Delusional [a solangelo au] sequel to Psychopath

-How to contact old friends-

Wills pov
Trigger warnings: talk about SH scars, talk about eating disorders, mentioned hallucinations

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(Day 18)

Nico was having an off day.

Normally, that was ok. We knew how to deal with it and what coping mechanisms worked. Normally I'd be home.

Unfortunately, today I had dinner with Jenny, and I had to leave in twenty-five minutes.

So that sort of sucked, and it made me feel like shit. I couldn't cancel the dinner, just in case it made them more suspicious of me, or took it as a sign that I was doing badly, lest they do a home check up.

We spent the day (after I got home from my morning shift) doing what we could to make it better. Or at least, we tried. There wasn't much we could do about his appetite; he's felt nauseous at the thought of solid food all day, so we've been making soups and smoothies at meal times.

We knew by now that liquids were better for him on bad food days. It lessened the worry of weight gain and the chance of nausea.

It didn't help that Bianca was bugging him. I mean, Nico didn't say she was, but I could tell, even when he tried to hide it. It sucked. I couldnt do anything about it, couldn't help him, if he wouldn't talk to me.

Earlier, when we were cuddling and watching a movie on the couch, was the worst of it. He was tucked under my arm, snuggled up to my side (god, how I missed that) so I could feel every flinch. Every unsteady jolt under his skin when someone I couldn't see spoke to him; said things that were harmful, things I couldn't combat, because he wouldn't tell me what those things were.
He would make faces— frowns, winces— that were not compliant to the romcom on the tv or the textbook in my lap, and groan and mutter under his breath, cursing and speaking Italian so I couldn't understand. He obviously didn't want me to know what was going on, and I didn't want to press the subject and make him anxious, so I stayed quiet.
I knew that he trusted me (finally, after months), so that wasn't the problem. I think he just had trouble with being vulnerable around others, even though I've helped him through just about everything. He didn't want to admit to things that made living hard for him, or show that weakness. It didn't help that he now saw Bianca and the other voices as threats, rather than annoyances. Maybe he was afraid. Afraid that I would see him as someone dangerous after what happened at the hospital.

I didn't, of course, but if he didn't say anything to me about it, what was I supposed to do?

If it persisted, I'd have to ask, but I really didn't want to stress him out.

Instead, I did what I could. When he flinched, I soothed my fingers down his arm. When he muttered Italian curses, I dragged my fingers through his hair or massaged his neck. When he tried to scratch his neck, I lowered his hand on instinct, instead lacing our fingers together.

He didn't wear his bandages around the apartment anymore. He stopped two days ago when they started to bother him. It had been two weeks and a half, approximately, and the scabs were almost completely gone. Even if he picked at was left of the red, raised skin, it shouldn't bleed. They healed fast, and now that Cecil had seen them, he felt more comfortable about it. He still tried to avoid mirrors, of course, so that he wouldn't accidentally trigger a panic attack, but he no longer wanted the safety net that the bandages provided. Really, he could have stopped bandaging a week ago, maybe more, but I went along with what he wanted to feel more comfortable in my home.

And he did. He was comfortable. At least, it seemed like he was. Two and a half weeks seemed to be enough for him to talk freely, ask for things, and hang out with us with his guard down. He joked around, he participated, he smiled. I didn't realize how much I missed his million different smiles; the crooked grin when he found something he said funny; the snide smirk when he was being a jerk; the wide mouthed laugh when Cecil and him bickered; the small, content pull of lips when we woke up together, face to face, early in the morning, with the birds and the bankers of New York. That smile was my favourite, because it seemed to be for me alone.