Wayfarer at the Zephyr ➵ Solangelo

Part Two: Of Gold and Cerulean

Will feels his ghostly pale figure waste away at the wind, but now he feels more solid—surer than before. His fortitude knocks against the strong wisps of wind, his hair cascades along golden light.

"Then I saw you. I finally understood why. William Solace was far more beautiful than Professor Knowles. I got lost immediately when you smiled at me."

Will shakes his head, "No way, Professor Knowles was beautiful. You're giving me way too much credit."

Nico smiles again, just looking at him, gaze emanating the same unchanging fondness as it had back then. Back then. He feels sudden desolation.

"You know," Nico starts softly, as if he doesn't want to be heard. "When our first date ended, I decided that I wanted to grow old with you."

"Nico..."

"I fell in love too quickly, scared I'd also fall out too swiftly. I was scared I'd get over that feeling fast because, what if, what if, what if..." Necromancy falls over his hands. The grass wilts from where he sits. "But it's been years, Will. It had been almost a decade. You already died, and I thought for the longest time that I would get over it. Maybe I would remarry. Maybe I would find the same eyes that you had. Maybe there was someone who smiled at me the same way you did."

Will lets him. He lets him pour out the melancholy locked away from the decades behind, and accepts the bellowing rage threatening at the dead patches of grass around their feet.

"I'm still here. I still find myself loving you. I'm still in love with you."

When Will can no longer take the destruction ripping out at his shipwrecked emotions, at the dawn of his desolate pulse, his infuriated senses, he kisses the life out of Nico di Angelo. The collision of lips flew like the west winds, dragged like molten flood, and it was fervent, intensifying. Nico gets tackled backwards, and the dead grass lays waste at deeply barren feelings. His tears fall between kisses, staining reds and olives and warm, warm skin. He no longer feels weightless. The gust of wind tells them that it had been five minutes. His lips feel sore. He feels alive.

"Will," Nico breathes out, an eternity later. "Will, you're— "

He feels hands cup at his cheeks, and he cries out. Warmth. Serenity. "I can feel you, Nico."

Act VI: Pacisci
non ho nel sangue nessun desiderio che non sia per te

Will Solace could not understand the play of fates. There are, more or less, five days at his calling. He receives a vision in his dreams, and he finds the figure there; almost ominous, almost terrifying.

The angel of death peers down as usual, sunken wings breathing in demise, the air around feeling shrill and immovable. Will's mortal lungs felt constricted, as he swallows the feeling of being so alive. The dream told him that he was, indeed, human now.

Judgment day remained the same. He has to make do with the time he had left.

Nico di Angelo kisses him awake, and he obliges, feeling the canvasses of lips overlapping into one.

"We are going to Texas," Nico beams at him. The idea was so surreal, Will almost didn't believe him.

There are two tickets on the bedside porch. Sitting adjacent is the lone newspaper that morning, and today's headlines read, 'Texas Launches Medical Charity for Storm Surge Victims.' All scrolled underneath in small, printed font, 'Volunteers needed!'