safe in my arms | solangelo au | under editing

Chapter Twelve

tw: mentions of self-harm, blood

Will

"Nico... Wake up." I shake the frail boy carefully. Nico mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over so he's facing away from me. Nico..." I shake him again.

"Geroff." Nico mutters. I smile at the cute boy. He's adorable.
"Wake up." I whisper, leaning so close to Nico, my hair brushes the boy's face and neck.

Nico starts shaking, and I have a moment of panic before realising that he's laughing.
"You're tickling me!" Nico attempts to push me away, but misjudges where my face is and accidentally facepalms me.

I move away and he rolls to face me, wiping his eyes.
"What?" He asks me sleepily. His hair is messed up and he's shirtless. Adorable!

"It's one in the afternoon." I tell him. "You need rest, but that much in one go is probably unhealthy."

Nico groans and literally rolls out of bed, dropping onto the floor with the blankets tangle around him. It suddenly strikes me that, despite all he's been through, he's still fairly young. Only eighteen...
"Ow." He mutters, getting up.
"Are you okay?" I worry.
"I'm fine." He sighs. He starts making the bed and I help him, which seems to surprise him.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Are you sure? You don't seem to eat much..."
"I'm sure." He nods.
"Okay..." I smile reassuringly, but he doesn't return it.

He looks at the floor and tries to walk out of the room, but once he's passed me I turn around and grab his wrist.
"Hey," He flinches, and I grimace. "Sorry."
"Let go." His voice is ragged.
"Nico, I just-"
"Let go." He repeats. "You're hurting me!"

That's when I feel it. Hot, sticky blood running onto my fingertips. I take Nico's hand and turn his arm over to reveal deep slashes all the way up his arm. He pulls it from my grip, crying.

"Nico?" I ask. He walks out and I follow him. "We need to talk." I say.
"No." Is all he says.
"Yes." I insist. "Come here."
"No!" He says. I sigh.
"Nico..."

"You don't understand!" He shouts. I take a deep breath and roll up the sleeve of my hoodie. My scars are faint, but you can still see them.
"Yes," I say. "I do."