Solangelo fluff :)

I promise

Okay, this one's based off of a dream I had. (Yes, I dream about Solangelo. And Phan. Also Snowbaz. Sometimes Johnlock. Silence.)

Honestly, this one reminds me of the Joker and Harley Quinn.

Oh, and the place that mental people stay is not at all accurate. It's kind of like an asylum for supervillains. Maybe. Probably not idk it's just a place. Also, I found the poems online.

WC:2704

Nico's POV

"Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness," I fall into a fit of giggles. I very much enjoy my strange poems. They are a part of me. I walk around my room. The walls are a plain white and there is only one small hard bed. The sheets are white, too. Everything in this room is white. It's very boring. Just a splash of colour would do.

You see, I'm a... what do the monsters call me? Ah, yes. I'm a patient at a special hospital. I'm special. Special special special! I like the sound of that. However when they call me special, I know that they mean 'mental'. I can't deny it, I am crazy. I can't remember why, but I just am.

My door opens. I turn my head around to see a man about my age with blond curly hair, tan skin, blue eyes and lots of sparkles... I mean freckles. That's what they are. Freckles. He smiles. He closes the door and sits down on the ground. I watch him.

"Nico di Angelo?" He asks. I sit down and scooch over to him. Soon we're face to face. I tilt my head.

"Yes, that is me. Little old me, special me! I have been called special lots of times!" I tell him. I giggle and roll backwards. He just smiles kindly.

"I'm Will. I'm your therapist." I study him. He doesn't look like a therapist. He's wearing a yellow shirt and blue jeans.

"Are you sure?" I question. He chuckles.

"Yes, I'm very sure. Okay, Nico! Let's get started," I frown and lay on my back.

"Do we have to?" I ask him. He tilts his head.

"You want to get better, don't you?" I sigh. I do want to get better and I have tried thousands of times, but it never seems to work.
"What do you like to do for fun?" He asks. I perk up. Nobody asks me that. I sit up and crawl over to him. I sit down in front of him.

"I love making up poems!" I tell him excitedly.

"What kinds of poems?" I think about this.

"Poems that rhyme, poems that don't, all sorts of poems! It's the easiest way for me to communicate with people."

"Would you like to do that then? I ask questions, you answer in poems?" I nod. I like this Will.

"What's something that scares you?" He takes out a notepad and a pen and starts writing.

"Do you hear the whisper men? The whisper men are near. If you hear the whisper men, then turn away your ear. Do not hear the whisper men, whatever else you do. For when you hear the whisper men, they'll stop and look at you," Will looks up from his notepad.

"You're... you're afraid of voices?" Here it comes. The judging.
I nod.

"I'm terrified of them. I pretend like they're my friends so they won't hurt me. But they're always there, the voices. Always have been," he puts his hand on my shoulder.

"It's okay. I know what you mean. I had voices inside my head too. For the longest time. Do you want to know what I did?"

"What did you do?" He takes his hand off my shoulder.