It hurts like this: I finally work up the courage to go back to the apartment after two weeks of moping at Cecil's and he's already gone. His stuff is swept clean of the place, it's like he was never there at all. I almost believe it was some sort of dream, either a wonderful fantasy or a horrible nightmare, I can't be sure, but I start finding traces of him all over. Clues that he was there, he does exist.

It's just little things: I glance down at the counter and there's a gash in its surface from the time he was chopping up vegetables without a cutting board, I'm walking down the hall and there's a dent in the wall from the first day we moved in when he insisted on carrying a huge bin in all by himself, I look over at the couch and remember the countless times he passed out there and I carried him to bed. His smells linger in the sheets, a container of the disgusting soy milk that he loves so much is still sitting in the fridge, one of his old sweatshirts got left behind in the closet, he installed the ceiling fan that spins above me at night, there's a little heart smudged onto the bathroom mirror because he's a sap, the DVR is still set to record his favorite show. The list goes on. I leave it all there for a while, try and pretend that it's just because I can't be bothered, when really it's that I miss him and his things make me feel like maybe I haven't lost him completely. Just maybe.

The expiration date on the milk rolls around and I remember it because it's the day I decide that I need to get over Nico di Angelo. I throw it out and then I start collecting everything he forgot into a box, I hang a photo over the dent like we'd been meaning to ever since it happened, I finally wash the sheets. I spray Windex over the heart on the mirror and then hesitate before wiping it away. It feels symbolic and I hate it in the worst way.

And then I call Nico and tell him that there're a few things he's forgotten. He just breathes my name across the line and I feel myself crumbling. It's almost like he can feel it because he forces his tone to be neutral and tells me that he'll stop by tomorrow at five to pick up his things.

I plan on being there when he comes by, but then I start imagining the scene. I see the unavoidable look that would be in his eyes and I try and picture myself making small talk with him like he's just a stranger, handing him his things and then watching him walk out the door, like losing him all over again. I just can't do it, so I leave it all outside the door like a coward. I'm a coward.

There's a note taped to the door, telling him that I'm out and I'm sorry I couldn't be there. It's 5:11 when I hear his fist hit the door, not hard or angry, but a dull thud like he's completely given up hope, doesn't even have the energy to be angry with me. I walk over to the door, press my eye to the peephole, and he's leaning his head against it, all I can see is the dark mass of his hair.

My palm flattens out over the door. I want to open it and pull him into me, whisper to him and make him believe that everything is alright. But I remind myself that he's not mine, not completely, and I settle for leaning my forehead against the door because I can't bring myself to walk away.

I'm there long after I hear him curse under his breath, his voice half sob, and walk away.

I might not have his things in the apartment anymore, but it doesn't ease the presence of his memory or the sting that it brings.

-

It heals like this: I'm off kilter for far too long, but gradually, things are getting better. I don't think I'll ever be able to look back on Nico without a twinge of sadness, there will always be countless 'what ifs' and regret.

What if I'd never found that letter at all?

What if I'd just stayed a bit longer, let him explain himself?

What if I never find something that good again?

I move on, though. I almost never roll over in the mornings and expect him to be there. I almost never let my finger hover over his name in my contacts. I tell myself I'm keeping it there just in case of some situation I can't even come up with.

I do find someone, though. His name is Tyler and he has eyes the color of dying grass--bright green with flecks of pale yellow--and sandy blonde hair. He listens and he cares, he's over at my place a lot and he never, not once, asks why I sometimes brush my fingers over that stupid slash in the counter or smile sadly at the soy milk in the supermarket like its an old friend.

I do tell him, though, I tell him all about Nico because I don't want to keep any secrets. (I don't tell him that he used to make the best cannolis I'd ever had, I don't tell him that his smile made my day every day, I don't tell him that he used to kiss my temple in the mornings and tell me that I looked even more beautiful today than I had yesterday, I don't tell him that I always pulled him closer and kissed him like it would be the last time, and I definitely don't tell him that it still hurts that one morning it was.)

If I have to admit it, though, sometimes when I kiss him I see Nico and I always remember reading that letter: I met a guy. His name is Will and he's everything. He really is. But sometimes. Sometimes when I kiss him, I see you. And that scares me because how am I supposed to love him when a part of my heart still belongs to you?

I hate it because I'm doing the exact same thing he did to me, hanging onto someone entirely different than the boy who's curled up on the couch with me, running his fingers through my hair. It makes me sick because I keep hearing myself yelling at him, I'm just your default plan because you can't have someone else.

I keep hearing him begging me not to leave, telling me he loves me. It makes me wonder if I'd do the same thing if Tyler left. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I just don't know.

So I guess it isn't entirely healed, it's mending. (Still breaking, trying to mend.)

I regret it like that.

-

It bites like this: I'm holding his hand--Tyler's, not Nico's--and he's pulling me into a diner, making me laugh. Everything is alright up to the point when I put down my menu to look up at the server and freeze in shock.

Nico di Angelo has changed so much in the past six months. He got a haircut and I want to laugh because I was always teasing him about it, but it's styled in an undercut and the front is still long and unruly. I want to tell him that that's not what I meant when I said he needed to do something about the mess he called his hair, I want to run my fingers through it just like I used to.

He seems sharper than before, his muscles are more defined and his eyes. Something about his eyes makes me want to pull him close and whisper into his hair.

"Will," he whispers and he has to shove the pen and notepad he was holding into his apron pocket because his hands are shaking so much.

All I can do is stare at him and open my mouth like I'm going to say something, I want to say something, but nothing seems like enough. Everything seems like too much. I settle for, "Nico," and it comes out shaky and unsure.

Tyler's head snaps toward me immediately and his lips tighten into a thin line. I'm still staring at Nico like he just sprouted wings.

"This is Nico?" He keeps flicking his eyes back and forth between us like he's trying to solve a tough puzzle.

I just nod and he locks eyes with Nico, demands his attention, "You broke his heart."

He flinches and takes a step back, his eyes are so, so wide. That breaks my heart. I'm going to start crying if I keep looking at him, so I just stand up and stare at the table instead. "We should go. I have to go."

I know he's shaking behind me, staring after us, frozen in place. I'm shaking too and when Tyler wraps his arm around my shoulders I have to brace myself and push on because I know it's probably hurting him so much. I care so much.

-

It relapses like this: his hands are shaking. His tears aren't just slicking his cheeks, but they're sliding over mine too, because his nose is dragging over my cheek and then his cheek is pressing in, flush against my own. I might be crying too, it seems possible. More than possible, it seems inevitable, because he's sobbing and his lips are still tracing patterns across my skin and somehow that seems more heart-breaking than the tears themselves. It's like he doesn't care if he's tearing himself apart, just as long as he puts me back together.

I have to keep reminding myself: this is not beauty, this is sadness. This is sadness.

Everything before this is blurred at the edges because this moment is so starkly real. He is so starkly real. I barely remember how he got here, straddling me on my couch, the couch that used be ours.

Now it's just mine. I want him to be mine.

I tell him that, dragging a hand through his hair, "You're not mine. I don't believe it. I need you to be mine."

It makes him laugh for reasons I don't understand until he pulls back to look me in the eye, "I've always been yours. I'm yours."

I just draw him closer, deliberately, carefully. I kiss him and he sighs like he's coming home so I deepen the kiss, relearn the taste of him. This is everything I've ever wanted, all I need. How did I let it go? Why would I put myself through that?

"I already miss you." He's nuzzling against my neck and I miss him too, so that's when I make the decision. It feels like a weight being lifted off of my shoulders and that must make me a terrible person.

Shuddering, caressing, feeling. It all feels so right and it's so terribly wrong because I'm betraying the person who's been so good to me for so long.

"I'm breaking up with Tyler." I have to, I have to. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't

"Will--"

"Ssshh."

-

It reforms like this: I'm holding him close to me on the couch, silently vowing that I'll never let him go again, and he looks up at me, searches my eyes, "Did you ever finish reading the letter?"

I hadn't.

Percy,

I just needed to get this out. I know we haven't seen each other in years, but I still think about you. More than I'd like to admit. Because I had a crush on you, probably still do. I do.

There's a reason I'm telling you this. I met a guy. His name is Will and he's everything. He really is. But sometimes. Sometimes when I kiss him, I see you. And that scares me because how am I supposed to love him when a part of my heart still belongs to you?

I think I love you, Percy, I really do.

This time, I don't stop there, though. The next sentence makes me want to break all over again.

But I love him more. And I need to get over you. I think the only reason I can't let go is because I've been crushing on you as long as I can remember. It's almost a part of my identity. My favorite color is pale blue, I have two sisters, and I have a crush on Percy Jackson. That's just stupid, though.

I thought telling you might give me some closure. I thought it might help me let you go. I just want to focus on Will.

So I guess the whole reason I'm writing this is because I want to see you again. I want to meet Annabeth. I think it'll help me come to terms with everything and just let you go. I just want to move on.

Please write back.

-Nico

I let him go for no reason and my hands are shaking. I have him back now, though. I have him back and that's all that matters.