Boys In Love [Solangelo One-Shots]

Mercurial

Will remembers the night like a dream or a backward hallucination.

It starts in a bar made of low lights and swaying bodies. Lazy disco lights that filter through fingers like something sticky.

The music makes the atmosphere what it is. The band that's performing is just starting out, and Will doubts that anyone in the room is sure of what their name even is, but they fill up the room with their noise. It's a hazy timbre of electronic sound, it breathes and pulses, controls the fibers of everything it touches.

Their lead singer has a voice that's so soothing it turns Will's limbs to waste. He exists only front and center on the stage, crooning, hangs from the microphone like he wouldn't be standing otherwise. He's less dancing to the music and more singing to the dance. His movements control the way the words are breathed from his lips.

Will hasn't been so mesmerized by someone before in his life.

After they finish performing, he finds the melodist at the bar, throwing back a drink and settling it back down onto the counter with a gentle exhale. His lips part slightly, face tilted toward the ceiling and catching a glowing serenade of lights. He's made of everything soft and lovely in that moment.

Will's first words to him can barely be heard over the second band of the night.

"I'd like to know your name."

When this stranger sets his gaze on him, Will feels his fingers go numb. His eyes are just as dizzying as everything else about him. The smile that he offers is enough to jolt into action an earthquake across Will's ribs.

"Nico," He breathes it like a secret. Will leans forward like he wants to hear more, like he has to, and so Nico leans forward too, "di Angelo. Nico di Angelo."

Later, when Nico pulls him into his hotel room, Will whispers it against his thighs, feels fingers twisting into his hair and hears Nico curse and whimper. It's vertiginous, like standing at the edge of a drop-off, watching tiny pieces of earth crumble away and drop into the abyss.

Will kisses every inch of him, shivers and curls his toes at the feeling of Nico's hands moving over him, his breath against his ear, his words the only important thing that exist in that moment. They're all that is.

And afterward, Nico lays in his arms and sings into his hair and then against his neck, and Will tells him that he's beautiful, because he is.

He's not there in the morning.

Will would suspect he dreamt it, but the marks scattered across him prove otherwise.

-

Two years later, Will hears news of Nico's band coming back through town and after arguing with himself for days on end, he gives in to the part that insists he needs this. So, he gets himself a spot front and center in the audience, the place he knows Nico di Angelo comes to life.

He slips onto stage like a shadow, the way he makes his way forward tricks Will's mind into believing that he belongs there, that he's just an extension of the rickety ceiling fans and loose floorboards.

His band is still small enough that a part of Will thinks of him as a secret to be kept from everyone else.

Will watches Nico's fingers curl around the mic stand with such exact fascination that the breathy, "Hey," uttered from above him makes him startle slightly before flicking his gaze upward. Nico stares straight back at him, all eyelashes and tight jeans.

The smirk that works its way onto Nico's face as his band starts in on the first song of the night is dangerous and he practically makes love to the microphone, pulling his hands down it and letting his knees go weak. Will wants to stand in its place, let Nico utter the lyrics onto his lips.