Work Text:
The door feels heavier than usual.
Not literally. His key still slides into the lock like it always has. The wood hasn't swelled, the hinges don't creak. But something about it feels... wrong. Like the threshold is trying to warn him—you aren't ready to step inside yet. Not like this.
Will just stands there for a moment, hand still resting on the handle, thumb pressing into the cool metal. His duffel bag strap digs into his shoulder, and the stiff cotton of his shirt clings to his back with sweat. New York isn't that hot this time of year, but Texas was, and the airport was worse. Claustrophobic. Loud. Like it could swallow him whole and no one would notice.
He can still hear the echo of his aunt's voice in his skull, like a mosquito whining just under his skin.
“Your mother might’ve been tolerant, but at least she had standards,” his aunt had said, tone sharp as broken glass. “If she could see you now—shacking up with a boy like that, living in sin—she’d be ashamed. She raised you better than this.”
She said it like it was fact. Like Naomi Solace — the woman who danced barefoot in the kitchen, who wore rainbow pins on her nursing scrubs, who held Will’s face in her hands when he came out and told him he was perfect — would ever look at him with shame in her eyes.
It hadn’t mattered that he told her otherwise. That he said, "She loved me exactly the way I am."
His aunt had just smiled that tight, pitying smile.
“Sweetheart, of course you’d think that. She was your mother. But trust me, if she were still alive… she wouldn’t recognize what you’ve become.”
That was the part that haunted him the most.
Not just the hatred. Not just the judgment.
But the way she’d twisted Naomi’s memory into something cruel — turned the woman Will loved more than anything into a weapon against him.
The way people like her always try to sugarcoat their disgust with tight smiles and passive-aggressive barbs. As if putting it in a Southern drawl made it less vile. As if she wasn’t talking about the man Will wanted to grow old with. As if it didn’t make him want to scream.
He didn’t.
He never does.
He just helped clean up after dinner, kissed his baby nephew on the head, and left the next morning with a too-tight hug and a forced smile. No confrontation. No grand, cathartic exit. Just silence. It’s what he was raised on.
But gods, he’s tired of being polite.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, jaw tight. There's a rawness behind his eyes that he refuses to let fall, not here, not in the hallway. Not until he’s inside. Not until he sees him.
He wants to be fine. He wants to walk in, kiss Nico, make dinner, curl up on the couch and pretend that nothing in Texas touched him. That his mother isn't dead. That her family doesn’t look at Will like he's a stranger now, like she was the only bridge between them and without her, he’s just a disappointing afterthought. Too queer. Too different. Too kind.
He squeezes his eyes shut, hard enough to sting.
His mama would've told him to be strong, would've told him to keep his chin up and not let anyone take his light.
She would've made him laugh, even if it was just to stop him from crying.
Gods, he misses her.
The weight of it lands square in his chest, sharp and aching. A year should be long enough to dull the pain, but it hasn't. It just changed shape. Got sneakier. It hides under things. The smell of her perfume when someone walks by. Her handwriting on old birthday cards he keeps tucked in his drawer. The sound of her voicemail he still hasn’t deleted.
He’d wanted to visit her grave before flying back, but he didn’t.
Didn’t want to go alone.
Didn’t want to feel that emptiness press down without someone to hold him up.
He lets out a shaky breath, finally twisting the knob.
Home. Just get inside.
Whatever this is — this aching, buzzing, broken thing in his chest — he can push it down. Just for tonight. Just long enough to look into Nico’s eyes and remember why he left Texas in the first place. Why he built something new. Something beautiful.
He opens the door.
It swings open on quiet hinges, and the apartment breathes around him like it always does—soft, warm, welcoming. The lights are low, the air smells faintly of lavender and clean linen, and somewhere down the hallway, the shower has just cut off.
Will doesn’t move at first. He just stands in the doorway, letting the warmth of home wrap around his frayed nerves like a blanket he doesn’t quite feel worthy of. His bag slides off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a dull thud. He kicks the door shut behind him. Locks it with muscle memory. His fingers are shaking.
There’s a soft sound—bare feet on hardwood—and then Nico appears at the edge of the hallway, towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from the ends of his hair and trailing slowly down the curve of his collarbone. His skin glows in the ambient light, moon-pale and unreal, like a carved statue brought to life. He’s rubbing another towel through his hair, distracted, until he lifts his head—
And sees Will.
“Hey,” Nico says, voice hoarse from steam and disuse. His eyes light up in that subtle way they do—never blinding, never dramatic, but real. Genuine. “You’re back early.”
Will doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat has closed up around the lump sitting there, thick and sharp as broken glass.
Nico’s brow furrows. He steps forward, casual at first, then slower when he sees the way Will is standing—like a man on the edge of something.
“You okay?” he asks softly. “Trip wasn’t too bad, was it?”
Will takes a step forward. He still hasn’t spoken.
His eyes roam Nico’s body—unintentionally, hungrily, like he’s trying to memorize every inch. The way the towel clings to his hipbones. The small scar near his ribs. The hollow at the base of his throat, where a droplet of water is about to fall.
Gods, he looks like something out of a dream.
And Will is coming apart.
It’s too much. All of it. The plane. The visit. The silence. The rage.
The look on his aunt’s face.
The twisting of his mother’s name.
The unbearable ache of missing someone who once made the whole world feel safe.
And now Nico’s standing there, soft and warm and real, and Will wants nothing more than to crawl inside him and forget everything else ever existed.
“Will—”
He crosses the space in two steps and grabs Nico by the waist, the towel slipping slightly beneath his grip. His mouth is on Nico’s before the other boy can finish his sentence, all teeth and heat and desperation. It's not gentle. It’s not patient. It's a storm made flesh.
Nico gasps into the kiss, stumbling back, hands going to Will's shoulders out of instinct. “Will, hey—”
Will doesn’t stop. He kisses him like he’s drowning. Like Nico is the only thing tethering him to the earth. Like if he just presses hard enough, breathes deep enough, he can force all the grief out through his lips and leave it there, in the space between their mouths.
Nico makes a soft, startled sound—one Will has never heard before. And Will devours it.
“Wait—baby, wait.” Nico’s voice is breathless, worried. He plants a hand against Will’s chest. “What happened?”
Will ignores it. His hands are everywhere—Nico’s hips, his back, the damp skin of his spine. He wants to be closer. He wants all of him.
Nico’s eyes are wide now, and that concern is growing. He lets Will kiss him again, because of course he does—he always does—but his fingers dig into Will’s arms as he pulls back just enough to breathe.
“Will,” he says firmly, but still soft. Always soft. “Talk to me.”
Will’s jaw tightens. His breathing is shallow, ragged. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes—not angry, but fractured. Not lust. Not entirely.
He’s shaking.
“Don’t want to talk,” he mutters. “Just want you.”
Nico’s chest rises and falls. He wants to give in. Gods, he wants to. But he’s been alive too long not to recognize grief when it’s trying to fuck its way into silence.
He cups Will’s face gently. “Baby. Tell me what happened.”
Will flinches. Just a little. Then pulls away entirely, pacing two sharp steps toward the kitchen and stopping with his hands braced on the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.
“Nothing happened.”
“Will.”
“Don’t.”
Nico stays still, watching him with sharp, dark eyes. “Did someone say something?”
A beat of silence.
Then another.
Will turns back toward him, eyes already glassy, mouth pulled tight like he’s physically trying to keep the words in. His voice cracks when he finally speaks.
“She said my mom would be ashamed of me.”
Nico’s heart lurches.
Will laughs, bitter and broken. “She said if she could see me now—with you—she wouldn’t recognize me. Said she raised me better.”
He wipes at his eyes angrily and turns around. “Like I don’t know exactly who my mother was. Like she didn’t love me—like she didn’t raise me to love who I love and be proud of it.”
Nico’s already moving before Will finishes the sentence. He crosses the room in three quiet steps and wraps his arms around him from behind, resting his forehead between Will’s shoulder blades.
Will’s breath stutters.
“She wouldn’t have been ashamed,” Nico says quietly. “She would’ve been proud. Of you. Of everything you’ve become.”
Will tries to nod, but the motion breaks into a sob.
And then he’s turning around, burying his face in Nico’s neck, shaking with the kind of cry that comes from somewhere deep—somewhere broken. Nico holds him tighter. Kisses his hair. Runs a hand up and down his spine.
Will clung to Nico like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to explain. Just held on tighter, arms locked around Nico’s shoulders, face pressed into his neck, and cried.
Not the silent kind of crying, either—the kind that slips out unnoticed and shamefully wiped away. These sobs were raw, gut-wrenching, ugly. The kind that tore from somewhere so deep, even Will probably didn’t know it existed until now.
He wasn’t supposed to break. He was the strong one. The steady one. The one who held Nico through decades of pain that had nothing to do with him.
But now? He was just a boy in the arms of someone who loved him. A boy who had lost his mother. Who had been told something so cruel, so wrong, it had ripped a hole straight through the parts of him he tried to keep hidden.
Nico didn’t speak. He just held him, one hand at the back of Will’s head, the other rubbing slow circles into the space between his shoulder blades. He kissed the curls at Will’s temple and let his body shake. Let his tears soak into Nico’s skin.
Will gasped between sobs, trying to breathe, to stop, to pull himself together—but every time he tried, it just made it worse. The pain looped back on itself, crushing him in fresh waves.
“I’m sorry,” Will choked, voice wrecked. “I—fuck—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” Nico whispered, “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”
Will shook his head like he couldn’t bear to be seen like this. His hands bunched in the towel at Nico’s waist like if he let go, he’d fall apart completely.
“I miss her so much,” he gasped. “It hurts—it fucking hurts, Nico.”
“I know,” Nico said, and he did. Gods, he did.
He pressed another kiss into Will’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “You don’t have to be okay. Not right now.”
Will nodded into his skin, still trembling, still crying, until the storm began to slow—just slightly. Not fully calm, but quieter. The sobs dissolved into ragged breaths, long inhales that ended in shudders. His fists loosened, just a little, fingers splayed against Nico’s bare back like he was grounding himself.
“I hate her,” Will whispered finally, his voice hoarse. “My aunt. I hate her for saying that. I hate her for turning my mother into something she wasn’t.”
“She doesn’t get to define her,” Nico murmured. “Your mom loved you. I can feel it every time you talk about her.”
Will let out a soft, broken laugh—bitter and grateful all at once. He finally pulled back just enough to look at Nico, eyes red and raw.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said quietly, like it hurt. “You walked out of the shower, and all I could think was—I want to forget everything. I want to lose myself in you.”
Nico’s breath caught. His hands slid up Will’s sides, slow and steady. “Then do it,” he said, almost inaudibly. “If that’s what you need.”
Will leaned in until their foreheads touched.
“Make me forget,” he whispered. “Please, baby. Just—please.”
Nico’s eyes darkened—not with hunger, but with something gentler. Protective. Reverent.
He kissed Will softly. Once. Twice. Then deeper. Slowly, carefully, until Will melted against him with a broken noise.
“I’ve got you,” Nico whispered against his lips. "I'll take care of you baby.”
Nico kissed him again—slow, searching, like he was relearning the shape of Will’s mouth. Will responded eagerly, hands sliding up Nico’s bare chest, fingertips trembling from the aftermath of everything. His cheeks were still damp with tears.
But his eyes were focused now. Locked on Nico like he was the only thing holding him to this world.
They stayed pressed together in the hallway, framed by the soft yellow glow spilling in from the kitchen, until Will leaned back just enough to look at him. Really look. Nico’s hair was still damp, curling at the ends. The towel around his waist clung low on his hips, the curve of his collarbone catching the light.
He looked like a dream. Something Will shouldn’t be allowed to touch—but had to.
“Bedroom,” Will whispered.
Nico nodded silently, took his hand, and led him there.
Their shared room was quiet, half in shadow. One of Will’s flannels was tossed over the chair in the corner. A few books sat open on the nightstand—Will’s side. The window was cracked just a little, letting in a breeze that made the curtains breathe.
Nico turned to him, eyes soft.
“You’re sure?”
Will didn’t speak. He stepped forward, hands already fumbling with his shirt. Nico caught his wrists gently, stilling him.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
And he did.
Slowly, reverently, Nico undressed him. He peeled Will’s shirt away first, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he did, then kissed down the line of his sternum. Every touch was a vow. Every kiss a promise.
When Will shivered, Nico wrapped his arms around him and held him again, warm skin to warm skin, just breathing him in.
“You’re allowed to feel everything,” Nico murmured against his skin. “Even now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Will’s breath caught again. His hands buried themselves in Nico’s hair, and he pulled him into another kiss—deeper this time. Hungrier.
“I don’t want to feel anything,” Will whispered, voice cracking. “I just want you.”
They fell into bed like that. Nico let the towel drop from his waist and helped Will out of the rest of his clothes, then pulled the blankets over them both. Will straddled Nico’s hips, kissing him like he was trying to anchor himself in the feeling—the weight of Nico’s body, the solid warmth of him.
“I’ve got you,” Nico said again, quieter now, his voice velvet in the dark.
He flipped them gently so Will lay beneath him, legs falling open to cradle Nico’s hips. The soft cotton of the sheets rustled beneath them as Nico kissed along his jaw, his throat, his collarbone—slow, tender, utterly unhurried.
Will gasped as Nico sank down to kiss over his chest, brushing his thumbs in soothing strokes down Will’s ribs, pausing whenever Will’s breath hitched too sharply.
“Okay?” Nico whispered, looking up.
Will nodded, glassy-eyed. “Yeah. Just—keep going.”
And Nico did.
It wasn’t about pleasure—not at first. It was about presence. The kind of touch that said: You’re here. You’re safe. I see you.
When Nico finally pushed inside, he did it slowly, carefully, hands holding Will’s hips, his eyes never leaving Will’s face. Will let out a broken sound—half gasp, half sob—and pulled Nico down into a kiss that left them both breathless.
They moved together gently, like a conversation in motion. Nico whispered quiet reassurances between kisses—“You’re okay,” and “I’ve got you,” and “I love you.” He held Will like something sacred, touching him like a prayer.
Will arched up to meet every motion, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open. His hands gripped Nico’s shoulders, desperate and trembling, and when he came—shuddering beneath him, voice catching on Nico’s name like a prayer, like a lifeline—he broke again.
Not with a sob this time, not with the jagged edge of grief tearing through him, but with a quiet, aching sound that cracked in the middle and never quite finished. Nico held him through it, kissing his shoulder, his hair, his cheek, murmuring soft things into his skin even as his own heart thudded too hard in his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, Will. I’m right here.”
Will clung to him like he might disappear, nails pressing faint little crescent moons into Nico’s back. He didn’t speak—couldn’t, not yet. His breath came fast and sharp against Nico’s neck, damp and desperate, like if he didn’t stay wrapped around him, he might fall apart again.
They stayed that way for a long time.
Eventually, Nico eased them down, guiding Will to lie against his chest, shifting just enough to pull the covers over them with one hand while the other smoothed through Will’s hair. He could feel the warmth of him, every heartbeat against his ribs, every shiver still echoing in the tension of his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Will mumbled, voice hoarse and barely there.
“Don’t be,” Nico said instantly, tightening his arms. “Don’t ever be.”
Will sniffled, face pressed to Nico’s collarbone. “I just—I needed—”
“I know,” Nico said, so gentle it made Will’s throat close. “I know, baby.”
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty—it was soft, safe. The kind of quiet you could breathe in.
Will's fingers curled at Nico’s side, slow and trembling. “Do you… need to feed?”
Nico blinked. Then, as the words sank in, he pulled back just enough to see Will’s face—red-eyed, exhausted, lips kiss-bruised and trembling.
“What?” Nico said, almost offended. “No. Of course not.”
Will blinked blearily up at him, confused. “I was just… making sure…”
Nico huffed. “You think I’d feed on you after—after that? When you’re like this?”
Will’s lips twitched at the tone, almost a smile. “Just making sure, baby.”
Nico stared at him for a beat, eyes wide and almost comically betrayed. Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead with a long sigh, his fingers threading into Will’s curls again.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
Will finally laughed—a tired, broken thing, but real. And Nico held him tighter, because gods, he needed that sound like oxygen.
They stayed curled together beneath the covers, the city humming outside their window, distant and unimportant. Grief didn’t vanish, and pain didn’t disappear, but in the warm hush of their bedroom, wrapped in each other, it dulled to something bearable. Will breathed slowly, Nico’s fingers in his hair, Nico’s heart against his cheek. And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—he felt like he could fall asleep. Not because everything was okay, but because Nico was here, and Nico wasn’t going anywhere.