I had an odd habit of staring at things--plants, animals, people, rocks, it didn't really matter, as long as it had an interesting shape, an unfamiliar texture, a breath-taking play of light and shadow--and imagining how I'd draw them or what words I would use to describe their beauty. Sometimes even boring things caught my eye. I frequently got strange looks if I was caught studying a person's face or their hands.

Often times, I studied Will this way. I watched how he tipped his head back when he laughed and how his Adam's apple moved when he swallowed. His fingers twitched when he was deep in thought. His eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks. The palms of his hands were smooth while his fingertips were rough from years of guitar strings making them blister and bleed. Still, he played his instrument with love.

There were so many tiny little things that made Will beautiful, and somewhere deep inside of myself, I was afraid that I would lose them or simply forget. The only way to hold onto it all for sure was to draw every single one of them, scrawl sentences in between. My sketchbooks were quickly being taken over by lopsided smiles and shoulders dusted with freckles; sand on the beach. (Waves in his eyes.)

The only problem was that my work never really captured the taking grace that Will Solace was built from and I only realized it when he finally showed me the only part of himself that he'd been keeping hidden.

His photography showed things exactly how they were without artistic adjustments or small inexactitudes. They didn't miss details the way ordinary eyes sometimes did. Will's work wasn't the kind of thing usually seen in pretty photo galleries and calendars. People tend to only take pictures of moments in time that make everything seem surreal, without fault. Will, on the other hand, did just the opposite.

He took pictures centered on dead a group of wilting flowers that featured pristine, flourishing ones blurrily in the background. He captured moments that reminded of the ugliness buried in winter; snapshots of leftover birds huddled on the bare branch of a tree, a flower that had pushed its way stubbornly out of the ground too early and was now regretting it, hanging its head and shedding its petals. Every single one told me that there was always despondency in appeal and appeal in despondency.

Flipping through them, I became more and more engrossed by the second.

A side-view of a boy's face, his brown hair hanging over his forehead limply, curling at the ends and just brushing his eyebrows. He was smiling, but it looked a bit broken, just barely being held there by a few pins and needles. His lashes were soaked and a single tear was cutting across his freckled cheek, making a run for the sharp edge of his jaw; a suicide mission.

Will's hands, bloody fingers plucking at the strings of his guitar, smearing them with crimson. A few of them had snapped and were hanging in hopeless curls. It was a heart-breaking shot that spoke of frustration and sadness beyond words. It made me feel like there was a story I was missing, made me want to reach out through time and space until I was in that moment just so I could still his hands and pull the instrument from them, take care of him.

A butterfly settled on a flowering vine that was climbing and twisting its way up a brick wall that framed a shattered window, shards of glass stuck haphazardly from its edges and the interior of the place was dusty and sad; abandoned. The shot was something like hope fighting to overcome something terrible.

A tiny sapling growing in a charred forest.

A stray cat hiding from the rain with fear in its eyes and dirt smeared across its cheek.

A photograph burning. All that was left were two pairs of lips, one smiling underneath the other. I'd drawn those lips over and over and over again. The other pair was a mystery.

I froze at the next picture because it was of me. I was sitting at the lake, head tipped back and sunlight spilling across my features and sparkling in my hair. I was smiling blissfully and my eyes were closed. This was the type of thing that blocked out all of the bad and focused in on only the good. It fit, though, because I remembered that day and it was all laughter and Will snapping pictures and something building, building.

Will reached over and pulled the photos from my hands and when I looked up at him, his sun-bronzed face was tinted pink. He flipped back through them, telling me the story behind each. Where he'd been, why he'd been there, what had caught his eye, how'd he'd gotten the shot, what it meant to him.

The picture of the brown-haired boy stuck with me the most.

Will hesitated on it, tapped his finger against it with an almost-smile, "His name was Xander."

I just sat quietly, afraid that anything I might do would shatter the moment, startle him away from sharing this.

"He was. . . my boyfriend. Before you. Before. . ." One hand fluttered upward, caught at the air where the string of his hoodie would usually be hanging, and then snagged on the collar of his shirt instead, tugging and wearing away at it. He gulped, looking a bit unstable, "This was. . . We were sitting on my bed. . ." There was a long pause, I think both of us heard the unsaid words in the air, This same bed. "We were sitting on my bed and he just started crying, told me that he didn't know. . . didn't see the point. Didn't even get what I saw in him. So I took this. . . took it to show him. Two months later he. . . just. . ."

"Oh. Oh, Will."

It was the only the second time I'd seen Will Solace cry. He didn't shake or sob like I did. It was just quiet and hopeless, he didn't even move to wipe the tears away. It made me want to tear the world down.

I moved in front of him, whispered his name. He just looked up from the picture and gave me a soft smile like I was the one who needed consoling. It wasn't hard to guess that Xander had been so much better than me, I wasn't hard to beat.

Will closed his eyes as I dusted my fingers over his cheeks, wiped away his tears. "I'm so, so sorry, Will." The words felt pathetic, felt completely useless. I couldn't even think of anything better to say. How are you supposed to make something like that okay again? You can't. You can't.

"Come here." I pulled him down onto the bed with me tucked my chin on top of his head, wrapping my arms around him protectively, "I know how hard it is to lose someone you love, I know. I'm so sorry."

He just nodded and pressed closer, "I know. It's okay. I'm okay."

"Shh," I whispered, and traced my fingers up and down his spine. "You don't always have to be strong, Solace. Just let me take care of you."

We were like that for a long while until Will shifted back, exhaling shakily. "I just want to take my mind off of it."

I searched his eyes for a second and then nodded and turned hesitantly onto my back, knowing from the look in his eyes that it would help, would make him feel more at ease if I just acted like I normally would. It didn't make me feel any more at ease, though. I wanted to hold him like he always held me; I wanted to make him feel safe and this wasn't the way I knew.

I felt him shift next to me, turning onto his side and curling closer.

"When you take pictures," I whispered, and I could sense the tension leaving his body; I thought that maybe we weren't that different in the fact that we didn't really like talking about our own problems, "what's it like? I mean, because I know how I think when I draw, I know what I'm trying to do and how it feels, but photography is different."

He shifted again, drawing himself up onto his elbow, to look down at me. The skin around his eyes was red and strained, the only visible sign that he'd been crying. "It's kind of like this. . ."

I sighed softly, eyes closed, feeling Will's fingers trace from my wrist to my elbow and back again. "Kind of like us?"

He laughed quietly, dropping his head down so his breath warmed the fabric of my t-shirt where it stretched over my shoulder, "Kind of."

"Okay." And he buried his fingers his fingers in my hair, "But how?"

"Because. . . Well, how do you feel when you draw?" I wanted to turn and curl into his warmth and it took me a second to realize that I was falling back on old habits, holding back.

I hummed softly, shifted, tucked my head against the arm he was using to hold himself up. "Words just describe pictures, don't they? And pictures describe words. So I think. . . When I draw, I'm trying to describe a set of words and when I write--"

"You write?" He sounded surprised, and then, based on the shift in his tone of voice, I thought he smiled, "Of course you write."

I nodded and my lips brushed against the soft skin of his inner forearm. "Mostly on my walls. But. . . When I write, I'm trying to describe a set of pictures."

"Makes sense." He was quiet, thinking, and I didn't have anything to say, so I was quiet too. Until Will leaned down, nuzzling against my neck, making me laugh. "It's like. . . When I'm taking pictures it's not just about finding the perfect lighting or the very best angle. I mean, that's a lot of it, yeah, but for me, it's mainly about trying to convey some sort of emotion or story using what's already there. It's all about capturing exactly what's going on in my head and sharing it with everyone else."

Pulling back just enough to look at him, I flattened my hand out against his chest, my back pressed into the mattress, my palm pressed into him. His heartbeat was steady and constant, calming. "And that's like us?"

Us. My chest felt strained because my mind was turning old thoughts and beliefs and habits around and around, but my heart was pounding its fists against my ribcage, 'Us' is good and pure and beautiful, Will is the only thing there to make you smile. Hold on. Hold on. Do not let go.

Will smiled, shifted closer. "It's like me. What I try to be, try to give you."

"Everything that's inside your head? How you see it?" I let my hand push upward, ghost over his neck and jaw until I could touch his face. I wanted to ask him if he was really okay, I wanted to focus on him.

His eyes had drifted half-closed, "Yeah. . ."

"Mmmm. . . Then what are you thinking right now?" I pushed hair from his face, smiling as he sighed and reached out to nudge me closer, curl around me almost protectively, just like I had done earlier.

Tell me what you're really feeling, Solace.

He tilted his head to the side, leaning into where my palm was now resting against his cheek, "Did you have a. . ." His mouth twitched, and I knew from his eyes that it was because he was amused by something, "girlfriend before?"

I felt my own mouth shift into a small smile (a smile laced with too many thoughts) before I shook my head and then my eyebrows pulled together. "I mean, you're my first. . . anything, really." I was silently resigning, accepting that Will would only tell me as much as he wanted and that was okay. (Okay for now.)

His eyebrows darted upward at that, "Anything? What do you mean?"

I felt myself blushing and shifted my gaze past Will's face and to the ceiling, dropped my hand back to my side, trying to will the coloration away. "I've never really even thought about it before. It's like. . . people get crushes all of the time. . . but I never did. Not until you, I guess." That only made me blush harder, "It's not really surprising, though, I never actually tried to get to know people."

"Huh."

I shifted my eyes back to his face, "'Huh,' what?"

Will grinned at me, "Nothing. It's just that I think you might be demiromantic."

"That is not even a word, Solace." That made him laugh, hard. Head thrown up at the ceiling and everything.

He laid down completely again, still chuckling lightly, "It is too a word."

I turned my head to nudge my nose against his playfully. "Oh, yeah? Then what does it mean, wise guy?"

Will poked my side, making me squirm, "Just that you don't feel any romantic attraction until you develop an emotional connection first."

I made a face at him, "So, basically, it means that I'm a normal human being?"

"No," He had to pause and bite his lip to keep from laughing at me again, "I don't mean. . . romantic attraction isn't like falling in love or something. . . I mean, I guess it is. . . kind of? You know, what, Nico? I do not have the patience to explain this to you right now." His voice was laced with mirth.

I snorted, turning onto my side to face him completely, "So what you're saying is that I'm right?"

Will glared playfully and shoved at my chest. "No. Okay, let me start over."

We both dissolved into laughter and Will leaned his forehead against mine, draping an arm over my waist. "I'll put it like this instead. People who aren't demiromantic, they usually-- No, that's not right either. Look, when you look at a person, how do you see them?"

"What?"

"Okay, yeah. That was a dumb question. Uhm. . . I'll just go back to what I was saying before. Usually, people who aren't demiromantic look at an attractive person and their outward appearance is enough for them to think, 'Hey, I might actually want to kiss this human on the mouth,'" I raised my eyebrows at that, which he studiously ignored, "but a demiromantic person wouldn't even think about a person like that at all until they really know them and even then, things might just stay completely platonic."

I just looked at him dubiously for several seconds, "So you're telling me that people just walk around wanting to kiss random strangers? Without even knowing them?"

"I wanted to kiss you when we first met." He said it with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Will!" I promptly covered my face with both hands to hide my blush from view.

That earned another bout of laughter from him and then he tugged on my wrists, "Okay, okay. If it makes you feel any better it was a little bit after we met."

I pulled one hand away from my face to swat at him half-heartedly, "That doesn't even make sense. Why in the world would you want to kiss me?"

"Why do you think some people have one-night stands, Neeks?" Still laughing at me.

"I don't-- I don't know!" I sputtered, uncovering my face so that he could experience the full measure of my exasperation.

His expression softened out and he reached out to touch my cheek soothingly. "Alright, alright. Let me ask you this: When you look at a person, do you see them as attractive or unattractive?"

"I don't know. . . yes? It's like. . . looking at vases. I know which ones look nice based on. . ." I made a frustrated hand gesture because I couldn't seem to find the right words, "I don't want to. . . kiss the vases, though."

That made him laugh again, shaking and pressing in closer to me, "I cannot believe that you just compared dating to shopping for vases."

"Oh, come on," I said, smirking at him. "People aren't that different from vases."

Will was grinning back at me, "Okay, then name three ways they're even similar ."

"Easy. They're hollow, emotionless, and no good unless you're filling them up."

"Nico!" Will gasped, completely astonished, but laughing all the same.

I snickered quietly, much too proud of myself, "I've been spending way too much time with Leo."

Will let out a disbelieving huff, "So I can see."

I traced my finger over the soft fabric of his T-shirt, still smiling. Will just laid there--eyes drifting closed, sighing softly--while I drew invisible patterns on his chest and let it all soak in.

Demiromantic.

Is that okay?

Of course, it's okay.

Gay. Demiromantic.

I'm okay. It's not wrong.

I'm just different.

And it's not like. . . Not like the church has anything against falling in love slower. Because that's kind of what it is, right? Something like that. I'm okay. Even if. . . I barely let my mind whisper it, barely let it be an idea at the edge of my subconscious because I was afraid, the person I'm falling for is a boy.

I splayed my fingers out, pressing my hand more forcefully against him, wanting the strength and clarity, the sureness, of it. "So. . . How is it for you?"

Eyes still closed, pulling me closer still, "What do you mean?" My heart hurt.

"Well, because, for me. . . I never even thought of you as anything other than my best friend for. . . months, even. I mean, I guess, there was kind of something there, but I never really realized it, and that still wasn't until later. . .

"That night at the lake was. . . It was the first time I ever let myself acknowledge it. It wasn't the first time I ever felt it. . . but, I guess, I just don't understand how you can. . . want. . ." The word came out as a question and I wrinkled my nose at the sound of it, "a person like that without knowing them. It makes me feel weird just thinking about it. . . and I thought that was how it was for everyone, but that doesn't really make sense now that I think about it. . ." I trailed off, blushing and curling my toes, wanting to hide my face in Will's chest, but holding back because his eyes were opening and catching mine gently in their grip.

Will brushed his fingers across mine where they were still spread across his shirt, "That's completely normal," he whispered softly, and waited for me to nod before he continued. "For me, I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you and that's how it is for anyone I think is cute, but. . . I still have to get to know a person before I decide of I really like them, personality-wise. . . if that makes sense?" I nodded again, slower this time, and he cracked a little smile at me, "Like, when you showed up on my door-step. . . and even. . ." He bit his lip, blushing a bit, which made me grin, "I thought you were. . . You have nice eyes, Neeks. And pretty hair. And a cute nose."

I laughed, "You are a sap."

He just grinned at me, "But I think. . ." Will blew out a breath and smiled, running a thumb across my bottom lip, "I've had a crush on you for the longest time, di Angelo."

"Present tense?" I asked, lips twitching in amusement under Will's thumb.

He smiled shyly, "Well. . . yeah. You still seem like something that I can't have. Too good to be true. And I don't know what else to call that."

"Solace, I'm your boyfriend, I'm yours."

"Completely?" His voice was soft, hesitant, maybe even a little bit scared.

I reached up and tugged his hand away from my face so that I could curl his fingers into a loose fist and kiss his knuckles, holding his gaze steadily. "Always." Even if it scares me. And it does. Still. So much.

Will's eyes fluttered shut, his expression so full of relief and wonder and that it almost looked pained. "Okay. Alright."

"Will," I muttered--just for the sake of saying it, just to fill his name with every confused, intense emotion swirling in the pit of my stomach--and ran my thumb over the back of his hand, "Will Solace."

His breathing hitched, just slightly and he muttered, "Neeks," so quietly that it was barely more than a breath.

I had the sudden, intense desire to press close to him, so close that there would be nothing else but the two of us and our breaths, his warmth spilling off of his skin and into mine. My hand curled up in his shirt, crumpled it, and his eyelids flew open wide to reveal the skies behind them, his hand tightened around mine, lips parted in shock at the intensity of my expression.

I huddled into him, our foreheads together, hands knotted between our chests, my legs tangling themselves with his desperately, wanting to tie myself to him, wanting him to know, know me and what I thought of him, wanted him to understand all of the dark parts of myself that rested beneath my skin, in my bones.

"Remember, Will?" I whispered, and his hand, the one that had been resting over mine against his chest, caught at the back of my neck, cupped it, held me there with him. "Remember when we first met? Remember the first time I kissed you? Do you remember?"

He nodded, a crease between his brows, his thumb tracing a path underneath the downy hair at the base of my scalp. "Of course. Like it was yesterday."

I wanted to look him in the eye and whisper, I know you think you remember, but you don't remember the way I do. I remember thinking for the very first time that you're beautiful. I remember noticing a thousand tiny things about you all at once and being absolutely overwhelmed with it. I remember so much starlight in my chest that I was sure I was about to collapse, explode, become a black hole.

I let out a breath, it almost sounded startled. "You asked me what my favorite color is."

He was smiling again, pushing his fingers upward, through my hair. "You said black."

"It wasn't true."

"What is it, then?"

I wanted so, so much right then. Wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him, wanted him and nothing else, wanted him to be all that there was so it wasn't possible to think of anything else, "I draw you all of the time."

"Yeah?" I could see it in his eyes, could hear it in his voice, how it was too much breath and not enough sound, could feel it in the way his fingers were trembling, tumbling, collapsing down my spine, that he felt it too.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me first, so I could feel the frenzy of his thoughts through his lips. "I can never get your eyes right."

His laugh was shaky, barely there at all, "And you call me a sap."

They're not just blue, Solace, they're like light on water. Like spring fading into summer, like warmth. You remind me of laughter. You make me feel safe. I look into your eyes and I think that I will never be hurt again and I just want to capture that, want to put it on paper so that the world can see it too.

"Just. . ." The word was something else, something like a plea or a confession, and Will was already leaning in, something so unguarded and gone behind features that it made me gasp.

And then we were kissing, untangling our hands to pull and clutch and feel, and he was all there was, all that mattered.

I was tightening my hold on him, one hand driven into the small of his back, the other slipping up his neck to cup his jaw, when a sharp noise sounded at the back of my skull, outside of everything else, and Will jerked backward, chest heaving, still pressed against me and holding, grasping. Not enough.

"Bear?"

Will's breathing shuddering, pushing his forehead against mine once more, nudging my nose with his. "Kit?" His voice was pulled taught, strained, trying to come across normal.

There was a slight creak of hinges protesting, and Will flinched, hands jerking away from me, the first step in his escape, but not fast enough.

"Are you two being gross again?"

Will's jaw tightened, eyes fastened onto mine, crimson dusting his cheeks. "No," he said roughly, and pulled himself back, turned away from me to face his sister.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the color in my cheeks rushing to match his: flushed only partially from embarrassment, and then I rolled over onto my back to stare pointedly at the ceiling, trying to even out my breathing.

"Yes, you were!" I could tell from her voice that she had that expression of hers on, all suspiciousness and exasperation. "You're always being gross."

"Kissing isn't that gross, Katherine." His voice was mostly back to its usual state, lighthearted and laughing.

She huffed, "Is too!"

"Nu uh! Even Nico agrees with me. . ."

-

Some of my favorite moments with Will were the soft, quiet ones. Moments when we just drifted, just flowed. Like a lazy creek's current or a soft wind. It was moments like this, all slow breaths and quiet conversations, that I wanted to stay in forever.

Not that it was really quiet right then, because it was just the opposite of quiet (loud outside conversations ringing through the chilled air, fireworks raining down and lighting up the sky, glasses clinking together, excited shouts) but the moment was quiet, Will's eyes were quiet.

He reached across the short space between our lawn chairs, the explosions above us lighting up his features, making his hair shine, and tangled our fingers together. "It's almost midnight."

I smiled at him, behind us, Apollo was raising his glass in a toast and Will's grandmother was laughing at him. Kit was chasing one of her friends around, a blonde girl who's name I didn't remember. My parents were nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd somewhere. My heart was thundering in my ribcage at the danger of it.

"Two minutes," I told him, and his fingers tightened around mine.

Will leaned closer, lashes lowered, casting shadows across the freckles sprinkled over his cheeks. "Can't I just kiss you now?"

"You could. . ." I bit my lip in an attempt as restraining my smile, "but that would kind of defeat the purpose."

He sighed and a cloud rose up in front of him, reaching through the air toward me like a wistful thought before it dispersed, "Two minutes is a long time."

"Not really, Solace."

Will huffed disbelievingly, "It is when I'm trying to keep myself from kissing the prettiest boy here."

"Shut up." My cheeks were bright red, only partially from the cold, and I had to look away from him, "It's only a minute now."

He reached up with his free hand to adjust the beanie on my head, which he insisted that I wear at every given opportunity. "Longest minute of my life."

"And we're not even half-way through it," I gave him a sideways smile.

Will pouted, leaning his head on my shoulder in despair, "This is torture, di Angelo."

"I've gotta say. . . I really thought torture would be a lot worse than this." My chest felt too warm, too tight.

Someone was yelling that it was almost time to start the countdown and Will's head jerked upward, his expression hopeful like a little puppy begging for table scraps.

"We've still got thirty more seconds. . ." My voice was just above a whisper, a smirk tugging at my lips.

Will leaned his forehead against mine, "I haven't kissed you all night."

My eyes drifted closed, "We've been dodging around my parents all night."

He jolted backward at that and my eyes fluttered open just enough to see that he was glancing around nervously, and then he melted back into me, relief flooding across his features, "The coast is still clear."

Another smile was pulling at my features, I was always smiling around Will. "Good. I don't want to be dunked in holy water today."

Will snorted, "If you'd be dunked in holy water, I'd be skinned alive."

"Your parents would never allow it." Will was biting his lip and my gaze was floating downward, staying pinned there for too long, taking in how his teeth dug into the soft flesh.

"Ten!" The shout came from somewhere in front of us, and my eyebrow flicked upward.

"Nine!" More people had joined in this time and Will was tracing his thumb across my cheekbone, his grin stretching wide.

I shifted slightly so that I wasn't twisting so much to face him. "Eight!" We both whispered it along with everyone else, eyes twinkling.

"Seven!" Will's lips dusted the tip of my nose and I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Six!" I reached out to press a hand against his chest.

His heart was thundering, thumping against my palm. "Five!"

"Did I tell you that you look great tonight?" His hair was messy and windblown and wild.

"Four!"

I reached out to try and tame it, "Only several dozen times."

"Well--"

"Three!"

"--you do." His voice hitched around the last word.

I leaned forward, touched my chill-bitten nose against his. "You're beautiful. All the time."

"Two!"

"Kiss me."

"Wait one more--"

"One!"

His hands came up to tangle in my hair and he drew me forward. Closer, closer, until he could press his lips against mine. Everyone was shouting, cheering and there were fireworks in my chest, in the air around us.

I drew away just enough to look at him and remember it. "Buon anno, Will."

"Happy New Year." And then he kissed me again, slowly so that I couldn't think of anything else.

-

There were constantly moments in the day (words, phrases, smiles, irony, something I wanted and couldn't have, something tiny and insignificant, meaningless), that put a stab of something like grief through my heart. It always reminded me of terrible things and that made me feel like I should cry, not that I wanted to or had to, but that I should, and that was almost worse, because when has it ever been the right thing to do, for someone to cry? Maybe at a funeral or a parting, a goodbye, but not at the sight of-- something. It always came so abruptly and I was never sure why exactly I was suddenly so sad, especially because it was usually right after I was unbelievably happy. I could never pinpoint it, the reason, I mean. It made it worse because I think that maybe was always sad and those were just moments when I realized it.

Moments like this: there was a drawing on my desk at the end of the day and it was beautiful in the sense that the design was so intricate it was almost chaotic. I found myself staring at it instead of listening to my teacher because art deserves to be appreciated, especially art that is temporary. And I suddenly wanted to pound my fists against the earth and yell and scream and never, ever stop.

So I left that class remembering when Bianca and I used to play hide and seek with the kids in our neighborhood and she would tell me, "Nico, if you can't see them, they probably can't see you," (in Italian, her expression overly serious, voice lilting, hair in braids) and so I stood in the middle of an open field with my eyes screwed tightly shut and was shocked to be the first one discovered. I found myself thinking that it was similar to the reason I walked with my eyes on my shoes; because then maybe I could go unseen. The only problem was that it didn't really work, left me even more exposed than before, so I never saw anyone else until they were already upon me.

It was proved by the sudden biting pain in my back as my feet slipped and fumbled the wall rushed up to meet it, the whites of my eyes, air rushing out of my lungs, and Percy's hands fisted tightly over the words printed on my t-shirt (just 'ssshh' in washed-out white over the black), his snarl an inch from my nose because the toes of my sneakers were just barely pressed against the ground.

My hands came up, desperate and unthinking, to push wildly at his chest, "Wait, wait. Percy, just wait."

He laughed, an empty sound, "For what, exactly?"

That was a good question, one I didn't have the answer for. There was never preamble to this, no conversation, there wasn't any pressing to get out. But now there was because I'd made it that way, except now I didn't know how to continue.

"I don't know why you do this." They were the first words in my head and so they were the first words past my lips, and therefore the words that made Percy's lips curl into a dangerous smile.

"You don't?" Dripping with sympathy, laced with mockery.

My hands were shaking, I could only think of Will's words all those months ago, ". . . just remember that there is always a reason behind people's actions. If they say there isn't, they're either lying to you or themselves, or they're not looking deep enough."

"There has to be a reason, I can't just be the easiest target. There has to be a reason why you hate me so much, why you're so angry. I just want--" I choked on my words as he pulled me forward just to slam me back against the wall, just to shock me to the core.

"Shut up. You don't know anything about me." His eyes were erratic, his hands were shaking too, at that point.

I was quiet for several seconds, just breath quaking, just trying to pull myself back together, "No, I don't."

"Then stay out of my business," he growled and took a step back, releasing me roughly so that my heels hit the floor without any warning. I thought that maybe we weren't that different in the fact that we didn't really like talking about our own problems.

He took a step back, jaw clenched, glancing to the side like he was afraid there was someone sneaking up on him. "Stay out."

I had to fight the urge to sink to the ground after he disappeared into the crowd. I had to press my back into the bricks and shut my eyes against everything else. Just breathe. Just forget. Just move on. All things easier said than done.

-

Wanting to be hurt?

Feeling like I was better if I was hurt?

Not really wanting to be hurt and still feeling like it was better if I was hurt.

That's sick. So sick.

Feeling like being happy, whole, undamaged, made me less, made me less worthy. Like, if I was hurt then it was okay to be happy for once. Like enduring and being in pain but still pressing on, pushing through it, breaking and tearing my way through the week and going and going until it was the weekend and I could rest and then dreading Monday. Feeling it press closer and closer like a sick weight in my stomach because now I had to do it all over again.

Time kept moving without me and there was just not enough of it.

It's the worst kind of torture, to have things thriving and twisting in your mind and holding them off until the last second because if you concentrate on them--all of them at once--it will crush you. Having to take things one at a time, as they come, because there's just too much. Too much in the past, eating away and tearing down, too much in the present, hitting and beating, completely relentless, too much in the future, looming and hungry, too much to be done. Too much to be expected of. Too much.

Feeling like that made me stronger and when I wasn't feeling those things I was weak because I was not experiencing pain or heartache or fear. Believing that complacency made me into some sort of small creature that did not have the capacity to deserve.

That was sick.

My thoughts were askew, scattered all over the place like the contents of my backpack.

"It doesn't have to be like this." Snow was melting through my jacket and I was shivering.

They were all looming over me, but I was staring at Percy and he was staring right back, his face twisted into something impenetrable and cruel.

"I know someone close to you got hurt, I know it hurt you too, I get it."

His jaw tightened, hands clenching into fists at his sides, Jason was giving him a look lost somewhere between bewilderment and shock. Probably because his expression had slipped for all of a half of a second. (He looked like he was on the verge of shattering.)

Percy kicked snow over my face, Octavian snickered. "You have no idea, runt. You don't know me. Stop acting like you know me."

"I'm not trying to!" I gasped and scrambled backward as soon as he started toward me, but my back was met with Frank's beefy legs.

"Sure. And I'm not trying to beat you into next year."

Another laugh from Octavian, a partial smirk from Jason.

I shut my eyes and counted to ten.

I only got to four.

-

Not feeling anything is kind of worse than being sad, though, isn't it? Because at least sadness has a sort of weight to it. At least sadness has a cure, at least sadness can be eased and pushed away.

Nothingness is all-consuming. Nothingness is ever-present and ever-hopeless and never-ending. It makes the world seem like it's ending, makes all good things seem so far away, so untouchable, that you start pushing them away without even really meaning to.

I hadn't seen Will for a week, I hadn't really seen him since New Years. It was always fleeting waves and excuses, too-short conversations over text; a furrow appearing between his eyebrows, the smile slipping from his lips.

Looking at Will made me feel like I should cry. No particular reason at all. For anything.

I just wanted to be alone. Just wanted time to sit still for once. Just wanted the rest of eternity to occupy space and try and figure myself out.

He appeared on my doorstep late at night, hands shoved stubbornly into the pockets of his jacket and I wanted to hit the wall. I wanted to run. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to cry and shake and so I offered him a smile that wasn't all there, gripped the doorframe so tight that my knuckles paled.

Will's lip got caught between his teeth and he just stared at me and chewed at it for too long. "You said you wouldn't let three days go by without coming to see me."

"I know."

He looked away, his expression was pained and sad and too many things that I didn't want to see, so I looked past him at the snowflakes drifting softly to the earth. Snow has the tendency to put the world on mute.

"You've been avoiding me." It wasn't a question. Neither of us was looking at the other.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, "I'm sorry." It was hollow, breakable.

"Nico. . ."

I closed my eyes and leaned against the doorframe, let it take my entire weight because I'd forgotten how he said my name. "I'm sorry."

"I just want to know why, that's all. I just need to know why."

I remembered him underneath the fireworks, looking at me like I was all he wanted in the world. I remembered him counting down the seconds until he could kiss me, telling me that it was the worst kind of torture in the world.

"I don't know." I let out a shaky breath, "I don't know. I'm sorry."

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, so I leaned into his weight, felt my heart collapse in on itself. "You make me so happy. And I didn't. . . feel. . ."

"Ssshh."

"Stay here. Stay here. Please." I pushed my face into his jacket. It smelled like his cologne, like something that belongs in the woods.

I felt him nodding, his chin moving subtly against the top of my head, "Of course."

I remembered the first time we kissed, Will holding me against his chest while I sobbed and begged him not to let go. I remembered him whispering, "I never would." I remembered staying like that for a long, long while afterward and his fingers in my hair, his lips pressing against my head, something coming loose under my rib cage.

"Is anyone home? Or up?" I shook my head, so he scooped me into his arms and carried me up the stairs.

Will set me carefully down on my bed, sighed and took my face into his hands, just looked.

"I don't know why you stick around." I wanted to kiss him so badly that it hurt, but I was forcing myself not to because I didn't deserve him.

That made his whole face crumble and his fingers push their way through my hair like he had no idea what else to do with himself, "Because. . . you're. . . Nico, I need you."

"Not as much as I need you." I looked into his eyes as I said it, let him know that it wasn't just meant to sound pretty.

He just leaned in and kissed me. It tugged on the most hidden parts of myself, made my throat close up and my fingers dig into his shoulders, made me want to tear my own chest open so I could understand how it all worked.

"If you're staying here. . ." I took a moment to breathe, to steady myself, "You need to change."

He did, and then he crawled into bed and managed to curl himself around me until there wasn't any room for loneliness or grief or all of the black, dark things in the shadows of my head. His arms around my middle made the ache in my chest feel like it was subsiding, being replaced by a different, more pleasant ache.

"Will," A word, a name, whispered into the darkness.

A sigh of sorts, more of a huff, he shifted, pulling me closer to him lazily, "Yeah?"

"How can I be so happy one second, and so sad the next?"

I felt his lips press against my forehead, "Our moods have to shift some time."

"But I don't understand mine."

His fingers touched my face, "I don't think anyone really understands themselves."

It was so dark that opening my eyes didn't make much of a difference. I could just make out the faint shadows of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

"I don't think anyone really knows me."

His eyes fluttered open and then drifted almost closed again before his lips pressed against my neck softly. "Do you want them to?"

"No." It sounded like a terrible confession, like something I should be ashamed of.

He just nodded like I'd said something wise. I think I loved him for it.

"You know me better than anyone else." It seemed important that he should know.

"I think. . ." His voice hitched the way voices do when some part of the brain decides that what they were about to say held too much weight to be something outside of themselves. "I think we should get some sleep.

I carded my fingers through his hair, "Alright."

He drifted off in my arms, his eyelashes fluttering softly with every exhale. My mind wouldn't shut down, though, which was okay because there's something surreal about lying awake and just pondering.

I think that the best part of being up in the middle of the night is that the rest of the world is asleep. There's no distractions, no one to judge, nothing but me and the stars (and that night, Will, inches in front of me, soft and lovely and mine).

I was awake for hours, turning concepts around and around.

I closed my eyes and saw Percy, cruel and broken and rash. I wondered for the millionth time what his big plot twist was, what had shaped him into what he was today. I thought that whatever it was, it had to be something terrible, something so big and devastating that it pushed him to this.

I opened them and I saw Will, except he was real and soft and gentle. I thought about how his hands felt against my skin, I thought about how his voice was rich and soothing. I remembered how hollow I felt until he came around and looked at me and I realized that I was something worthwhile, that I was not a waste of space, that things could be okay because I could make them that way.

Will was my rock, my safety. He was warm laughter and strong shoulders and a crease between two blonde eyebrows that spoke worlds of concern. He reminded me to stop looking inward, to stop sinking. He didn't pull me back out, I had to do that myself, but he was always the reason.

It hit me, suddenly, that I still hadn't told him how I felt, not really. I felt so ridiculously stupid, because what's the point of being scared of something like that? What's the point of holding back when words like those can only set you free?

Will Solace was beautiful and a thousand things made him that way and I loved every single one. I loved him. And I still hadn't told him, he still didn't know. And that hurt, it hurt to know that he ever looked at me and didn't know that I'd chosen him, that I'd choose him over anything.

"Will," I reached out and shook his shoulder lightly, heart thudding wildly, "Solace!"

Eventually, my voice tugged him out of the depths of his dream and he groaned softly, pressing his face into my pillow.

I smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, "Will. . ." I said his name like a miracle, because it was. He was my miracle, the one bright spot in my life.

His arms tightened around me, pulled me closer to him. "Neeks?"

"I think. . ." My voice caught in my throat for a moment and my next words were barely there at all, "I love you."

It felt like something was collapsing in my chest, breaking and crumbling. Something being destroyed. Making room for something else, something new, something brighter, something pure and good and stable. A riot in my ribcage, in my head.

Will's eyes flashed open, his mouth falling so he looked almost awed, but no words passed through.

A grin spread across my face, my nose pushed up against his briefly, "I'm in love with you."

His fingers came up to dust against my cheek, trembling, and his mouth opened, closed. At loss for words, staring at me and unable to come up with anything at all to say. That was alright, it would take a lot to fall for someone like me and I would wait forever for someone like him.

I nuzzled into his chest, sighed softly, "I just wanted you to know."

what's this?!11? An upDAte?? WHAT AN ABSOLUTE MIRACLE Oh MY gdkj (I procrastinate everything and am busy 100% of the time so actually that's not far from the truth... although I did get a lot done today. I made a Shakespearean mask for school. I drew a life-sized penguin. Also for school. I wrote like 2,000 words of this. I watched SPN. Someone give me a high-five for actually doing things. Just kidding you don't need to congratulate me for not wasting oxygen. What was I saying?)

this whole thing is just one long one-sided therapy session someone end me

also i have been writing this fic for so freaking long like i literally started it at the beginning/middle of last year. it has been two years. these stupid gay dorks have literally taken over my life oh mY GODS. i hate them. (jk jk i love them they are my babies sshh)

i have this entire fic planned out day-by-day on my calendar like the exact date that each and every scene happens on just because (i tend to freak out if i don't know the timeline) (i'm slightly obsessive about it) (it's a problem) (ssshh it helps me write) (don't question me)

(in case you were wondering: they met on May 13th, their first kiss happened on October 14th, their first date was December 21st, and it is currently January 22nd) (they've known each other for nine months) (knowing these things brings me strange amounts of joy) (i have absolutely no life whatsoever)