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Nico likes looking at Will's skin. A lot.
Contrary to what people expect, his skin is tattered with small, barely visible scars, mostly scattered around his fingers and palms. Will was always kind of embarrassed of them, saying that they were there as a proof of his own incompetence, but Nico thought they were there to tell a story – a particular one.
He compares them to his own skin sometimes: greenish, and pale, and so paper thin that it seems that a slightest shuffle of leaves and grass can cut through it. In contrast, Will's skin is vibrant, and rich, and freckled, hoards of tiny constellations following the lines of his arms, collarbones, neck–
Nico really should stop thinking about it.
“You’re all red, are you feeling well?” Will is suddenly in his line of sight, forehead scrunched in a concerned expression.
“Nice,” Nico croaks, and feels as blush sets even deeper into his already overheated skin. “Good, I mean. I'm good.”
Will shrugs, but keeps throwing those passing glances at Nico from now then, as his hands are moving meticulously over his stitching practice.
“Pay attention, idiot,” Nico snickers, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half smile.
“I am, thank you.”
As if to show off, Will stares right back at him sternly as he says that, and the next thing Nico sees is a drop of blood forming at the side of his finger.
“Shit,” Will hisses, bringing a finger up to his mouth.
It does not awaken anything in Nico, thank you very much.
And yet, his gaze is glued to a splash of red over Will’s golden skin. The colors mix, and it sets something unsettling in the pit of Nico’s stomach, and the only thing coursing through his brain is touch touch touch.
So, he can't really blame himself as his hand wraps around Will’s bleeding finger carefully.
“Uhm– Neeks?” Will’s voice is at least an octave higher, screeching right into Nico’s ear.
Nico blinks, suddenly snapping back. “Sorry, I–” he pries his hand away, which takes much more effort than it should. “Didn’t want you to bleed.”
“Are you a human bandaid now?” Will teases, but without a bite to it. It's soft, and the joke falls kind of flat, but Nico can't resist a bubbling laughter erupting from his own throat.
“Maybe a vampire?” Nico asks, observing his fingers under the lamp. A few smudges of Will’s blood are still there, bright and vibrant.
“With your anemia?”
“I don't have anemia.” Nico rolls his eyes, because that's a conversation they keep having countless of times.
Whatever.
“Right,” Will hums under his breath, more of a soft chuckle as he disinfects the small cut.
The smell of alcohol hangs in the air, its sharp fragrance setting in between them. And Nico is still staring, as if possessed, at the open expanses of Will's skin, wishing so bad that a silent twitch of his fingers would one day leave their mark there.
**
It's a few days after that when it dawns at him that everything is not as complicated. He just craves – well, a touch.
The realization slams at him with a force and velocity of a tsunami, echoing back with dull thumps from inside of his heart as his skin pulsates.
“Do you ever just want to touch people?” Nico asks hesitantly, throwing a tentative look toward Rachel.
She looks up with a furrow, leaving her sketchbook lying flat on her lap. “Like, someone in particular?” She asks, and Nico gives off a shrug. “Not really. Why?”
Nico really didn't think this whole conversation through – this always turns out to be a problem. “Nothing in particular.” He clears his throat, trying to bring his attention back to a half-knitted scarf-slash-blanket on his lap. Jason gifted him a knitting kit on his birthday, mostly as a joke, but it turns out that the activity is kind of effective in taking Nico’s mind off things.
Even though he kind of sucks at it.
“Oh, come on, di Angelo. We know each other better than that,” Rachel says, throwing one of her legs over the bench so she could face him. “So, you wanna touch Will–”
Nico groans loudly. “No? Yes– Kind of?”
“That should be pretty straightforward. You either like touching someone, or you don't.”
Nico opens his mouth. Closes. Looks at his hands expectedly, as if they would give their opinion on the situation. “It's more than just touch. Like, some days I just look at him, and there is this gnawing feeling in my stomach, or gut, and my hands just start twitching from how I want to touch him, and it's almost like–” Nico stalls, heaving out a deep breath. “a need, not a want.”
Nico feels a violent burn of his cheeks, and hopes the silence does not stretch too much.
“So, yearning,” Rachel concludes.
“Yearning?” The word is familiar on his tongue. Bianca used to say that she yearned for home, whenever they looked at each other in a hushed space in-between their sleeping quarters in school.
“Yeah, you know, longing for something that you don't have. Or, someone,” she winks.
“Fuck off,” Nico says, but smiles, watching as Rachel's eyes practically light up in understanding. “What do you know about that?”
“Uhm– excuse me, I thought I was in love with a guy who was so obviously gone for his best friend, put some respect on my name!”
“Yeah, right, I forgot we have that part of history in common.” Nico can’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
It seems to have a somewhat chain reaction as Rachel is doubling over, her sketchbook and pencils falling off her lap. “That was a good one,” she says, heaving. “But, seriously, you're super gay–”
Nico levels her with a look.
“-- along with more than a half of the kids in this camp. And yearning has been, like, part of queer culture for decades. You're not the first, and probably not the last.”
“It's just– so uncomfortable,” Nico says with exasperation. “I can't think, or function when I am around him, and it is just,” he throws his hands in the air, “weird.”
“It's only weird if you make it weird.” Rachel shrugs. “Plus, I am pretty sure that your sunshine boy doesn't mind being yearned after, if it's you.”
Nico entertains the idea for some time, long enough to weave in pink threads into the half-knitted creation on his lap.
The other part of him, though, wants to cut and shove that irresistible need as deep into debris as possible.
**
Nico and Will bounce off each other pretty well.
He won't admit it to any living soul, but he kind of likes it, how Will always rises up to the challenge – doesn't shy away from an opportunity to tease and bicker with Nico whenever he has a chance.
It's kind of attractive, if Nico is one hundred percent honest with himself.
Most people – even Jason, sometimes – just find him unarguably intimidating. Will’s siblings tease him sometimes, but it's lighthearted, barely there, and most of the newer kids are rather awkward around him overall.
And Will is...he doesn't fucking care. And the problem with this is that when the banter starts bordering onto the territory of flirting, Nico swears he can hear his own self control snap with a click of the metaphorical fingers that wrap around his heart to keep it in place.
“Okay, I got one for you,” Will starts, and Nico is already regretting participating in this. “Hades, Persephone, Thanatos. Go.”
There are splashes of offended gasps, mixed with cheers and laughter on the background, but all Nico can do is stare, not blinking even once and feeling as his eyes water.
“Will, what the fuck?” He snaps. “They are literally related to me.”
It happens instinctively, but Nico’s eyes follow the line of Will’s upper lip curving in, tongue darting out at the side teasingly.
Such a fucking– ugh.
“Technically, so am I. Does it ever matter?”
Nico continues to stare, unmoving. “I am not doing this.”
“So, what I hear is that you're too scared.” Will leans in over his crossed legs, grinning widely.
“I am not scared,” Nico snears with a scowl. “I am just not willing to speculate with you on a topic of fucking my dad.”
“Are you willing to speculate on it without me?”
“Fuck you, Solace.”
“But I'm not on the list,” Will pouts and Nico, quite literally, is torn apart with a desire to drop kick him and kiss him relentlessly.
“This is, like, the best day of my life,” Kayla says in between her wheezed laughter, clapping her hands together. Valentina is already doubled over her lap, covering her own mouth with a hand.
Nico wishes he had never known the taste of peer embarrassment.
And Will is– fucking smug about this whole thing. With that stupid tilt of his head, and twist to his lips that are so nauseating but also attractive as hell.
“Okay, fine. Oh my gods.” Nico groans, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fuck Thanatos, Marry Persephone, Kill Hades.”
Now it is Will’s turn to stare back, his whole frame frozen.
Nico blinks at him. “What? I am not going to kill a woman over the sins of her emotionally detached husband.”
“I support!” Kayla yells in agreement, nodding aggressively.
“Wait, did you really expect I would fuck or marry my father?” Nico arches an eyebrow at him. All the color is drained from Will’s face now, and it is a mildly satisfying payback. Nico distantly catches as people around throw tensed glances in between them, as if watching an entertaining sports match.
“But, Persephone, is, you know–” Will waves his hands in the air aimlessly. “A woman?”
“Marriage doesn't have to be romantic or sexual,” Valentina pipes in. “Plus, she's a goddess. I am sure she can shapeshift into whoever.”
“Wasn't this whole conversation hypothetical?” Nico mumbles. “Because, I'd honestly rather die than have to actually marry either of my parents.”
He knows– fucking feels that it is a wrong thing to say. Because as soon as the words leave his mouth, Will’s eyes lit up again with a newfound intensity.
“But you'd totally fuck Thanatos?” Will whispers it out– but not really, because it's as loud as it can get – and that is when Nico finally hears that metaphorical snap.
It's almost a need, to press his fingers into as much skin as humanly possible when he tackles Will to the ground, their bodies pressing in tightly. Nico is not sure if the initial goal was to tickle, or simply restrain the boy under him, but Will is laughing clearly and loudly in his face as his whole body wiggles and writhes, and Nico has never been more satiated in his life ever.
It's a few minutes, or maybe years, and centuries and hours, where Will yells Okay, okay! I surrender! and then they both bounce back, sitting up with their frames and faces fully disheveled.
Nico’s eyes land on Kayla, who mouths Gay, and winks at him, setting his whole face on fire.
“I have one for you too, Solace,” Kayla says, with an incriminating smirk spreading on her lips. “Percy, Jason, Nico. Go.”
Will flushes with the brightest shade of red that Nico has ever seen in his entire life.
**
Nico di Angelo doesn't yearn. It's fucking stupid.
So far, he survived without the need of anyone else in his life perfectly fine. He has always been self-sufficient and didn't let his life center around other people.
That is why that fucking feeling– an unyielding itch, crawled deep under his skin – was so utterly inconvenient.
He thought about avoiding Will altogether, but gave up in the first hour of doing so, not an ounce of self control left to pull him together. So, he copes.
At first, Nico does it almost discreetly. Fixes Will’s clothes for a little longer than necessary. Brushes his disheveled hair in place on an almost hourly basis. Pats Will on his arms, hands, knees, whenever he makes him laugh especially hard.
It's kind of enough, but not at all at the same time.
If Will has noticed that sporadic flare of physical contact from Nico’s side, it's not really obvious. He doesn't say anything, doesn't give Nico weird or odd looks, his expressions don't really shift whenever it happens.
It makes Nico feel at ease. Touching probably comes with a territory for Will, with even his siblings being rather tactile without any second thought, so him staying oblivious to Nico’s sudden revelations is a good thing.
No matter how much more Nico actually needs.
**
“You are fucking kidding me,” Will mutters under his breath, staring at the brightly colored box in his hands.
Nico was not fond of his own birthdays, but Will’s were always exciting and delightful to him. Nico’s mom used to say that his own birthday was so important for her because she is filled with gratitude that she has him in her life.
That was rather close to what Nico was feeling, usually.
This year, Nico, the whole Apollo cabin, with some inclusion of other close friends, collectively decided to make Will a good present. And seeing Will so starry-eyed as he looks at a Star Wars themed Lego set in his arms is totally worth it.
And, if Nico chimed in much more of his share of money, so be it.
“That was Nico’s idea,” Austin says, bumping Nico in the elbow.
“Of course it was,” Will mumbles and looks up. Their eyes meet, and Nico has to clench his twitching fingers into a fist just not to do anything stupid in front of the bunch of Will’s siblings.
He watches, almost in daze, as people start crowding Will with hugs, and congratulations, and it is a weird feeling, to have to share the touch that he so desperately wants with other people.
When it's finally time for him to hug Will, people are already scattered around elsewhere, Will swaying awkwardly on the hills of his feet. His smile is bashful, with his gaze fixated somewhere in between both of their bodies, making Nico chuckle out loud. He rolls his eyes, grabbing Will by the elbow and tugging him toward Cabin Thirteen.
And if his hand clutches onto the skin the whole way there, it's no one's business.
“I also made you a blanket,” Nico throws over his shoulder, taking the piece of fabric into his hands and shoving it against Will’s chest.
Will observes the blanket slowly, arching an eyebrow at Nico as he looks up. “Didn't you promise me a scarf?”
“Well now it's a blanket, so deal with it.”
Will huffs a laugh, and Nico feels as the boy's chest shakes, his hand still pressed into it with the blanket in-between them.
It's honestly barely a blanket, as the knitted piece is not wider than Will’s arm. Nico did aim for the scarf at first, but the edges got way too flappy way too quickly, as if the scarf had grown ears. And the blanket was the closest that fit to the description of the weird pattern.
Will giggles as one of his fingers pokes through the other end of the blanket.
“I am never making you presents ever,” Nico groans in irritation.
“No-no-no, I like it!” Will pleads, with traces of laughter still in his voice as he drapes the blanket over his shoulders. “Very fashionable. My favorite present.”
And Nico doesn't know what takes over him at that moment, but his own hands are on Will’s shoulders in an instant, fixing the way the fabric hugs his figure. “Looks cute,” he whispers, his eyes tracing pink knitted threads intertwining with each other.
When he looks up, Will’s face is scrunched in confusion, eyes roaming Nico’s face up and down, as if looking for something. And before Nico even manages to panic, Will smiles – a tiny bit tensed, but sincere – pulling Nico into a hug.
“Best present ever,” Will mumbles into Nico’s hair softly, and Nico has a gut feeling that they are not talking about the blanket anymore.
**
At some point, Will starts reciprocating.
It's also in subtle moments – gentle fingers wiping sunscreen over Nico’s cheeks. Long strands of hair tucked behind Nico’s ears repeatedly. Firm grip on Nico’s shoulder as Will walks behind him.
It scares Nico. A lot.
And not because he doesn't want it – he just needs much, much more.
“Hey, you're gonna get sores all over you.”
Will’s voice cuts through the stream of thoughts in Nico’s head. Nico blinks, following Will’s gaze as it lands on the scarpes of dead skin on his own fingers.
“Sorry,” Nico mumbles, suddenly embarrassed.
Spending more time in camp is nice, and for the most part it is because some experiences are rather universal for every kid there. Nico had never been familiar with fidgeting – stimming, Will calls that – but he did know that it was considered kind of weird at the time when he was a little kid. Bianca used to have her hands slapped for fiddling with the ends of her hair as she talked or listened.
No one slaps Nico’s hands in the camp anymore – they just shove bunch of toys into his hands instead.
“What are you sorry for?” Will asks, furrowing. “Where are your fidget toys?”
“Gracie.” Nico shrugs, eyes darting to the ground to fixate on anything that is not Will.
Gracie was a year-rounder, and while Apollo cabin did try to give her enough supplies in the form of clothes, toiletries, and toys, Nico was too weak-hearted not to give the girl whatever she asked for.
“You could have kept at least one,” Will says softly.
Nico knows he doesn't mind, though. The fondness in his voice is obvious; it's warm, and encompassing, and makes it very hard to keep his hands in places.
Nico grips onto the concrete of the stairs tightly, knuckles white. Please don't do anything stupid, please don't do anything–
“You– uhm, wanna fidget with my fingers?”
What.
“What?” Nico yelps, head snapping to look at Will.
“I did it with my mom's hands, when I was little,” Will explains. His cheeks are bright red, along with his ears, his gaze glued on the palms of his hands. “Forget what I offered, it's stupid.” He shakes his head, and starts closing his open palm into a fist.
“No, wait–” Nico grabs onto his hand, unclenching Will’s fist gently. His skin tingles at the contact, and instantly turns into a happy humm, easing down the deep-crawled itch.
Nico feels as Will stills in his place, frozen. Slowly, he starts twisting the boy’s fingers between his own, keeping his eyes steady on a campfire in front of them. After a few minutes, Will seems to finally relax, body going more rigid, than stiff, and Nico breathes out in relief.
His insides, on the other hand, are twisting, and turning, almost buzzing with excitement and anxiousness. It's a weird feeling – Nico is happy, so happy, and satisfied, and full, but on the other hand, it's as if the surface of their skin turned into electricity, sending tingling, almost painful signals back and forth Nico’s body.
“Okay?” He hears himself whisper distantly. Everything around him is a blur of voices and images, Nico’s brain barely registering anything around him that is not Will.
“Yeah,” Will replies. His voice is hoarse, and croaky, and sends another batch of shivers down Nico’s spine.
He doesn't notice when an anxious pull in his gut turns into a calmness. Nico’s fingers stop twitching in-between Will's, their presence now just a pleasant weight in Nico’s hand. Will’s thumb is brushing over Nico’s knuckles a few times – a touch that is barely there, but is so overwhelming that it almost feels like a burn.
They don't talk about it, after that.
Nico is both thankful and frustrated about it at the same time.
**
As much as Nico loved to stare at Will’s skin, he couldn't say the same about the boy's lips.
They were– well, lips. Nico’s own ones were not as plush and bright pink, much paler. Will’s lips were smooth, and full, and one night Nico kept wondering how they would feel traced along his own skin.
How Nico’s chapped lips would feel as they follow every freckle on Will’s body.
It's another itch, one that makes it hard to concentrate on Will altogether. Once he starts he just can't seem to stop.
“When I was seven, this one kid at school called them weird blemishes on my skin,” Will admits, scratching the back of his head. “Can't say I am very proud of them.”
Nico frowns. “That's stupid.”
Will shrugs, leaning his head back against the lower frame of Will’s bed. They are sitting on the floor, so close that their knees brush from now and then as they talk.
“Did you know you have freckles too?” Will asks, titling his head. There is a lazy half-smile spreading on his lips as he looks at Nico, intently.
Nico scoffs. “Liar.” He knows that his tan is barely back, and his skin is way too thin, only bearing a few deep carved scars.
“No, really!” Will sits onto his knees, body turned to face Nico fully. “Right here,” he says, much quieter, fingers ghosting over the bridge of Nico’s nose. “They appear after you stay in the sun for a couple of days. Just barely noticeable if you don't know where to look.”
Nico sucks in a breath. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off Will’s body: not encompassing and burning, but a steady presence, like a well-weighted blanket. He smells like herbs, specifically mint, and a little bit of strawberries, and it's so dizzying, and suddenly that unyielding itch is too strong to go away and–
Nico leans in, placing a quick peck in the corner of Will’s mouth.
Will stalls for a second, and Nico’s eyes widen in panic. “Shit– you didn't–” Nico blabbers, hand pressed over his lips, “Sorry. I don't really–”
Will kisses him. It's a soft kiss, such a perfect little thing that Nico is way too scared to even move not to break it into tiny pieces all at once. Will’s hand is a tight grip at the back of Nico’s head, pressing them a little closer, firmer into each other.
They break apart, but Will’s face doesn't stray far, his breath ghosting over Nico’s lips, still. Up close his face is even more beautiful– Nico doesn't know how he never noticed a small scar on the side of his nose, or even more tiny freckles spluttering over the edge of his jaw.
And he just– he can not to, okay? – moves even closer, mouthing against the freckled pattern at the side of his chin, his lips finally in place where they always wanted to be.
Will lets out a breathy laugh, and Nico makes sure to swallow it fully, with a soft kiss.
“It's okay, right?” He croaks, almost in a daze.
Will smiles, leaning in as he nudges in a crook of Nico’s neck. “More than okay,” he whispers back into his skin.
Nico doesn't have to know that Will traces his scars there, just as tenderly as the constellations of freckles that fell into the creaks of Nico’s mouth perfectly.