drown me in it’s acid lets get food now).

His prayers go unanswered. “I’m good for a few more paintings, I think.”

Reluctantly, but desperately trying not to show it, Will shows Nico New York Harbor, by Grosz. As he suspected, Nico likes it, and spends at least two and a half minutes looking at it while Will beats his hunger repeatedly with a cudgel, to no avail. After a few seconds of pretending to show interest in I Saw the Figure 5 in Gold (which he couldn’t have kept up on a good day, he never liked cubism) Will admits defeat.

“I’m actually starving, can we get food now?” He hopes Nico won’t mind leaving the museum.

The other man doesn’t look the slightest bit disappointed. “Yeah, no problem.” He glances at Will searchingly, then adds “it’s no big deal, I’ve been done here anyway.”

“Super,” Will smiles gratefully.

Nico wrinkles his nose, then smiles back. “My sister works a restaurant nearby during school breaks, is Southern food okay?”

Will nods eagerly, and lets Nico direct them into the street towards the promised meal.
________________________________________________________________________

Apparently, when it is served in the low-key joint Nico’s sister waits tables in, Southern Food is one of the best goddamn things Will has had the pleasure of eating. The gumbo Nico had ordered for him (Will had started to pour over a menu eagerly when Nico fished it out of his hands, setting it aside and pointing to a booth with a face that brooked no arguments and a mouth that said “gumbo”) is melting on his tongue, swirling delicious eddies between his teeth, and warmly trickling down his throat. He wants to eat it as quickly as possible and savor it at the same time, and almost dies trying to do both.

Once he inhales half the bowl, he sets his spoon down, quietly wipes his mouth on his wrist, and turns his attention to Nico, who’s gaze is fully enraptured by the cup of coffee in front of him and has been giving Will and his gumbo some privacy (for which Will is grateful.)

“So, um,” Will pauses, and rearranges what he wants to say. “You said you used to live in Italy, right? Where?” because he wants to know. He has been given a slight insight into what has made Nico, and he wants to pick apart the rest of the conglomerate and understand just what the fuck made the man so utterly fantastic.

Nico quirks his lip up at him, amused, and replies “A little ways outside Treviso, a city near Venice.”

“Why’d you come to the US?”

He levels Will with a look that shows he’s inching his guard up, and says “My dad’s work moved him here.”

Will nods to himself. “Do you miss being there?”

Nico shrugs. “Sometimes.”

Will stares at him until he elaborates.

“It’s been a while,” Nico tacks on with a sigh. “I don’t know, I’ve been back a few times, but I’ve lived here too long, I guess.” He raises his eyes to Will. “Why the sudden twenty questions?”

“I guess I just feel like I don’t know that much about you,” Will says after chewing on his lip. And he really doesn’t.

“And why do you need to know more?”

Will stares blankly at him. “You’re cool.”

“Fine, then I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Nico says with a light smirk.

After a brief moment in which Will confuses his digestive and respiratory systems and suddenly has his stomach up his nose, he nods. “My turn, or yours?” he asks.

“You have to answer the one you asked me, first,” Nico counters.

“Alright.” Will shifts in his seat.

“Where did you live before you came to Trojan University?” Nico leans back in his side of the booth and folds his arms over his chest, giving Will a light smile.

“Out in California.”

Nico looks at him strangely. “Why’d you come to the school in New York when University of Jupiter is right there?”

Will fidgets with his spoon. “I don’t know, I just…it’s not like there was anything wrong with my family, you know?” he implores of Nico. “I was happy there, but it just…wasn’t my thing, I needed to try something else, I think. It would’ve been really easy for me to just take the easy way out, so I had to leave. Did that make any sense?”

“No.” And god bless him, Nico leaves it at that. “Do you miss it?”

“Of course,” dives onto the table between them, and just like that Will’s back to the home he left years ago. He is dicing vegetables for his mother while his father sings in the background, spice in his nose and music in his ears. He is eagerly awaiting his father to come home so he can take him to the beach, he is climbing up a tree after his cousin as the sun bleeds into evening and the cicadas come out, he is stretched out on his roof and is picking out the constellations his mother told him about.

Will exhales, once, twice, and the memories float away on his warm breath, leaving him with his history in his hands, and the whole of New York and his life now under his wrists.

“It was great there, but I had to leave.” And he did, he needed to try things out on his own, and he doesn’t regret his decision because his family is California to the core but he is different, he has chosen to cross a continent only to get stepped on by the whole of New York City and is smart enough to count himself among the lucky ones.

He flicks his eyes to Nico and grins. “Does this mean it’s your turn now?”

“Nope,” Nico sets his coffee cup down and leans his elbows on the table. “Can’t think of a good one. You go again.”

Will rests his chin on his palm thoughtfully. “What’s your favorite color?”

Nico rolls his eyes and crumples his nose. “Seriously? ‘What’s your favorite color?’”

“It can say a lot about a person, you know,” Will says defensively.

“Right,” Nico shakes his head. “Fine, black.”

“Well if that isn’t ironic.”

“Don’t I know it. What about you?”

Will leans forward. “Have you ever seen the Lion King?”

After a moment, Nico nods.

“You know, in the very beginning, when that song is playing, like “MAAHHtsvenYAAHHHavachimaba—”

“Yes, Will, I know the song,” Nico interrupts.

He ploughs on excitedly. “When the sun’s coming up? The sky around the sun in the very beginning? Like the orangey-black? That’s my favorite color.”

Beat.

“Solace, that’s the ugliest fucking color I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, isn’t it awful,” Wills says happily.

“That’s burnt orange.” Nico clarifies with the air of someone explaining the practical uses of an umbrella to a listener over the age of ten. “That’s the color everyone talks about when they talk about colors no one likes. That’s the stereotypically ugly color.”

“Yup!” Will agrees easily.

“Why?”

He shrugs. It reminds him of California and why he loves it and why he moved away. “It makes me think of the West Coast, I guess.”

Then Nico drinks his coffee and Will slurps his gumbo until the latter says “Your turn.”

Keeping his hands around the mug, shoulders taunt, Nico asks “Do you have any siblings?”

Will sets his spoon down, swallows thickly, and says “Yeah, I’ve got a younger brother, Brett. He’s pretty great.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven.”

Nico lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s an age gap.”

“Yeah, my parents had him right when I was leaving for college. It’s cool though, he’s a good kid,” Will bites the inside of his cheek unconsciously. “It’s good for him, I think, to have someone older but not his parents, you know? Someone he can talk to.” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck awkwardly. “And you have—”

“You already know mine,” Nico cuts across him meaningfully.

“Well, yeah, but you mentioned a sister before, who goes to University of Jupiter and works at this restaurant?” Will hopes against hope he isn’t pushing Nico too hard on this one.

To his immense relief, Nico smiles. “Hazel. Yeah, she’s pretty fantastic.”

“What’s she like?” Will asks, wanting to know more about this ethereal creature who has cracked Nico’s face in half like that.

“Well, uh, she’s my half sister. My dad remarried after my mom died.” That falls so lightly, like the helicopter leaves Will sees for the first time in the Northeast, that the first time it slides over Will’s brain it doesn’t register.

My dad remarried after my mom died. Seems reasonable, companionship in this lonely world and all that.

…after my mom died.

Oh.

Will doesn’t know what to say. “Your mom died?” is ridiculous; he wouldn’t have said that if she hadn’t. “You lost your mother too?” makes him sound like some church crone who never learned the difference between sympathy and pity.

Nico must have recognized the shape Will’s face was twisting itself into, as he quickly says “It was ovarian cancer. They didn’t catch it in time.”

Will nods, because he’s a doctor and he knows what happens if they don’t catch it in time. And apparently Nico does too.

“Anyway, Hazel and her mom moved up from New Orleans, and…yeah.” Nico picks at his nails, biting his tongue to tone down his smile. “We got lucky, my dad and I; Hazel’s the type who loves everyone really easily and who’s really easy to love.”

Will settles on saying “That sounds great,” hopefully using the right inflection so that he doesn’t come off as sarcastic. He can’t believe Nico skimmed over his mom like that, but hey, as is becoming the rule of thumb, if Nico’s happy, Will’s pacified.

Nico picks at the laminated table ildly for a moment, before pointing to Will and saying “Your question.”

Will fights hard to change the subject. “What was your favorite place in Italy?”

Tracing patterns behind closed lips with his tongue, Nico folds his arms behind his head and stares at the space between Will and the ceiling. “The town we lived in was old, most of the buildings were left over from the war. Our school building had a bell tower, my sister and I used to climb in it every day during the summer. One time my mother even spent the afternoon with us there.” And that, that right there, is all the proof Will needs to see that while Nico’s sister and mother are entwined in his roots, the life he’s created for himself has grown past them, for misery hasn’t claimed any part of his face. Nico is nostalgic, and perhaps melancholic, but, and Will triple checks to be sure, Nico is not unhappy, because he is made of stronger stuff. Will marvels at him.

“What about you?” Nico asks.

Will smiles and sighs and thinks of starlight and soft lips and skinned knees. He thinks of waves that only came up to his toes until they didn’t, avocadoes picked right off the tree and shared between greedy fingers, freckles that seemed to spread logarithmically every afternoon.

“There was this…shack, I guess, would be a nice way to put it. It was way out on the beach, past all the usual spots for surfing and stuff, so nobody ever went there.” His face heats up. “I used to meet my boyfriend there all the time…” he bites his lip as he thinks about that.

Nico splutters, and Will finds him sipping his coffee, looking very determinedly out of the window to his left.

A slow smile creeping up on him, Will asks “What?” and wonders if he’s about to get the “I didn’t realize you were…” bit.

Nico turns in his direction. Reads his face and then smiles lightly. “Nothing.”

It’s not until Will is forcedly placing a fiver on the table because “I ate the food, you ass,” that he clarifies.

“Boyfriend at the time. Not currently.”

He is very single, Nico. Disturbingly single. So single you might just have to put him out of his misery.

And Nico, ass that he is, chuckles to himself, and replies “Sure thing, Solace.”

As if that isn’t infuriating.
________________________________________________________________________

“Hey, hey! Nico!”

Will turns to see Percy Jackson, arms flailing, feet pounding, fighting the very air around him as he makes his way towards them. He and Nico are strolling through Central Park, admiring the rare streak of warm weather (“The cold’s only gonna be gone for a few seconds and then it’s going to be freezing again, Jesus Christ, Nico, we can’t drink our coffee inside on a day like today, it’s nearly sixty, get your ass out here!”) and apparently, Percy Jackson has decided to join them, though Percy Jackson’s lungs haven’t approved the decision yet.

“Nico,” he forces out heavily, panting like mule. “I need your help.”

“Aren’t you a firefighter?” Nico frowns over his coffee cup, absently blowing steam into Percy’s face. “Shouldn’t you be in better shape?”

But his breathing hitches and shows no signs of slowing down as “the wedding,” is forced unceremoniously through his chattering teeth, and Will meets Nico’s wide eyes and starts considering that Percy might be having some sort of panic attack.

“Do either of you know who I went to college with?”

Nico laughs in his face. Will nearly joins in.

Mere laughter never stopped Percy before. He starts over them, hand flying to his hair. “Annabeth has her set of invites nailed down and she keeps telling me to go over all my old college friends, but I can’t remember them all, and if I forget one they’ll be pissed at me, and—”

“Relax.” Nico cuts across him smoothly. “I’ll help you out, Piper and I will coordinate.”

Percy’s breathing slows, just a little. “Thanks, man, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nico waves him off, and after a hurried goodbye, Percy disappears around a bend in the path, leaving Will to glance sidelong at Nico and wonder how he’s taking Percy’s ignorance.

“Sorry,” Will murmurs under his breath. “Percy can be pretty….dense.” He remembers how Percy had asked if he and Penelope were dating and grimaces to himself.

“What do you mean, Solace?” Nico sips his coffee as a cyclist swerves to avoid them.

“It was…kind of uncool, of him. To you know, ask you to do that.” It was ‘kind of uncool’ of him to casually ask you to help him in his relationship to someone who isn’t you, his internal monologue bites out.

“Why was it uncool? I mean, it’s not that much work. Besides, I can probably get Piper to do all of it.”

Will coughs into his fist. “Nevermind.”

(I was under the impression that you still had feelings for that twerp but apparently that might be a Non-Issue hmm I must file this away now yes.)

(does this mean we can make out)

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

(probably not.)

Nico folds his arms across his chest. “Spit it out, Solace.”

Will exhales nervously. “Well, um…I, uh, I know how you feel about him, I guess.” He stares determinedly at the dirty snow plopped dejectedly on the side of path. “I remember how you were in college, and you sort of hinted at it when you drunk texted me at New year’s Eve, and…it’s kind of gross of him, to ask for your help, he shouldn’t have done that.”

Will desperately wants to check if Nico is still there beside him, but also can’t bring himself to look at his face. Finally, Nico clears his throat.

“Uhh, well, that…that’s over. I’m….all good on that front.”

“Oh.” Will isn’t really sure what to do now.

“Yeah.”

They continue walking in silence for a while, Will trying very hard Not to Think.
________________________________________________________________________

While Will’s libido is holding it’s breath, the universe flips a coin and decides it’s Will’s turn to pick the Thing That Nico and Will Watch This Time.

He does the natural thing and selects the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

(If he was going for old movies, Will probably should have started with The Breakfast Club, or maybe even Back to the Future, but oh well. Will wants to introduce him to the cult classic.

So it is written, so it shall be.)

He wants to chuck the DVD in the player, kick back, and press play, no explanation necessary, but he has a feeling he has to give this one some background or else Nico will walk out.

He gives Nico the customary Two Steps Inside the Apartment Jesus Christ Will, before talking at him, apropos of nothing.

“We’re watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show. You won’t get it unless I run some stuff by you first,” he says as Nico hangs up his coat, clearly amused by Will’s methodical briefing on the film.

“It was made in the seventies, and it was supposed to be a bad movie, like it was created to be a B-movie.” Will continues.

Nico raises his eyebrow. “Okay, Will.”

“Some weird stuff is going to happen, you just have to go with it,” Will presses on relentlessly.

“Will, chill the fuck out, I think I’ll be able to handle it,” Nico reassures him as they take their places on the floor in front of the couch.

“Just, be prepared,” Will cautions as he presses play.

Nico looks unimpressed when the iconic lips come onscreen, but confused when they start to sing.

Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still,
But he told us where we stand…

“I forgot to tell you, it’s a musical,” Will explains quickly, not wanting to miss any of the lyrics.

Nico wrinkles his nose and makes a disgruntled sound.

“Shut up, the soundtrack is fantastic,” Will scolds lightly.

And at a deadly pace, it came from

“Where?” Will asks the lips excitedly.

Outer space. And this is how the message ran…

Nico throws him a look which Will ignores because he’s too busy mouthing all the words.

When Will shouts “Asshole!” and “Slut!” as soon as he sees Brad and Janet, Nico asks “Solace, what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s a cult classic,” Will says rapidly, trying to get it all out before Brad starts singing. “There’s just some stuff that everyone shouts at the movie at certain times, and one of the them is to call Janet a slut and Brad an asshole.”

Hey Janet

Nico starts to ask something else, but Will shushes him quickly.

I’ve got something to say.
Uh-huh?
I really like the (“sku-sku-sku!”) skillful way you beat the other girls to the bride’s bouquet.
Oh, Brad.

They make it through There’s a Light (Over at the Frankenstein Place) and Time Warp with little interruptions from Nico, though he scorns Will when he gets up to do the dance. However, once Tim Curry comes on in full drag, he loses it.

“What the hell is this, Solace?” He questions, eyeing the screen with distrust.

Will pauses the television and shrugs unapologetically. “I told you, the movie’s weird.”

“I think I need a drink,” Nico says after a moment’s consideration.

This one does tend to go down easier if it’s chased by alcohol, Will reflects as he retrieves Penelope’s bottle of preferred vodka from the kitchen.
________________________________________________________________________

“Why, why’re you getting bread?” Nico hiccups an hour later, lying prone on the couch.

Will grabs the bottle from him as he races back into the room unsteadily, swigging from it before yelling “Because he’s about to say something about toast!”

Nico makes a face. “I think he said it already.”

“Oh.” Will thinks on it, then throws the bread at the screen anyway.

He then lays back down on the couch with Nico, generously handing him the vodka.

“Did we drink too much of this?” Nico asks, nudging his toes against Will’s calf in time to some song Will doesn’t know.

“Pffft,” Will guffaws as he throws an arm around Nico. “Nah. We’re ffff—fine!”

Nico tucks his chin into his chest, satisfied, and they keep watching the movie.

Well. Presumably, Nico watches the movie.

Will has seen the movie probably over five million times by now, seriously. He already knows what happens.

That gives him time to Think About Other Stuff.

Stuff like how nice it feels to have someone tucked beside him like this.

And how much better it is that it’s Nico.

And Will knows, dimly, that Somewhere he’d decided that he wasn’t going to do all the things he’d wanted to do with Nico, for Some Reason. But right now the liquor sitting very pleasantly in Will’s ear is helpfully pointing out how warm Nico’s arm is, draped over Will’s stomach like that. And how gorgeous his lines look in the harsh light from the TV. And how that same light keeps flickering on his shiny lips.

And he keeps thinking stuff like this, for what must be hours and hours, and it all just goes round and round in his head like a powder keg, until it explodes and he Does It.

He hefts himself up on his elbow, leans over Nico, who’s eyes are glued to the television, and kisses him.

Nico makes a sound, waits a few seconds, then starts kissing back. Will beams happily and settles on top of Nico, giving him his full attention.

After a few seconds, Will moves on to his neck, mouthing his way up and down the sensitive skin, adding teeth a few times when the moment strikes him. Nico moans, and it goes right between Will’s legs.

And so that’s how the entire cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show having a quasi-orgy in a swimming pool came to be the light by which Will fiddled with Nico’s zipper.

That sort of paved the way for the rest of the evening.
________________________________________________________________________

Slosh.

Slosh.

Slosh.

Will grimaces into whatever the fuck is closest to his mouth and wishes he could say that the sickening wishy-washy feeling isn’t coming from inside his stomach.

The vomit clawing it’s way up his throat begs to differ.

He charges headfirst into the wall on his mad sprint to the bathroom from what he guesses is the living room couch. His hangover promptly meets another hangover, fucks it dirtily in an alleyway, and gives birth to a third, all of which jockey for position behind his eyes.

Will wants to lie pathetically on the floor for the rest of forever but his stomach forces him into the bathroom and over the toilet.

He throws up again after trying to brush his teeth to get rid of the acrid taste in his mouth. The universe must have it out for him.

Will staggers to the door of the bathroom and flings it open, whereupon the light flooding into the apartment tases him in the face and he drops to the floor.

He stays there for a moment, doing his best not to contemplate his situation, then heaves his hand out in front of him and drags himself in the direction of his bedroom. The pathetic centipeding is made only slightly better when Will gives up and starts crawling on his hands and knees, determined to stay on the floor until the last possible second.

Inside his room he squinches his eyes shut and feels around on his nightstand for a pair of sunglasses. Once properly armed, he pushes himself into a standing position to the staccato sounds of his hip cracking.

One thing at a time. Will marches into the kitchen (sways unsteadily into the kitchen) and gets himself a glass of water. He drains it, heaves into his fist, then fills another and forces it down, gag reflexes be damned. Taking a third glass of water with him, he collapses onto the couch (back to square one) and tries to evaluate what happened last night.

Brutally decking his hangover in the jaw to try and keep it at bay, Will puts his head in his hands and tries to start with what he knows.

Nico came over last night, because it was Will’s turn to pick what to watch.

Okay. That sounds innocent enough.

Will had chosen the Rocky Horror Picture.

That may not seem like the safest choice, but even in hindsight, Hungover Will stands (or rather, sits) by Completely Sober Will’s choices.

Okay.

Will can’t remember anything past the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Grimacing, he tries to figure out if they even finished the movie.

He remembers explaining to Nico the slut/asshole tradition, so they at least had at least watched Dammit Janet…

…and he had hummed along to There’s a Light, he knows because Nico threatened to sock him if he didn’t stop…

…and Nico had freaked out when he saw Tim Curry in full drag (Will would hold it against him, but to be fair, he wasn’t exactly warned in advance) and that’s when they started drinking.

Everything after that goes fuzzy.

After a few more minutes of trying to peer through the alcohol-induced fog of last night, Will sighs, gets up from the couch, and decides it’s high time he tried to get some food into his system.

And that would’ve been the end of it, too. He would’ve spent a few minutes working up the motivation to walk the treacherous six steps to the fridge, stretched languorously, eaten a furiously ironic unhealthy breakfast, and gotten on with his life, had he not glanced innocently behind him and found a not-so-innocent stain on the couch cushion.

…

…

Shit.

Will desperately tries to convince himself that he’d made that mess himself while pining after Nico (and he’s reached a point where he can file that under Believable Lies He’s Told Himself), but that gentle nudge in the right direction opens up the floodgates for memories of last night that make him want to hide under his bed.

For one glorious second, Will remembers kissing Nico. Elation coats his skin like honey.

Then he remembers kissing Nico. He wants to shoot himself in the face.

Choking back shame, Will’s mind dredges up alcohol soaked memories of him all but forcing himself on Nico, stumbling on top of him and slobberingly mashing their lips together, reeking of sweat and drink, with Will’s spit hanging disgustingly from his stupidly half opened mouth.

Ugh. He feels revulsion creep over his bones and pool in his joints. As much as he wants to pretend it never happened, Will clenches his teeth and jabs his brain back to last night, trying to figure out how far they went and where they stopped.

At gunpoint, he can remember trying to unzip Nico’s pants. Nothing after that.

Will sighs heavily. Considering things have gone absolutely fubar, with only himself to blame, he needs to regroup.

He sits down in the tub, under the lukewarm spray from the shower. He supposes hiding away in the bathroom brings him a notch closer to Rock Bottom, but being away from the harsh light of the living room helps.

Catching some water in his open mouth, Will gargles with it before spitting in the direction of the drain, trying to get the taste of bile out of his mouth from when he’d vomited a third time.

Because he’s a selfish twit who doesn’t want to deal with his actions just yet, Will allows himself a solid three minutes of leaning his head against the wall with his eyes closed. He does nothing to stop the constant pounding of the water into his face, and he can’t tell if that’s because he thinks he deserves it or because he thinks it might help.

Finally, Will pulls his head out of the ground and starts really thinking about his next move.

Firstly, Nico. He needs to make sure Nico is okay.

The weight of his actions, and their effect on Nico, roll through him.

There is a resounding moment where the only thought in his head is oh fuck.

(This is not the first time that has happened this morning.)

I invaded his space. I kissed him without asking if he wanted. I probably killed any chance I had with him, plus our friendship.

Groaning, Will deliberately smacks his head into the bathtub tile. His hangover does somersaults.
________________________________________________________________________

The door is nondescript.

Well, Will amends in his head, it looks like it should be nondescript. Probably.

And, he supposes, dragging this out as far as he’s able, it most likely is nondescript. He just can’t tell.

He supposes a little longer, and decides that if it were anyone else’s apartment, the door would be nondescript.

According to one Percy Jackson, this is Nico’s apartment.

The door is shouting at him.

Will stares at it for a few more seconds before sighing, squaring his shoulders, and knocking shakily at the thick sheet of wood that’s doing a tremendous job of making him feel small.

After a few moments, Will hears the unmistakable snick of the bolt being withdrawn. The door opens, and Nico appears, wearing a face Will analyses and grinds between his teeth and decides tastes like anger and regret.

“Hi,” he greets softly, forcing himself to look Nico in the eyes. “Is it okay if I come inside?”

It doesn’t matter that Will tries to meet his eyes, because Nico is looking very determinedly at a point over Will’s shoulder. “Why not?” he answers flippantly.

Well, what did he expect, really?

“How did you know I live here?” Nico asks as he shuts the door.

Will doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he stands awkwardly in Nico’s doorway. “I asked Percy.”

“And the idiot just told you?” Nico presses.

Will shrugs, nodding helplessly.

Swearing under his breath, Nico mutters “I talked to him about that.”

Will doesn’t answer, because there’s nothing he can really say.

Nico doesn’t say anything either. Will inhales, a long, continuous rush that will hopefully be a proper substitute for Dutch courage. “I want to apologize,” he starts, apropos of nothing, and Nico’s head whips around to stare at him from where he’d positioned himself behind a kitchen cabinet. Will can see this because he grits his teeth and forces himself to look at Nico, when he wants nothing more than to catalogue his ratty shoelaces.

“I was…out of line, last night,” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to physically force better words up his spine and into his brain. “I shouldn’t have made a move on you, that wasn’t cool, and” he clenches his fists, “I didn’t ask you if you wanted. I was drunk, but that’s not an excuse. I just…” he makes an effort to sharpen his gaze, to make sure Nico understands how important this is to him. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t have done that if I were sober. That isn’t…how I think of you.” He smiles bleakly. “I know playing the ‘well, if I had been sober…’ card is sort of dickish, but it’s the truth. I shouldn’t have done it, it wasn’t fair to you, I wish I hadn’t done it, and I hope…I hope you don’t think I’m skeezy,” he finishes lamely.

Try as he might, his gaze obeys the near gravitational pull forcing it to the ground. Will can’t look at Nico now, he can’t try and watch him process his apology to see if he’ll forgive him or kick him out.

It is here, over-zealously studying the scuffs on Nico’s floor and making shoddy guesses as to what put them there, that Will realizes he won’t know what to with himself if Nico decides to walk out of his life. He tries to imagine reinserting himself into his Life From Before, reverting back into what he had before Nico had flipped him upside down, and he sees that the space he took up won’t fit him anymore. Will’s frame has been dented, bent just the slightest bit out of shape, his vision has shifted a few shades in either direction, his nerves have been ratcheted up by minute degrees, his pulse has been kicked up a few notches. It is nearly indiscernible, this gentle pull from the inside out, but it is Enough, and he cannot go back. Will sucks in a low breath as he takes stock of himself, and spends a few seconds desperately wishing he knew how far gone he was before he had to go and fuck it all up.

If Nico leaves, he’ll be left floundering, dropped in a foreign country with no idea of his next move. Able to survive, but forever just a little off-kilter.

“I don’t.”

Will abruptly remembers that he isn’t alone in the room; that in fact, he’s in Nico’s room, that he’s been waiting for Nico to say something, that Nico has in fact just said something. The sudden tug from inside his thoughts that has him sprawling back to reality is enough to make his swallow go down the wrong pipe, and he coughs ridiculously as he tries to figure out what Nico means.

Nico, for all that he holds Will’s New Normal in his hands, quirks up a smile, amused at Will’s obvious discomfort. He patiently waits for Will to get himself in order before clarifying.

He takes a deep breath and says “think of you as a skeeze, I mean. I don’t think of you as a skeeze.”

And the way he ducks his head and peers up at Will has every single thing that could move or could possibly consider moving, maybe, clamp down inside him with enough force to moor a ship.

“I, um,” Nico purses his lips and rolls his tongue around inside his mouth. “I’m glad, actually. That you made a move.”

Will’s jaw unhinges enough to say “Really?”

Nico nods once.

Before Will can even begin to process the emotions flooding his lower intestine, he has to make sure. “So…apology accepted?”

“Apology accepted,” Nico repeats, grinning a bit.

Relief pours out of Will, trickling down his back and whipping through his hair. Nico will stay with him, at least for now, he doesn’t have to say goodbye yet, he can have his cake and eat it too.

Then the other shoe drops, and Nico’s words hit squarely in the gut so hard he nearly stumbles.

“You…you didn’t mind making out with me?”

Nico laughs a little at that. “We went a bit further than making out, and yeah, I didn’t mind.”

And Will’s next words are clear enough in the air in front of them that he continues “And I wouldn’t mind doing it again, either.” He grins conspiratorially.

Every single one of Will’s bones explodes simultaneously, scattering shrapnel like fireworks.

His brain offers him four full seconds of sun-streaked lazy celebration before it kicks him unceremoniously in the crotch.

“Wait,” he says breathlessly, teetering on the edge of a cliff. “I don’t, I don’t want to just make out with you. I like you, a lot. I want, I want to date, if that’s okay with you?” he finishes awkwardly, mentally ripping out his vocal cords.

Nico smiles wonderfully. “I think I can manage that, yeah.”

Will lets that slip over him like sunshine. After a few seconds, he realizes he has been staring blankly at Nico. Clearing his throat, he sputters “So, uh, what do we do now?”

Grinning awfully, Nico replies “Well, for our first date, I found another episode of Supernatural I think you’ll like.”

“Nice to know you like to mix it up, Sunshine.”
________________________________________________________________________

Will is dead.

He has to be.

He’d made himself a promise, at some point, probably, that he would never let himself get this tired.

He’s got to be dead.

Will dismally pokes at the elevator button, then gives up entirely and leans against the doors. It’s almost worth the stumbling fall when they slide open .23 seconds later.

It’s 2:30 in the morning, he’s just finished up a double shift at the trauma center. Give him a break.

He realizes that somewhere during his slow-moving loopy mental acrobatics, he’s managed to press the button for his floor. He congratulates himself as he slip-slides down the hallway, internally thanking whoever it was that had the foresight to leave the apartment door unlocked (it was probably him.)

He shuts the door (and he remembers to lock it behind him, mental point) and tugs off his coat and shoes, leaving them to be dealt with in the morning (read: they are on the floor and will most likely be tripped over by himself.) Opening the refrigerator with eyes already two thirds of the way closed, Will guesses that he has enough energy for prepackaged yogurt, maybe, when a piece of paper catches his eye.

Ripping open a yogurt and slurping down half of it in one go, he unfolds the paper and lets the fridge door swing closed, wincing as it rattles.

Keeping the container at his lips, Will spreads the paper out on the table. Even with sleep fogging over his brain, it takes him less than a heartbeat to recognize it as Joan Miro’s This is the color of my dreams print. But no, something is wrong.

For one thing, (and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize this) it’s on computer paper.

For another, there isn’t a blue smudge, but instead another piece of paper taped where it should be. Squinting at it, Will can make out a shock of yellow hair and a bit of an eye that he’s pretty sure is his own.

By the time he sees this is the color of my dreams is written not in the usual French but instead, in what he guesses is Italian, Will has cottoned on and his heart is doing a mile a minute in his chest.

Nico (it has to be Nico) has taken Miro’s work, redone it in his native Italian, and traded the blue dot for a bit of Will’s face, because apparently, Will is the color of his dreams, and ack, he swears he’s so in love with the idiot that his feet leave the ground.

Beaming sleepily, Will chucks the now-empty container and shuffles off to bed, promising his pillow that he’ll thank Nico in the morning.

(He does. It’s fantastic.)