Chapter Text
Nico di Angelo was supposed to be enemies with Will Solace.
They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to argue.
Actually, they were forced to, but whatever.
Falling for him was not the plan.
— — —
Nico was 8, moving into a small neighborhood in Austin, Texas. He'd moved here from Venice, Italy, with his papa, Hades, because his mama and his sister, Bianca died in a car crash. He'd been excited, visiting another country for the first time, but the thoughts in the back of his mind nagged him. What if his new classmates and friends hated him?
Upon reaching there, he ran into the backyard to take a look around, but a firm force pulled him back.
He looked back. It was papa. Was it just him, or was his papa starting to get meaner, as if mama and Bianca passing affected him more than it affected Nico? He wasn't sure. Papa wasn't like this before. He used to read stories to him and bake him cookies.
“Niccolò. Go unpack your bags first. I don't want you to put a burden on me, your mother and sister passing is already enough for me.” his papa demanded.
“Yes, papa.” he answered. He hated being called by his full name. It reminded him of when his classmates used to bully him for having a long name back in Italy. He preferred being called Nico.
After some unpacking and regret of packing so many Mythomagic cards, he finally went outside. It was a peaceful and calm neighborhood. We wondered if he could make any friends.
Of course he couldn't, what was he thinking? He could never make any friends. But it wasn't like he was the quiet or socially awkward kid. He was quite loud and talkative; it's just usually he was labelled as the ‘obsessed with a bunch of useless cards kid’.
Just then, he met someone's eyes. It was some blonde kid. Upon quinting his eyes—his eyesight wasn't the best—he realized the kid was waving at him. He rushed to wave back. The kid came closer and Nico took a closer look at him. His eyes were pale blue and endless with beauty. He had freckles splattered across his nose and had smooth, tan skin.
“Hey!” the kid grinned “I'm William, but you can call me Will. What's your name?”
“I'm Nico,” he replied, with just the same energy.
“That's cool! You just moved here? From where?” Will asked.
“From Italy. I was raised there, but the USA looks so cool!” Nico beamed.
Will told him all about the USA, and Nico talked for a while about how cool it was in Italy.
Just then, a man—looking like an older version of Will, probably his dad— put a firm hand on Will's shoulder. “Italy you say?” he asked, eyeing Nico up and down. Nico nodded slowly. Was it a big deal?
“Will, you heard grandpa's stories about the war. Italians are all fascists, idiots, a bunch of liars. I don't want you interacting with any of these Italian people. And you,” he jerked a finger at Nico, “will never talk with my child again. Understood?”
Both children nodded hastily. Nico's eyes brimmed with tears. He wasn't a liar, was he? The man also called him a fascist. What did that mean? He ran inside his house before any more fuss could be made.
When he told his father, hoping for some comfort, he was yelled at. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know he was supposed to hate the Americans, infact, he didn't even know the neighbors were Americans. What if were from Italy like him?
Regardless, he ran to his room, tears streaming down his face, wishing Bianca and mama would just appear right now. But he knew they couldn't. They never would.
Sitting on the floor on his bedroom, he cried, hoping his tears would flood his room and carry him away.