Solangelo One Shots

Breaking Down the Walls

This is an AU I thought of a while ago and really wanted to use, so here it is! It'll probably go on for a few parts.

Will's POV

At my side swung a sketchbook, the cover loose and torn in my paint splattered hands. The bell over the door chimed as I pushed it open, stepping over the threshold into the warmth of the coffee shop. There was soft music playing and the peaceful ambiance washed over me like waves over millions of grains of sand. The old wooden floors creaked under my feet as I set my sketchbook and pencil down on a rugged table, walking over to the counter. 

I gave the young woman a warm smile as my eyes roved over the menu. "Vanilla latte, please," I said, sliding the money across the rugged counter. In return I was handed a cup with foam bubbling over onto the porcelain sides. I slid back into my seat, flipping open my sketchbook and taking a sip of the warm, creamy drink and licking the foam from my upper lip. I looked for a subject for my drawing and my eyes landed on the musician nestled in the corner with nothing but a dim light illuminating the pages of music sitting on the spidery stand. I began to draw, capturing the delicate strands of black hair falling over his face, his nimble hands dancing across the strings of his guitar. I captured the aura around him, the aura of a man wrapped in secrecy.

 I found myself listening to his husky yet angelic voice, the sweet sounds of guitar strums sounding through the shop. I set down my pencil, my attention devoted to the musician, unable to tear away my eyes. He set down the guitar and I raised my hand, giving him a small wave. After a strange look I beckoned him over again and soon he was sitting in the chair across from mine, his fingers drumming out a steady rhythm on the wood. "I'm Will," I said, offering a smile. 

"Nico." He was stoic, eyes filled with curiosity staring into mine. Other than the small hint of curiosity he was impossible to read, as if there were invisible walls surrounding every side of his brain.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" He frowned, sizing me up as if he was trying to read the essence of my soul with a single glance.

"Black, if you really wanted to."

"I'll be right back." My chair scraped against the floor and as I stood at the counter waiting for a steaming black coffee I glanced back at the table, at the boy sitting in the chair with the messy black hair. He was quiet, staring out of the grey glass window contentedly. He wasn't impatient of fidgety like I would be, but he smiled softly at the surrounding silence. It was through this, how his smile shone in his hazelnut eyes and how his walls seemed to be down, if even just a small bit, in the quiet of the shop, that I knew there was someone special sitting at my table. 

As soon as I arrived back at the table, with coffee splashing at the sides of the cup his walls were back up and I lost the glimpse of a person I had seen before, the person who smiled at silence. I handed the coffee to him and he took a long sip, peering at me from across the top of the cup. "I liked your music," I said after quietly watching him drink. "Your voice- it's beautiful."

"Thanks," Nico said, setting down the cup. 

"It sounds like what an angel would sound like. It's quiet, but it holds so much volume, too. There's passion in your voice, and I think this world needs someone who can sing with so much passion, like you can." This earned a small smile from Nico and when he glanced into my eyes I could see that some of the walls had begun to crumble, giving me a tiny opening. 

"You really know how to talk to people, don't you?"

"I've been told I'm good at it," I said, smiling softly. "Besides, it's all true. You're amazing. Have you always been a musician?" He shrugged. 

"I've loved it as long as I can remember," he said. "It helps with everything. It's one of those things you know you can always escape to, no matter where you are or what just happened. No matter how I'm feeling, I know that I can pick up my guitar and everything will get better." I felt myself smiling as he spoke, his words carrying just as much depth as his music. In his words I could begin to hear emotion, the raw feelings that came from your heart and flowed through your veins. "Do you have any hobbies?" he asked. "Something you can escape to?"

"I'm an artist," I responded. "Here." I flipped open my sketchbook and etched onto the page was the simple pencil drawing of Nico, his guitar in his hands and his mouth ajar. Even on the page I could almost hear the notes flowing out of his mouth like a river, pouring out of him as his fingers picked at the strings. 

Nico drew the sketchbook closer to him, and his mouth turned up into the most genuine smile I had seen from him yet. "This is me." It was a statement instead of a question, the words soaked with wonder. "This is incredible. It looks just like me." More of the wall was beginning to crack, offering me a glance at the world beyond the brick and mortar that protected him. "I don't even know how you can do that. I can barely do a stick figure."

"Come closer," I urged, flipping to a new page and grasping the pencil. "I'll show you." Nico's eyes were wide as he inched his chair closer to me, his thigh brushing up against mine. 

"You really think you can show me how to draw? I'm awful, seriously."

"No one's good without practice," I responded. "Besides, we can keep working on it. We can have more than just this afternoon." I held my breath, waiting for a response to my suggestion to more time spent together, outside of this small corner of the world. 

"Great," he said. "I've always wanted to know how to draw." 

"Perfect," I said, my body sighing. "Here, take this." I slipped my pencil into his hand and he began to sketch out a crude circle, the line wobbly and far too light. It was only when he added a shaggy mop of what appeared to be blonde hair I realized that the crude circle was supposed to be me.  

"Am I doing alright?" he asked, turning to me with wide eyes. "I told you I was bad." I laughed, slipping my hand over his. 

"How about we do this," I suggested. "Is it okay?" After pausing for a split second he nodded and I guided his hand across the page until the rough outline of my face began to take shape, my freckled nose and perpetual smile. "This is good," Nico said. "This is really good. I like it."

"I'm glad," I said. "If we spend enough time together, you could be the next van Gogh in no time."

It was dark when we walked out of the coffee shop, talking and laughing. We had sat at the table for hours, sketching side by side but it had felt like minutes and as I stared at him in the glow of a streetlamp, lit up like an angel, I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to bring him back to my tiny apartment and spend the night teaching him to draw. When we were finished with that he would teach me how to sing and play the guitar and after that I would learn something new and teach that to him so I would have an excuse to spend all the time in the world with him. But Nico was yawning and I could tell that our time was coming to a close so just before we said goodbye I blurted out what I had been too nervous to say for hours. "I want to see you again," I told him.

"I thought that was obvious," he said. "You have to finish teaching me how to draw."

"Not like that," I said. "I mean, I want to do that, too. But I want to see you again, like on a date. I can bring you to my favorite places, and I can buy you dinner. Because I like you, Nico, and I want to give us a try." I was holding my breath, waiting for a response. Something had changed, his mouth going from the happy smile it had held seconds ago to a look of shock and surprise and in his eyes I could see him beginning to rebuild the walls I had tried so hard to get past. My heart pounded for a few seconds before he relaxed, the corners of his mouth turning up. 

"I'd love that," he said softly. I grinned. 

"Does tomorrow at three work for you?" 

"It's perfect." He was beaming, and I was sure my smile was as wide as my face. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow." We split ways but I watched as he walked into the distance with his guitar on his back until I couldn't see him anymore. It was only when he had disappeared completely from my sight I started walking again, thoughts running through my head. Eventually one surfaced from the mass, the memory of the wall Nico had built around himself. I had broken it down, just a little bit but it still wrapped around him, making him impossible to truly understand. I needed to break down the wall around his mind, discover what lay behind it if I were to discover who Nico di Angelo truly was.

Hi guys, I hope you liked that one! I've been looking forward to writing it for a few weeks, and I think it's going to be two or possibly three parts. 

Nina