Solangelo One Shots

Just Kids

Nico's POV

He's lying on the couch, the low glow of the tv lighting his face. His arm brushes up against a fast-food wrapper, his leg propped up on the arm of the couch. Maybe he should get up, clean his and Will's cramped apartment, change out of his stained sweats and tee for when Will gets home. But he's still wallowing in the feeling of being recently fired, and his brain hurts just thinking about it. Not a good fit, they had said after he'd been working there for six months, offering to come in when they were understaffed and staying late if they needed it. Not a good fit. It makes anger flare up in his chest and he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. The light from the tv is making his head hurt but the remote is too far away to turn off so he sinks down lower into the couch, burying his face in one of their fraying pillows. It lessens the throb in his head so he keeps it there, fading in and out of sleep with the low sound and dull glow of the tv in the background. 

He shoots up when he hears the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway leaking into the dark studio apartment. Nico's hair is sticking up on top of his head and his shirt slips down to reveal the sharp groove of his collarbone. He rubs at his eyes as Will slips inside, slumped down in his waiter uniform that constantly smells slightly of meat. He leans against the wall as he kicks off his shoes, stretching out his arms above his head and letting his head fall against the wall. Nico frowns, sitting up straighter. Will didn't get off of work until eleven; how long had he been asleep for? 

"It's a mess in here," Will groans, slumping over in one of the ripped armchairs sitting around the tv. "Did you do anything today?" 

"I just got fired, Will, let me wallow for a few days." 

"You could have cleaned up a little. This is your mess." Nico feels a white-hot flash of anger in his chest and out of nowhere, he's more energized than he has been all day. 

"Well, I didn't." 

"Did you look for a new job?" 

"No." He pushes himself up, his muscles protesting after laying down all day, making his way past empty pizza boxes and dirty clothes to the fridge. It hums as he opens it, his eyes scanning over a half-bag of deli sliced cheese, expired milk, vegetables that look like they're slumping over. There's a smell coming from somewhere deep inside, a puddle of water on one of the shelves. He settles on one of the slices of cheese, cramming it into his mouth and swallowing it whole. "Will you get off my back for one second?" The rage in his chest is pulsing and suddenly two years of living a working life, conflicting schedules, and falling behind on bills catch up to them. 

"I can't get off your back, Nico. You do know we're not kids anymore, right? That we have to pay the rent, and we have to buy clothes and food?"

"I get that, Will." His voice comes out in a low growl and he grabs a half-gallon of chocolate milk from the fridge, chugging it despite the slightly chunky quality. It's only two days expired. 

"You could at least take things a little more seriously. You do know we're behind on our rent, right?" 

"I know, Will." 

"And you just lost your job?" 

"I know, Will." 

"And you didn't do anything today."

"Can you lay off?" He tosses the chocolate milk into the trash and it lands with a dull thud, rattling the bottom of the can. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the door of the fridge as he glares at Will. Will is glaring right back, his face shadowy in the darkness of the room. It makes the bags underneath his eyes blend in more than normal but they're still prominent features on his face, half the size of his eyes. They look like bruises, injuries from not getting enough sleep, and working two jobs. They both have them, almost as permanent as a scar. The byproduct of exhaustion that's forming the rift between then, the exhaustion that's making them fight. Again.