Stuck in the Closet

Chapter Four

G block again, back in the closet. Nico had French this block, Will learned. He was already in there when Will showed up, bent in half at the waist. He didn't look up as Will entered.

"Whatcha doing?" Will asked.

"Concentrating," Nico mumbled. Will saw he had a pen in his hand—was he drawing on his leg? Leaning forward, Will peered at Nico's hand with squinted eyes. He was holding a pen or marker, drawing on the skin visible through the gaping holes in his jeans. Will wanted to go closer and see what he was drawing, but he didn't want to snap Nico's focus. So he sat, fidgeting, and watched.

Nico's brows were furrowed in concentration, eyes intense and unblinking. His eyebrows were really nice, Will noticed. Nico chewed on his lip as he adjusted his grip on the pen. 

He moved suddenly, jerking his arm back and shaking out his hands. Will flinched, embarrassed, but Nico didn't seem to have noticed his staring. He cleared his throat.

"Are you drawing on your leg?"

Nico blinked up at him. "...Yes."

Will frowned. "You know marker ink is carcinogenic, right?"

Nico just looked at him.

"That means it can cause cancer," Will clarified.

"I know what it means," Nico said. "This is a tattoo pen."

"Oh."

Well, this was awkward.

Will cleared his throat again. "What are you drawing?"

Nico swung his leg so it was facing Will, and Will saw the intricate, flowery patterns Nico had drawn through the holes in his jeans. He stared, mouth agape.

"That's incredible!" he said once he found his voice.

"Thanks." Nico's voice was bland, bored.

"I didn't know you were this good," Will continued.

"How would you?"

Will made a face, then shrugged. "I would get a stick-and-poke from you," he said, steering the subject away from his social stumbles.

Nico looked at him, eyes amused. "You would get a stick-and-poke?"

"Yeah, totally!" Will didn't question Nico's skepticism. "Well, maybe with local anesthesia."

Nico snorted. "Or you could let me draw on you."

"Wait, would you really?"

"Sure," Nico said with a shrug. "What do you want?" He grabbed a black-and-white pencil case and began rummaging through it.

Will pressed his lips together, thought about it. "I'm not sure," he decided. "Surprise me."

"Give me your arm." Nico beckoned with hand, and Will complied. He held out his arm, palm up, bracing himself for the contact. With gentle, icy fingers, Nico turned his arm over.

It was a struggle not to squirm under the tickly brush of the tattoo pens. Will clenched his fist and bit his lip, willing himself to remain still. Nico's skillful hands maneuvered the markers over Will's skin. His brow furrowed, face scrunching in concentration. Will noticed for the first time Nico's eyelashes—long and dark, tangled up at the corners of his eyes. He imagined for a moment reaching up, separating them with the tip of a finger.

What? Will shook his head, as though the movement would physically dispel the thought from his mind. Nico caught the movement and glanced up through those eyelashes, pretty face frowning. He raised one eyebrow in a question.

...Crap. A moment of confused eye contact. Will smiled apologetically. Nico blinked. "Hmph," he said. He went back to drawing.

Will's face burned. The only thing preventing him from slapping himself was Nico's hand around his wrist. They passed about five more minutes in silence before Nico straightened and capped his pens. "How's that?"

Will stared at his arm in amazement—a gorgeous, photorealistic sunflower crawled up and wrapped around his forearm. Too pretty. If he ever got a tattoo, Will thought, it would be like this. He also started to understand Nico's attitude about school—why bother with physics if you could be doing this instead?

"Well?" Nico asked, drawing Will out of his stupor.

"I-I love it," he stammered. "It's beautiful. Thank you. Wow, thank you."

Nico ducked his head shyly. Once he received the compliment he'd more or less asked for, he didn't seem to know what to do with it. "Sure," he muttered.

Shit. He was gonna have to stop being so endearing, or Will might actually melt.

Nico cleared his throat, but Will didn't miss the pink dusting across his face. Well, there he goes. Melted. "Anyway."

"How's pre-calc?" Will asked, steering the conversation back toward something familiar, something they could both deal with.

Nico rolled his eyes. "Dr. Moore is a lovely person. I'll leave it at that."

Will laughed, understanding Nico's meaning immediately. "I'm glad you phrase it like that," he said. "Some people just say, 'She's awkward so I hate her.'"

"Well, I don't hate her 'cause she's awkward," Nico said. "I hate her 'cause she can't teach for shit, so I have to ask strangers in janitors' closets to teach me instead."

Will placed his hand against his heart dramatically, ready to risk it all. "Stranger? Is that all I am to you?" Please laugh, he begged silently. Please laugh.

Nico didn't laugh, but he let out a kind of amused/exasperated huff. "Hmph." Will decided to count that as a win. "It takes a lot more than a few conversations in a closet for me to call someone a friend," Nico said. "Are you willing to do what it takes?"

This was good. They could banter. Banter was good. "No," said Will. "And never ask me for help with math again."

"Okay, I take it back," Nico said quickly. "We're besties."

A smile bloomed across Will's face. Then Lila's voice floated through his head—It's like, 'Look at me!!' So unnecessary. Will hadn't said anything. No, Will had agreed. And Nico was his friend—he'd said it himself, even if it was just a joke. It wasn't fair. Will's smile had frozen.

Nico glanced up at him, a timid smile hesitating on his lips. Waiting for Will to say something, do something. Will dimly realized that this was the first time Nico had actually smiled at him. He noticed the beginnings of the dimples he had seen earlier that day, and another wave of guilt washed over him, along with a strange warmth. He shoved the feeling down and returned Nico's smile. The other boy ducked his head. Will opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't sure what—but before he could make a fool of himself again, the bell rang. He watched in silence, mouth agape, as Nico gathered his things and left without another word.