NPOV
Track: Talk To Me, Cavetown
My house is quiet when my mother is at work. My house is quiet when she's home, too. We're not loud people. The only sound that is consistently noisy in my house is the sound of my mother's Italian music playing on the radio. She likes the old stuff, and I've grown to appreciate the artistry of 1930s Italian music, too—but when she's gone, my music taste takes the reins, and I listen to Panic! At The Disco while I cook myself some microwave mac & cheese. My mom hates Kraft, but I think there's something appealing about the orange chemicals that will probably give me cancer one day.
Listening to music while I wait for my food in the microwave is exactly what I'm doing when somebody knocks on my door.
Now, people don't really knock on my door very often. Occasionally, one of our packages gets sent accidentally to the neighbors' house instead of ours, and very rarely, my mother's coworkers show up with something for my mom. That's about it.
The microwave beeps as I contemplate whether I can pretend that there's no one home. If it's a neighbor trying to give us a package that was wrongly delivered to them, then they can leave it on the porch, and then I don't need to interact with them. If it's someone from my mother's work, they're not here to see me anyway, so why should I answer?
I pour in the packet of powdered cheese and stir my dinner until it's a delicious orange feast, ready to eat.
I grab a fork and sit down, about to take my first bite, when the person on my porch knocks again. I frown. Can't they go away? I really don't enjoy talking to strangers.
I take a bite of my mac & cheese. I hope my mom never finds out what she's missing out on by not eating Kraft cheese; it means I always get all the mac & cheese cups to myself.
The person is knocking again, and this time it's incessant. I sigh and stand up. Hopefully this isn't, like, a police officer or something. I haven't really done anything today that would get me in trouble with the police, but over the course of my time as Ghost King, it is possible that somewhere along the line, I left a clue that gave away my identity. Maybe they've just now found it.
If it's a police officer, I'd like to know before I consider opening the door. I peek through the window.
Will Solace is standing on my doorstep looking like he's about to faint.
I rush to open the door, and he practically falls inside. "Sorry—I know you weren't expecting me to come over but I didn't know where else to go—holy shit, I don't even know where to start, Nico—"
His whole body is trembling and his face is pale. He looks like he might have run all the way here; his clothes are sweaty and he's still breathing hard despite catching his breath on my porch for a few minutes.
I've never seen Will Solace like this before. This is more than just frazzled or freaked out—he's terrified. Usually, his mask hides the majority of his fear.
"Okay, hold on, take a second to breathe. Something happened? You know what—don't start talking yet. Come on." I lay a hand on his back to lead him to my kitchen, and then I pull out a chair for him. He collapses into it and then leans over the table, head in his hands. His chest is still moving up and down erratically.
I pour him a glass of lemonade and set it down in front of him. Then I grab a coke from the fridge for myself. He's hiding his face from me, but I think he might be crying—his shoulders are shaking a little.
"Hey," I whisper to him. "It's alright now. You know you're safe here. You know I'm here for you."
I'm thinking about his time in Texas—is this...related? Did somebody hurt him again? If so, I'll make the person regret it; Will shouldn't have to put up with anyone's shit like this.
"The murderer," he says, and his voice cracks, "was at my house."
I freeze.
"And...and so much happened, I don't know where to start." He finally looks up from his hands, and I was right—he's crying. He tries to wipe away tears, only partially successful because they're still falling.
"Let's maybe take a moment to calm down before you start talking about what happened," I suggest, trying to prevent him from having to relive the horror of having a killer waiting for you in your house as he's still trying to process it. "You look exhausted. Have you eaten?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think I can. I think I'd be sick if I tried to eat anything."
"Maybe a bath then," I offer. "It might help with the nerves, right?" I don't point out that his hands are still shaking, but he looks at them anyway. Then he finishes his glass of lemonade and stands up.
"Right. Yeah. I don't know," he says.
"Why did that sound like you're trying to convince yourself?" I muse. He shakes his head, then nods. I've never seen him like this before.
"A bath is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine."
I raise both of my eyebrows. I'm pretty sure no one in the history of language has ever said those words when they feel fine. I guess my expression must convey that because he takes a deep breath and then whispers, "It's just...I really don't want to be alone right now, Nico. I would rather stay here in the kitchen. I mean, what if the murderer followed me? That doesn't make any sense—the murderer left. But what if they come back? I—I can't be alone, Nico."
I stand up too. This is similar to what he described experiencing in the weeks after the hate crime in Texas, even though the cause was different. I take his hands gently and do what I can to calm him—tracing patterns, rubbing circles into his palm, anything. Everything.
"Then let's just stay here, then. It's alright, Will—you don't have to do anything at all. And if anyone tries to hurt you, I'll protect you. Alright?"
He nods. Then he says, "I probably smell bad. I'm so sorry—I ran here. I've never ran that fast for that long in my life."
He does smell horrible, actually. But I'm willing to sacrifice my nostrils if it means Will doesn't have to be alone when he's afraid. (I won't even make a disgusted face—that's how dedicated I am to making Will feel better.)
"Well, I'm glad you came. I can keep an eye on you this way." I want to find a way to calm his nerves. Still holding his hands, I lead him toward the living room now that he's finished his lemonade. "Sit here," I say, nodding at the couch.
"I'll get you some water since you ran all the way here," I mutter. I can still see him when I'm in the kitchen, and he can still see me. Good—he won't feel alone, then. I let go of his hands to go get a water bottle for him and fill it up. It takes me a moment to find it; my mother and I don't really use water bottles a lot.
When I have his water, I return to him, passing it over. He drinks it gratefully. Good. He's probably dehydrated.
I sit next to him. He seems to be feeling a little better—his breathing is more regular again, at least. Some of the color has returned to his face, too; that seems like a good sign. He doesn't look quite so much like a horror movie victim.
When he's done with the water, he turns to me and leans over until his head rests on my shoulder. My right hand instinctively moves to play with his hair, and his shoulders relax at the touch. I take that as a good sign.
"Are you feeling better?" I murmur.
He exhales. "Yeah. I am. I'm really sorry, Nico. I didn't mean to bother you or anything—you were probably busy."
"I promise you, I was not. And even if I was, this would have been more important. No more apologizing, okay?"
He nods into my shoulder. I'm glad he came to me for support—it means he trusts me as much as I'm learning to trust him. I want to be here for him like he has been for me.
I don't know how long we stay on the couch like that. Long enough that by the time Will straightens again, his hands are no longer shaking. It's like he recharged. He looks like himself again, though maybe a little tired still. He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, and my cheeks redden.
"Thank you, Nico," he says. "I think I'm ready to talk about it. You might want to take notes though—it was a lot."
I raise an eyebrow. He learned that much through a near-murder attempt?
I open the notes app on my phone and make bullet points while he talks:
murderer = viper
Viper working with luke
luke hired — being threatened?
price he pays???? what price??
luke bullying because the viper orders him to
now ordered to capture me - great! just what i need
viper knew which was will's bookshelf
why does will have his own bookshelf separate from his mother's? in the same room as his mother's? can't he just share a bookshelf???
will is a nerd
the viper has been to will's house before - knows him personally - not a surprise
steals will's suit (!!!)
will is an idiot for keeping his suit in the CLOSET where it can be easily stolen!
more evidence the robber costume was a good idea though - props to will, i thought it was stupid at first
"And then they left," Will finishes, "and I ran here as fast as I could."
Looking at my notes, I bite my lip. This might be too much for us to handle. If we could get the police involved, I would—but then I would face the unfortunate reality of the prison system, which is very much not ideal.
But at least we have a jumping off point now.
"We should start talking to everyone who might be involved," I say. "You interrogate Luke. I'll interview my mother about Hades. We'll see what information we can come up with. This Viper person is a real person somewhere with real weaknesses. We just have to find out what those weaknesses are, and then we'll know how to get them to leave us alone."
Will nods, though admittedly he's starting to look a little bit sick again. "This sounds like you're wrapping up the conversation—but Nico, I can't go back to my house. Not alone."
"Then stay here," I offer. "You could tell your mother that it's a sleepover or something. Tomorrow, we can go back to your house together and make sure the house is safe. You don't have to do anything alone, Will—I'm here to help."
His head bobs up and down. "Right. Okay. I'm going to call my mom and let her know where I am. Thank you, Nico. I know this is stupid—"
"It's not stupid," I tell him. "You're just scared. It's alright."
He goes to the kitchen to call his mother, and I wait patiently in the living room for him. My mac & cheese is probably cold now. Maybe I can heat it up and eat it while Will and I hang out.
After he calls his mom to let her know where he is, Will and I spend the night trying to quell his anxiety. We watch Heartstopper together. To be entirely honest, Heartstopper isn't really my kind of show, but judging by the way Will hangs onto every word and can never take his eyes off Charlie Spring, I think he might like it. I wonder if living in the South impacted his access to queer media like this. I mean, it's not like there's a ban on queer media you can watch in the privacy of your home, but is it stigmatized? Is it advertised as much there as it is here?
I don't ask because I don't want to dredge up bad memories right now. I do feel a little jealous of Charlie Spring, though. Will really is staring at him. He's not subtle.
And I continue feeling jealous until Will leans over during the first kiss scene, and he whispers in my ear, "I think you might be my Charlie Spring, Nico."
That makes heat spread across my face. I have to get better at flirting if I'm going to date this guy—he can't keep catching me off guard like this.
After Heartstopper, I get us some snacks and heat up my mac & cheese again. I ask him if Lou Ellen and Cecil know about his superhero-ness, and he tells me about all the times he's almost told them and then chickened out at the last second.
"Maybe after this whole mess with the Viper is over." He shudders. "I don't really want them to know about any of this so long as the Viper is still a threat—they'd do something stupid and get themselves kidnapped, or something."
"Hm," I say. "What will you do after we save my sister? Do you plan to continue your superhero shenanigans, or will you retire? I'll no longer be a supervillain, after all."
He shrugs. "Maybe I'll move on to fighting other crimes in the city. You could help me—we could be a team even after we save your sister."
I don't answer. I also don't point out that I probably won't be around after we save my sister—there's a solid chance that the police are going to catch me eventually. They'll find a piece of my DNA or something—I've broken into way too many houses to realistically believe they'll never catch me, right? I mean, I've been careful, but it only takes one tiny mistake.
"You know, you asked me about the dance the other day," Will says, changing subjects after noticing my obvious discomfort. "I turned down going as a couple the first time—but now that you're no longer two separate people, would you...like to go with me? Like, as a couple?"
I freeze, my fork of mac & cheese halfway to my mouth. Then I grin. "Will Solace, since when are you the one that makes the first move?"
He laughs lightheartedly. "I make the first move a lot of the time! Do you want to go to the dance with me or not?"
"Yes, obviously." I'm laughing too now. "Are we going to be one of those couples with matching outfits? I'm not wearing a dress, though—the most you'd get from me is a colored tie."
"A colored tie it is!" he cheers. "You could stand to wear some more colors anyway. I vote that we wear matching yellow."
"Absolutely not."
"Fine, orange."
"You're fucking with me. I'm not wearing orange."
Bickering over small things like this makes me happy. It reminds me of our time together over the past year—evading each other, fighting, but only very rarely actually hurting each other. And as much as we evaded each other, we also chased each other—if only because we believed we were trying to prevent the other from doing something illegal or stupid.
Our masks have been removed, and we're no longer fighting—but the bickering remains as a happy side effect.
For a little while, we forget about our troubles and just enjoy each other's company at the dining table.
And I finally finish my mac & cheese, so that's a plus. Everything is going pretty well for us until I hear my mother turning the key to our front door, and I remember that she will not be pleased that I've invited my boyfriend—are we boyfriends?—to stay the night.
Well, looks like I've got some convincing to do.
Word count: 2881
A/N: I think this might be the first chapter I've written for this story so far that I kind of think is just meh. Like, I'm not going to call it awful or anything, but I don't think it's really good, either. I actually rewrote about half of this chapter because I didn't like the way it turned out the first time. This version is better, just still not quite what I wanted it to be. I think maybe this chapter's content is just more difficult to write than the rest of the story because it's very casual and domestic, which is more difficult to make interesting than large, dramatic fight scenes or declarations of love or whatever.
Also, if there's no chapter tomorrow, don't panic--it's just because I have a math final soon, and I am extremely worried about it. Advanced university math usually takes at least a few days' worth of study time imo, and I really only have a day and a half of time that I can actually still spend studying. Plus, the majority of my exam is proofs, which I haven't done formally since, like, eighth grade. As in, I haven't done proofs since I was active on Wattpad the first time. It's been that long.
Anyway. Rant over. Thanks for reading :)
Yours,
Sunny