Percy Jackson One-shots

The Best and the Brightest (Solangelo)

I get back home after another long day of lectures, the fifth in a row. "Nico? You here?" I call, but only silence answers me. I can't blame him for not wanting to hang around, not when I'm hardly ever home myself. 

I walk down the narrow hall of our apartment and toss my backpack on the bed. I catch my reflection in the mirror over our dresser. Photos of us at camp stick out around the edges of the frame. It's hard to believe we've been gone from camp for two years already; I look so different, so grown up. It's not the same for Nico, not quite, leaving camp. I've never been away from my siblings in Apollo cabin for so long. It had been my home since I was nine and before that, well, switching schools several times a year, lost in the system after my mom died – a pretty typical story for a lot of campers. 

I'm not sure why I'm feeling so melancholy. I grab a well-loved, crumpled photograph of all the Apollo campers before we'd lost Michael and Lee. I smooth it out as best I can, tears springing to my eyes against my will. I long for the old days, the simpler times, and then wipe my eyes. I'm being stupid. Those days were far from simple compared to now. I've got all I ever wanted, a fantastic boyfriend; I'm working hard towards med-school; I'm on track for the doctor title I've always coveted. I'm growing up. Nico is too. I put the photo back in the mirror frame and tell myself it's alright to let go. 

I feel gross and when I strip my shirt off, I smell worse. I figure a bath will do me a world of good and hopefully Nico will be back before I crash for the night. On my way out the door, I stop and look at the calendar. Today's date has a heart drawn around it in red marker, my handwriting. My stomach sinks. We've been together five years and I'm the worst boyfriend ever for forgetting. 

As I fill the tub, I wonder if that's why Nico's been away so much the past week. I turn on the cd player on the shelf over the sink, and then climb into the tub. What if he thinks I don't care, that we're growing apart or something? I wash, my thoughts spinning, and then I'm crying like a pathetic loser. School has me stressed to my last nerve, and then missing home, forgetting special dates … it just feels like too much all at once. 

I lie back in the bath when I'm clean, not ready to get out, just listening until the disc stops playing, and then the ticking of the wall clock fills my ears, echoing emptiness, my bath growing cold. 

A knock at the door makes me jump. 

"Will? You in there?" Nico calls through the door. I look up, relief washing feeling back into my limbs. "Can I come in?"

I laugh through chattering teeth, calling back: "Yeah, I'm just getting out."

The door opens as I unplug the tub. I look up and see him leaning against the door jamb, watching me. His eyes are dark, smoldering. I feel my body heat rise as I stand up, my pulse racing as he takes in every inch of my body. 

I climb out of the tub and towel off quickly, then wrap the towel around my waist and Nico meets my eyes, his mouth turning down at the corners, eyes widening. "You've been crying."

It doesn't matter now, all those tears and bitter worries. Seeing Nico concerned, here, dressed as always in a black tee and jeans – he fails at hiding how big his heart is in front of me. I step up into his space, thrilled when he doesn't try to run, those days are long passed. "I'm alright. I missed you," I say and then press our lips together. 

I love kissing Nico. If I could only do one thing ever in life, it would be this. He moves his lips against mine, soft, warm, firm, and then breaks the kiss before I'm ready. I look at him, foreheads pressed together, our hands settled on each other's waists. 

"Come on. I've got something for you," he says, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

"Can I put my clothes on first?" I ask, letting go of him and backing up enough to give him room to move.

He gives me that evil smirk I love. "If you want to, but I'm kind of enjoying you out of them."

I make sure my towel is fastened at my waist and follow Nico to our small living room, my breath leaving me all at once. I'm greeted by bouquets of floating yellow and black balloons, vases of sunflowers on the dining table, and the smell of Nico's homemade lasagna coming from the tiny kitchen. 

He sits on the couch and opens his arms for me to join him. 

"You … you did all this for me?" I sit too, barely able to get my words out, I'm smiling too wide. His hand on my waist, he leans close and gestures to a present on the coffee table, whispering beside my ear. "Five years."

I turn and kiss him. There's no other way to say thank you to the sweetest guy ever. He grins against my lips, disrupting the kiss, and I pull back.

"But you hate balloons." I don't know why I'm pointing it out. I'm a little overwhelmed. 

He just shrugs. "And you love them, and I love you."

All right. If he doesn't stop, I'm going to get weepy again. I swallow, my worries catching up with me. "I didn't …" I stammer. "I sort of forgot …" 

He shushes me, brushing his lips over mine, then backs up a couple of inches. "You're doing what you need to be doing, stressing yourself half to death with schoolwork. I know it. It's my turn to do the surprising." He picks up the gift from the coffee table and puts it in my hands. 

I open it, my fingers trembling, but the gentle strokes of his fingers against the back of my neck melts away my stress. It's a photo album. I open it, and from every page my siblings smile and wave at me, notes of encouragement scribbled from them in multi-colored handwriting. Even the new campers I don't know yet have written notes of introduction. I reach the last page and find a cell-phone selfie of my dad, his arm wrapped around Nico's shoulders, squeezing tight to prevent him from escaping. Apollo smiles bright and brilliant under his sunglasses, while Nico looks ready to bolt. 

I burst out laughing. I know including the last photo was probably my dad's idea and that he'd probably twisted Nico's arm into doing it, but Nico doesn't try to explain himself or act put out at all. "So this is what you've been doing the past couple of weeks? Going back to camp to take pictures?"

"You like it?" he asks, his voice dropping, sending thrills of possibility running over my skin. 

"I love it. I wish I had something for you."

My breath catches as he slips a hand under my towel. "Dinner won't be ready for about an hour."

Every hair on my body stands on end, my nerves awake and reaching for him. I settle back against his chest, running my hand over his thigh. "I think I can keep you entertained until then."