Nico's pov
Trigger warnings: mentions of hallucinations, mentioned self harm scars
ITALIAN AT THE BOTTOM!!
-
(Day 21)

I didn't leave the apartment much.

That was probably a given, considering the police and my adopted parents were looking for me. I had gone to the grocery store three times, and the park once. There was that one time I hid on the fire escape stairs when it rained and the police searched the apartment. But it wasn't a lot.

It was a big nerve wracking, leaving my safe haven in Will's space: swaddled with Will's blankets, wearing Will's clothes, in Will's company.
It didn't really make much of a difference to me. At the hospital, I never left once. During the "field trips" and days out I opted to stay in my small room, suffocating on antiseptic and silence.
Even if I wasn't considered missing to the general public, I don't think I would feel comfortable leaving on my own. The world, now, was scary. Even walking with Will, the few times I have, was daunting. There were so many people, brushing past me, touching my arms as they walked by. They could look at me, and stare me down, and judge my pale skin, small frame, my hair, the way I walk. If I didn't pay attention and responded to something Bianca did, they would hear me talk to the air and label me as crazy. Like almost everyone did. I couldn't stand it.

So, maybe that it wasn't the outside that was scary, but the people. Sure, I was afraid of people. I'll admit it.
It's not like it mattered anyways. To reiterate my train of thought; I don't leave the apartment.

But, while I didn't leave the apartment, I was also never alone (excluding the two times I had to be). I always had Will or Cecil with me, somewhere in the apartment, to keep me safe (from myself). I liked it that way.

So, I was pretty uneasy when I was alone. And it was laundry day.

Of course, Will and Cecil's small apartment didn't have a washing machine. Appliances like that were expensive, and they were two college students just scraping by, trying to take of themselves and their little basket case roommate who did not help pay for things.
Will and Cecil usually did their laundry together, but now they were rarely home together, constantly shifting their schedules around me. That, and now Will had double the load, since I was wearing all of his clothes.

It was laundry day, and I was home alone with Will, and he was checking the nooks and crannies and shadows of his room for stray socks.
I sat on the bed, hands pressed against the bed under my bare thighs, watching him throw clothes across the room into his large green basket.

His hair was getting long. The blond strands curled down the back of his neck and over his ears, much longer than I had ever seen it before. I bet he didn't know the last time it was cut. He hasn't been on his game since everything happened, however long ago.
I wanted to grab him by the hair (softly, of course) and shake him a little (with affection) and plop his brain back in place.
Obviously that wouldn't work- you can't cure mental illness with rough housing- but it was worth a shot.

Or maybe I just wanted my hands in his hair. That was probably it. I didn't want to shake him, I wanted to knot my fingers through and yank him towards me in a bruising kiss to make up for all the months without them. I owed him about a thousand, since I left, and I would gladly pay. If I weren't so scared, of course.

There was a lot of things I wanted to do, beside grab his hair: kiss him on the cheek (pay back, from a few days ago- something we still haven't talked about), bite his lip, trail my lips over his freckles, wherever he would let me, and let my hands explore his topography, inch by inch until I could recall the map of his body in my dreams.

I wanted to do everything right, this time around.

I think, the last time we dated, it was wrong. What do people always say? We would have worked out, if it were a different time and place.

We were best friends, of course, and there was nothing actually wrong with the last time around, but I don't think I really understood the depth of what we could have had. I didn't trust him enough to explain how I felt properly, and he didn't trust himself enough to show his vulnerabilities to me.
We didn't communicate like we should have. Like we do now.

We talk about everything now. Or, at least, I try to. And I feel more deeply than I did before. Yes, I did love him last time, and I missed him and wanted him, but it wasn't the same.

On an incognito tab, the other day, I tried to see if anyone had similar experiences. It was an embarrassing and useless search that I quickly deleted, but there was one line that caught my eye, before it vanished. "Why rekindled romances are so intense" I think it read. Not that I clicked it, the page was already half gone when I saw it, but it was there. Which meant I wasn't the only one who felt this way.

It's not that we were broken up for very long, or even separated for more than a few months, but still. It felt more real. Every time he looked at me I felt like I was on fire. Every time his arms wrapped around my waist at night, forehead nuzzled against the back of my neck, I thought I would die.

We weren't even in our twenties, but I couldn't imagine anyone else mattering to me the way Will did.

Anyways, it was laundry day, and Will had finished cleaning our shared mess, hoisting the basket up on his hip, wearing what he dubbed was "laundry day clothes": khaki shorts with a rip below the ass, thick, long socks that bunched at the ankles, a white shirt with hair dye and paint splotches, and an oversized zip-up hoodie. He looked disheveled and messy, and a little scatter brained, but I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt.

He looked over at me with a satisfied grin. He had proven to me that he could clean his room in under five minutes (because he got things done if there was a bet involved).

"Told you I could-"

"Can I come with you?" I interrupted his 'told you so' speech', not meaning for the words to spill out of my mouth. I didn't want to be alone in the apartment, and I didn't want to leave his side. I've been unconsciously trailing him from room to room all day.

Will blinked, cocking his head to the side, blond curls flopping dangerously. Dangerously, because they were tempting me to grab ahold and never let go.

"I mean, sure? Laundry isn't that fun, but you can tag along if you want to," Will shrugged. "You're probably bored being trapped here all the time, though, so I don't blame you."

"No, not bored, just don't wanna..." My voice trickled to a stop as a flush worked it's way onto my cheeks. I didn't want to be alone. Now when Bianca's been bugging me so often.
Thankfully, Will caught on to my reluctance to finish my sentence. He walked over to me and placed a hand in my hair carefully, slow enough for me to duck away from, if I didn't want it. I leaned into it.

"'Course you're allowed to come, you just have to throw some clothes on first, pervert," he chuckled. Pouting, I swiped his hand away, looking down at myself. I was only wearing a big shirt and a pair of boxers. He wasn't wrong, but it was annoying.

"You're the one who stole the clothes right off me, telling me they needed washed," I complained, shifting in my seat on the bed. I didn't normally feel comfortable around people unless I was completely covered up. I didn't like being judged, but here I was, clad in Will's socks and boxers without a care in the world.
Well, a little bit of care, because Will kept staring, sneaking accidental glances when he thought I wasn't looking. I was always looking at him, so I always caught him. It didn't matter much, everything was four sizes too big anyways. And comfy.
I liked not caring. I liked not worrying about Will judging me.

"Yeah, you wore those shorts four days in a row without changing, you needed them washed," Will reached forwards and tugged on the fringe that fell in front of my eyes as glared at him.

"I'm clean, I shower," I swatted at him again.

"I know you do, but four days is still way too long," Will tugged once more before dropping his hand to adjust the basket on his hip. "Not that I want you to change, you look cute, but public decency is a law we should probably follow, even if it's just downstairs."

I rolled my eyes. "Laws are stupid," I told him matter-of-a-factly, but I skirted around him to his closet and grabbed at the last pair of too-small joggers that no longer fit him and were a little too snug for my liking on me. Good enough.
When I turned around, Will was chucking his hoodie at my face, momentarily blinding me.

"Put that on and zip it with the hood, it should be good enough to hide the scars," Will explained, laughing under his breath when I glared at him.
I knew it was for me, and not him. He didn't stare at all, and would probably glare at anyone who would, but he knew I didn't like them on display. My heart fluttered a little bit.

I shrugged the sweater on as he left the room with his basket. With his back turned, I zipped it and pulled the hood up, breathing in the grey fabric like a drug. It smelt like him.

I hurried out after him and shoved my feet in the vans of Cecil's I normally borrow as he slipped his Birkenstock's on with socks, an awful habit I bullied him for.
I didn't bother hooking my heels into my shoes properly, I was too lazy, so I wasn't much better.

I opened the door for him and then locked it behind us like I actually lived there. Will grinned at the key in my hands, like he was thinking the same thing.

He didn't say anything though, and walked off down the hallway, letting me catch up on my own.

We took the stairs down, because I had irrational fears, and he always abided by them. I hovered behind his shoulder like a ghost, attached to his soul and unable to leave his side.

I was glad, when we arrived on the main floor and pushed into the laundry room, that it was empty.
The room was poorly lit, dark and shadowy in the corners with strange, spotlight-like LED overheads over the rows of machines.

I followed closely behind Will until he chose a machine on the back wall. I sat on the dryer opposing it, so that I could face him, even if my back was to the door. Kicking my legs, bare heels on the washing machine door, I watched Will shove all of the clothes into the combined washer and dryer that cost two dollars more but look less time.

The rip in his shorts made me giggle under my breath, but I didn't point it out; I hassled him a couple hours before only for him to tickle me in retaliation, and I didn't want to be subjected to his evil fingers again.
Instead, I thought about kissing him. I wanted to kiss him, I really really did.

But, I was scared. I've worried about it for days—weeks— but I couldn't help it. He might not be ready, or I might do it wrong (can you lose the ability to kiss without practice?) and, to make it worse, I was kinda having a bad day. What if I kissed him and it triggered Bianca's harassment, or made me feel worse because I thought I was ready but I actually wasn't? I never thought kissing could be so complicated.

-
Laundry didn't take as long as I expected it to.
Will brought me back upstairs after the clothes were in the machine with a "it's cold down here, and no one will steal my ugly gym shorts" and, a hour later he was pulling me back down again.

I resumed my position on the machine and kicked my feet once more. And my train of thought. I really wanted to kiss Will. And he was right there, picking hot clothes out of the dryer.

In a worried daze, I didn't notice when he pulled out my favourite hoodie and chucked it at my face. I couldn't even be mad, and hugged it close, because it was soft and warm and perfect.

I shucked Wills zip-up off and tossed it into the basket, slipping the sweatshirt on instead. I sighed at the smell of fresh linen and lavender soap, trying to ease the tension in my bones. Bianca was always hovering, it seemed, and I couldn't stop thinking about kissing and I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed—

Will shut the dryer with a satisfying clack and turned to me, clapping his hands together.

"All done! We can go up no—" Will cut himself off, a frown settling instead. "Are you ok?"

I mirrored his frown and looked down at myself to see what was wrong. I focused on my lap, or rather, the hands in my lap, that were noticeably trembling. I wasn't quite sure when that started. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and bit hard, using the sharp sting to ground myself in the empty room of washing machines.

Grounding strategies. I need grounding strategies. This came from nothing and I needed it to stop before it got out of control— a panic attack I mean.

The room was cold. Not freezing, but sort of damp, and it settled on my skin like a wet cloth. The white, starchy lights washed the colour out of Will's skin, making him look kinda dead, across from me, and the bulb three washers down was blinking on an off, with a rhythm I couldn't follow. The floor was grey linoleum, and it had a matted, dark green runner carpet down the centre of both rows. The vending machine of drinks in the corner hummed incessantly. There was a whirring machine on the other side of the room, but no one to accompany it.

And, of course, whispering voices in my ears. Not loud enough to disrupt thought, but noticeable enough to be annoying.

Worrying about kissing Will had gotten me all worked up without me even realizing it.

"Uh," I started eloquently. "Yes. Yeah. I'm ok, just having a moment, I think," I replied, trying to squeeze my shaking hands into fists, and finding that my strength had disappeared. Instead, I placed them, open palm, on the cold top of the dryer I sat on.

"Do you need anything?" Will asked, but he didn't step forward or try to touch me.

Communication had become so much more crucial, ever since I came back. After all the shit that happened last spring— the fights, the secrecy, the self harm— there was an unspoken agreement between us to just... talk. About everything, no matter how small or embarrassing. To ask for help, offer help, lend an ear, or give comfort in a nonchalant way so no one shut down.

We have only been in a relationship for a week and a half— nearly two— but we were better then ever before.
The first time around was so surface level. I was afraid to voice my issues at school, or Bianca, or my anxiety, or my bad days because I couldn't stomach the vulnerability. I couldn't trust him because I couldn't open up. I never asked— I never even tried.

And Will, he was the same. He wanted to be perfect; he wanted to be the role model of good mental health for me. Someone that I could look at and see that it gets better. So, he never prioritized his own needs, never asked me for anything, and pretended nothing bothered him or triggered him when it obviously did.

We said that we loved and trusted each other back then, but I don't think either of us really understood what that meant. To say we trusted each other but never talk to each other.

In the past three weeks, I've come to trust Will more than I've trusted anyone since Jenny and (real) Bianca. And I think, this time, it's mutual. Will finally let me see the cracks in his mask. He finally felt real.

It was almost overwhelming, how much I trusted him. How willing I was to show him the worst sides of me. Before, I never would have dared let him take care of my self harm scars. I would have felt pity from him when he hovered over me, rather than comfort. I never would have stood in front of him half naked, or let him touch my bare skin for comfort.
I would have rather dealt with it myself, isolated myself, cut myself off from the world and rely on nicotine and alcohol.

I knew I built a reliance on him. After only relying on Jenny for the last six years of my life. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And yeah, I haven't told him much about Bianca, but that was more because of the fear of myself than anything. If he asked, if he thought that talking about it would help him help me, I would tell him.

He was probably going to ask today, I assumed. I was being harassed by her all week without explanation, and I could see the questions on his tongue every time he opened his mouth. But, I think I could tell him now.

What was more vulnerable than telling someone your biggest fear? Something that can be weaponized against you, but trusting the other person to protect you from it, rather than brandishing it for themselves.
I trusted Will. I really, truly did. After so long; after hating the very idea of him, turning him back into a stranger, alienating him, and then crawling right back in a full circle— I trusted him. I probably loved him, I really did.
I didn't need to say that yet, but it was a truth for myself to bear.

"Um, yeah. Could I have... a h-hug? Touch?" I asked, opening my legs on top of the washing machine after a lengthy pause. Will didn't mind— of course he didn't— smiling softly and crowding into my space, in between my thighs. He lifted his hands and smoothed my hair out of my face.

"'Course, Neeks, always," he murmured, and then wrapped his arms around my back. I twined my own around his neck, pulling him close— chest to chest— and nudged my nose into the hair tucked behind his ear, breathing in the shampoo that had become as familiar as home.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Neeks?" Will mumbled against my neck. His hands started rubbing up and down my back over the warm sweater he threw at me. Layers of comfort.

"Mm," I hummed, sighing in his arms, thighs bracketing his waist.

"You don't have to say, it's alright," he cut in, reassuring me, voice honeyed and soft.

"No. It's just," I huffed. "It's hard to explain..." I nuzzled a little deeper, hiding my hot cheeks. "I told you that Bianca changed, right?"

"No, you didn't," Will recalled after a moment of thought.

"Oh. Well, after, uh," I stuttered, pulling back a little so I could talk without a mouthful of hair. "After I started living at the hospital, she um, changed. She doesn't look... alive. And she's more violent, I guess. Harder to deal with."

"Not alive?" Will asked, brows furrowed, moving one of his hands to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Yeah," I nodded, drawing a circle on the back of his neck with my nail. "Like, before she looked... well, like she did before she died, when I was younger. But after I was admitted to the hospital she started looking... like she was dug out of the ground after decomposing?"

Will raised his eyebrows like he couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or amused.

"That's... descriptive," he said instead.

"Yeah, it's not pleasant. At all. And now she's..." I trailed off, biting my lip.

"Scary?" Will offered, searching my eyes. I ducked my head, shamefaced and red.

"Yeah," I whispered, pressing my fingers into the skin on his neck. I didn't want to look up and find him disappointed or pitiful. I knew he wouldn't, but I was still afraid.

"Because of what happened at the hospital?" Will asked, arm leaving my back and settling on my waist, but not pulling away. He wouldn't pull away. He wouldn't.

"Yeah," I nodded at my lap.

"Is she still talking like that?"

"No, not really, not as bad," I shook my head, pulling my hair loose from my ears. "It just, um. Knowing that it happened once, that it could happen again? I don't like it."

"I understand, baby," Will hummed, retucking my hair. My skin shivered at the nickname. A good shiver. Warm and tingly and safe. It urged me to keep talking.

"I'm afraid it makes me... violent. A bad person," I whispered, finally facing him. His blue eyes were clear and open as a summer sky.

"You're not," he affirmed.

"I know. I know that, but it's still..."

"A bad feeling?"

"Yeah..." I held his eyes, subconsciously daring him to back down. He didn't— wouldn't.

"Can I say something on the matter or would you rather me not?" He asked, cupping my cheek. I leaned into it and sighed against the rough calluses.

"No, no. It's ok."

"Well," Will smiled softly, wistfully. "I wanted to tell you that I have never once seen you as a violent person, baby. Not when you were in the hospital, not when you showed up at my apartment, not now. I know— I know you," he said with confidence. When he tried to say those words all those weeks ago, when I first arrived, he cut himself off. This time, he wasn't afraid. "You aren't violent, and you aren't bad. You hate conflict and pain and letting others down. When... when I got in that fight with Caleb, it upset you, even though he had been hurting you for years. You're a naturally peaceful person, what the voices say doesn't change that," Will stroked my cheek with his thumb, voice utterly sincere.

I could tell my eyes were shiny, by the way the lights glinted just a bit brighter around me. I leaned down again, recapturing him in a tight hug. He grunted, for a second, but acclimatized immediately and started squeezing me back.

"Thanks," I mumbled, into his shoulder.

"Anytime," I could hear the smile in his voice.

Someone behind me opened the door, so Will stepped out of my leg-brace and away from the hug.
He took my empty hand and tugged me off the top of the dryer.

"Why don't we go upstairs and watch a movie or something, yeah?" Will asked, bending over to pick the basket up.

I nodded. "Sure, but lemme carry that," I trained a lighter tone into my voice. It wasn't very hard; it felt like a weight was lifted off my chest.

"What? No way, we're walking up seven flights of stairs!" Will dodged my grabbing hands, pulling away.

"I'm strong, lemme do it!" I whined, complaining because I really wanted to feel like I did something around the apartment. I didn't want to be complete dead weight.
Will eyed me suspiciously, but relented, passing it over with an "ugh, fine".

The walk was slow, but it wasn't torture. After nodding to the person who walking in on us, we made it up in no time, locking the apartment door behind us and bee-lining to his room for privacy because Cecil would be home soon.

I threw the basket on the floor and stretched, arms reaching for the ceiling. Will, at his desk, was eyeing me.

"What are you lookin' at," I pouted, taking my sweatshirt off. Walking up stairs makes you break a sweat.

"Nothin'," Will looked away, but with a smirk. "Those joggers look great, though."

I looked down at myself. The joggers in question were grey and quite fitted, the first thing I grabbed before I left. They weren't even that comfortable, but they hugged... everything. I looked behind me, at my ass and legs, and finally realized why Will was so smug.

"You pervert," I accused, throwing my sweater at him. He caught it with a giggle and tossed it back into the basket. "Well they aren't even comfortable, so it doesn't matter anyways," I waved a hand at his face, and then, after a moments hesitation, stripped the pants off, so I was back in my earlier outfit of too-big boxer shorts and a baggy T-shirt.

"A pervert, he calls me," Will rolled his eyes at my display, but then got my pants thrown at his face.

"I'm tired, that was a lot of talking," I decided as she shuffled papers and notes on his desk.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. Which means we should cuddle, because I am worn out and vulnerable," I nodded very seriously.

"You'd rather nap than watch a fantastic movie chosen by me?" Will finally looked back over at me as I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, quite a lot, actually. Change into comfier clothes and get the hell over here," I pointed at the clean clothes and then at the bed. "Dio, è come se stessi parlando in un'altra lingua."

"Fine, fine." Will rolled his eyes and left his work, starting to change as I pulled the blankets back at stole his phone off the nightstand. "You know I don't understand Italian."

"That's the point..." I muttered, scrolling through his phone to find music I wanted. Bon Iver was good nap music.

I scooted back against the wall as Will joined me in bed, pulling the blankets around him. "Good choice," he nodded at his phone that I tossed to the foot of the bed. I nodded, but didn't lay next to him.

"What are you waiting for, get over here and cuddle me if that's what you want so badly," Will joked. The sides of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, pulling his freckles. He was so beautiful.

"Can I, er..." I lifted the blanket a bit and shifted closer. "Can I lay on top of you?"

"'Course," Will smiled and tugged my arm a bit.

I smiled, nice and big for him, and shifted the blankets to crawl both on top of Will and underneath them. I draped my body across from his, resting my head above his heart and tucking my arms under his back.

His hands slowly dragged up my sides on onto my back. They hovered at the hem of my big shirt for a moment. I didn't want to break the quiet and the music, so I shifted into his touch and begged that he would take the hint.

Thankfully, he wasn't fully stupid, and let his warm fingers slide under my shirt, tracing over my bare back. It had become my favourite feeling. The feeling of his fingers on my back was intoxicating.

I sighed in relief at the contact (touch starved much...) and held him a bit tighter.

We laid like that, for a while. His fingers tracing every bump in my spine, writing words I didn't understand and spirals over my ribs. He stretched up to my shoulder blades and dip down to the hem of my boxers, leaving no part of my back untouched or uncared for.

He touched me where it mattered. He knew the lines of my body— my waist and hips and spine and ribs and shoulder blades— like they were his own. He never faltered, never slowed. He knew me like he knew his family home.
His fingers danced across my body like butterfly wings, occasionally scratching his nails over my skin in a way that made me shiver and arch both away and into the contact. It was almost too much to bear. The contact was so loving , so whole. So real.

Near the end of Bon Iver's self titled album, I pulled up just so that I could see Will, and cupped his jaw with one hand, digging the other in his endless curls.
I squinted my eyes at him, heavy and sleepy, and smiled softly. He perked through his own eyes, and smiled back, wordlessly.

And, well. His lips were right there. And I really wanted to kiss him, didn't I?

"Will," I hummed, catching his attention. His hands didn't slow, but he focused on me.

"Hm?"

"Will," I whispered again. "Can I kiss you?"

Will's eyes opened all the way, but not in alarm. He didn't question me or my decision, whether I was ready or not, because he trusted my judgment.

"Yes," he murmured back, laced with a needy sigh.

I smiled, unable to stop myself, and pressed forwards until our lips connected.

The first kiss was nothing but a soft peck, lips touching for half a second before I pulled away, revelling in the fully body tingles. Will, through lidded eyes, watched for my reaction, smiling lazily. He looked so sweet, under me like this.

I captured his lips a second time, and this time I let it last.

Will hummed appreciatively, hands halting on my bare waist and squeezing, just a bit, as our lips moved in synch. When I took another step forwards, biting his bottom lip experimentally, swiping my tongue across the seam of his closed mouth, he sighed and pulled me closer. His finger burnt holes into my waist, branding me with his name, and his curls were tangled around my fingers, possibly stuck there until the end of time.

Will groaned when I opened his mouth to him, and it was so overwhelming I had to pull away, breathing hard.
Will was red, his lips wet and bruised, hair sticking up every which way, eyes glinting mischievously— he looked utterly beautiful. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I couldn't get enough of his warm breath on my chin as he looked up at me. He smoothed his thumbs over my sides, and I felt right.
I didn't understand how I thought Will— being gay— was wrong last year, and I couldn't believe I hated Will for so long over the summer. How could I deprive myself of this— something so crucial— for months? His lips were addictive, and I wanted nothing more than to overdose on them.

"Why..." My eyes flicked back down to his lips, and then back to his eyes. He smirked, obviously aware of my thought pattern (which was nothing but 'kiss the hot boy under you'). "Why did that feel like my first kiss?"

Will giggled, and I felt it through my stomach.

"That was a pretty stellar first kiss, if so," Will grinned, tracing my spine. "Although, that makes me worry about your real first kiss, and I'm pretty sure that was me too."

"Well, I think that was the best kiss you've ever given me," I exchanged, leaning forwards. Will closed his eyes and pursed his lips, but I kissed his nose instead. And then both of his cheeks. And his chin and his jaw and his temples. I knew I couldn't make up for all of our lost time, but I could sure try.

I ended my flurry of kisses with a final peck on his lips.

"Ok, now I really wanna nap," I nodded, shimmying back down his body. Will chuckled, outlining my ribs under my shirt.

"Kissing tired you out that bad?"

"Sure did," I nuzzled my face into his shirt, searching for his heartbeat that would surely act as a lullaby. "I was freaking out all day to prepare for that, I feel like I just did a triathlon."

"Awe, baby," Will cooed. "Is that why you were so anxious?"

"Maybe... just a bit," I conceded, lethargy pulling on my mind.

Will hummed, his hands leaving my back and moving instead to my hair. I truly couldn't help the pained whine that left my lips.

"What?" Will laughed, hands stilling on my head.

"Go... go back to the other thing. Not hair," I mumbled petulantly. Will laughed again, hands returning to my back. He scratched his nails over my skin, and settled on my lower back, fingers just below my waist band.

"Ok, sleep time now," I said, shutting my eyes. I was so tired, and Bon Iver was playing, and I was being held by the most important man in my life, and I really couldn't see anything better to do. What was better than this?

Will kissed the top of my head as my consciousness slipped. My senses were fading in and out as I drifted, when Will started to speak.

"Nico, you are so special," he started, whispering to the hazy room. "I want you to know you are special. To me. To Jenny. To Camilla, and Carmen, and Sonny, and Cecil. You have people who love you. I... I know you're asleep, but I love you," that sounded important, but I didn't have the energy to react.
"Thank you for coming to me. You made life sweeter and I missed you so badly. I think you are it for me. Whether we are together like this or just as friends. I need you..." Will sighed, breath ruffling my hair. "That sounds dumb... ugh," he groaned, and then kissed me again. "Sweet dreams, Love."

A/n

Hehehehehehehe they are IN LOVE. THEY ARE IN LOVE I TELL YOU!!!!

Man I am so tired. Working a job is hard and I've only had three shifts... On the brightside ME AND MY TWO COWORKERS ARE ALL GAY!!! I wonder if my catholic boss knows that three gay emo bitches work for him... so funny. That's what happens when you work at a vegan cafe i guess.

here's the ITALIAN
"God, it's like I'm speaking another language"
-
I was so happy writing this chapter it was so soft.

(ALSO!!!! I think I finally discovered what solangelo themed fic I will write after delusional is over... perhaps a summer-themed fic... summer love heheheh)

Anyways I love you guys sooooo much.

Thea