Moving On (Solangelo)

Chapter 9: Nico

So you know, dating Will obviously improved my life in innumerable ways, but first and foremost, I feel the need to point out one thing: he is hot.  Like, drop-dead gorgeous.  Like, the lifeguard in every movie ever who the main character half-drowns herself to get the attention of.  Like, he makes Aphrodite look plain.  Like, I honestly couldn't even remember what I had ever possibly seen in Percy.  Like, I swear I sometimes got little goosebumps when I saw him because it felt so unreal that this beautiful guy was my beautiful guy.  Like, when I saw him shirtless for the first time, I finally learned the meaning of the word "swoon."  His golden hair; his pale, streaked brown eyes, like the dust that you squint through on a windy day, or the faded, soft wood floors in the attic that are so old they don't have any splinters left; his freckles that almost blended into his tan skin; his scrubs-and-shorts combos...  Look, I could go on and on, but I'll try not to bore you.  I couldn't get tired of mooning over him in a million years, but it seems that somehow, even though it makes literally no sense, not everyone is as infinitely obsessed with him as I am.

So anyway, this unreal attractiveness that he possessed was, while extremely fortuitous, obviously not actually his best quality–not by a long shot.  He was so understanding; he knew–as much as anyone could, at least–what I had been through, and he knew the kinds of dreams I had, and he was unfailingly there for me.  Every night, when he came to my cabin to say goodnight, he would remind me that I didn't have to bear it all alone, and every morning, he was there to yank me out of my nightmares.

Sometimes, the dreams were of Tartarus, basically just straight-up memories from my time down there.  Sometimes, it was Bianca, maybe just memories from before she died, but sometimes she would be standing with me somewhere, in my cabin, or at the pavilion or the lake, it didn't really matter, and she would hate me.  That was it in those ones, just Bianca, only some alternate universe Bianca who actually recognized all of my flaws, and showed them to me, and hated me.  But the worst dreams–look, I don't like to talk about it, I couldn't even tell Will for a while–but the worst dreams always followed a theme.  I would watch them all die–all of the demigods I'd ever known, the Seven, Reyna, Hazel, Bianca, Will, all of them, one by one, and I would feel each death in my gut like I always do in real life, and I could never move, could never help in any way, and all I knew was that it was my fault, it was my fault, and when they were all gone, it would just be me, and finally I could move again, and I would walk among their bodies and shake them scream at them, and I always came back to Bianca, and to Will, always the two of them, and I would hold their bodies and wish that I had died, not them.  And if Will didn't wake me up soon enough, I would just keep holding them in the dream, and a long time would pass, until the flesh was dripping their bones, and it always ended with just me, alone.  Alone.  Like always.  It was like alone was my natural state, and my dreams returned me to it even when my real life was finally better.

But Will was there now, to bring me back to life from these nightmares.  Sometimes, when it had been especially bad, I would hold him and just cry, just cry, because I couldn't remember how to do anything else, and because I was so glad that it wasn't real, that he and all the rest of them–well, most of them–were still alive, and I would cling to him because he was real and solid and warm, not cold like his corpse had been in my arms only a moment again.

And one night, it got worse, somehow.  And I'm sorry, but this one I can't even talk about, but I'll just say it was basically a mishmash of all of the above.  It was especially hard to wake up that morning.  And all day, I just kept reliving it, over and over, like my mind was a broken record.  And when Will was getting ready to leave my cabin that night, it occurred to me that I was just in for round two, that I hadn't been able to shake it off all day, so of course I wouldn't be able to shake it off when I was asleep and most vulnerable.  And I could not stand the thought.  So before I could overthink it, I asked him to stay.

I felt feverish as we made out on my bed that night.  I was frantic.  I was unwilling to let go of this bliss and succumb to the dreams that I knew were waiting for me.  But, by definition, I could only delay the inevitable for so long, and eventually we were both too sleepy to keep going, so I just clung onto Will like an anchor and prayed to the gods as I drifted off.

I didn't dream that night.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I did not dream.

I woke up smiling.  First I smiled, then I opened my eyes, then I twisted around to look at Will, who had one arm thrown across my shoulders and was half-sitting up reading The Bell Jar, which had been sitting on the table next to my bed.  As I turned around, he put down the book, his eyes and nose crinkling into a smile.

"Well hey there, sunshine," he said, "Someone looks well-rested, for once."

"I... didn't dream." I stammered wonderingly, trying to wrap my mind around this unimaginable feat.

He smiled even bigger, scooting even closer to me on the bed, and leaning down to whisper in my ear, "Maybe I'm your good luck charm."

I felt myself grinning in return now.  "I think you might just be onto something there."  I slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, barely brushing our lips together, then pulling away slightly to tease him before diving back in for a deeper kiss.

After a minute, we pulled apart again, both breathing a little harder, our hearts beating faster.  I cuddled up to him, resting my head on his bare chest.

"You know, Will," I admitted, "now that I've finally figured out a way to keep the nightmares away, I don't think I can ever let you go."

"Aw, shucks," he said, feigning disappointment, "what a bummer.  Cuz ya know, I've been trying super hard to get the hell away from you."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally tell.  Well, too bad for you.  You're stuck with me now."

"Hm, then I guess I'll just have to make the best of the situation..."  He leaned in for another kiss, which I happily gave him.

When we broke apart again, he sighed exaggeratedly.  "I guess we're gonna hafta get up sometime, huh?  Ugh, I'm sure my whole cabin has been gossiping nonstop, since I never exactly showed up for bed last night."

"We have two options," I reasoned, "Option one: we get up and get dressed and go to breakfast and face all the giggles and teasing and whatnot–" he sighed again, "–or, option two: we put off having to deal with all of them, and instead we stay holed up in here all day long, all alone, and have a swell time."  I looked up at him to see a smirk on his face.  "And don't worry about sustenance, I've got plenty of snacks stashed away.  And anyway–" I yawned dramatically, "–I really think I need some more, um, bedrest.  You know.  Strictly for medical reasons."

"Well, when you put it that way," he drawled, "I guess you should stay here, and you should really have some professional supervision, to keep you from getting up to any shenanigans or whatever.  Plus, come to think of it, I haven't taken a sick day from work in ages.  So, I guess we both need to stay right here for the rest of the day.  For... medical.  Reasons."  He winked suggestively and put more sexual innuendo into those last two words than I had previously thought possible.

We spent the day allowing ourselves to forget that anyone else existed in the entire world besides each other, and that night, I slept dreamlessly again in his arms.