#happy birthday to you *dies* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 8 months

Text

The message comes from the constantly-running humidifier in the darkest corner of his cabin.

(It’s an eyesore. That’s why it’s there. It’s a bright, shiny pink, decorated with painted yellow suns and silver stars and random other doodles. At the bottom, there’s a messily painted signature next to a black heart. Will presented it to him proudly one random day, beaming that stupidly wide grin of his: “I made it in Arts and Crafts! It’ll help with your lungs, swearsies.”)

(It works wonders. When he breathes and feels like the air won’t settle in his chest, he stands close to it and clears up. When he’s hacking up a lung and smelling the phantom scent of acrid, monster air and the bronze staleness of his own recycled breath, it clears his throat. When he wakes up hyperventilating, eyes wide and unseeing, the soft bubbling of the steaming water and rhythmic pulsing of the glowing light gives him something to focus on.)

(If anyone asks, Nico threw it out the day he got it.)

He startles when his name is called, dropping the breastplate he was polishing with a clang. The sound makes him wince, and the Iris message flicker.

“This a good time, kiddo?”

Nico’s tongue feels like lead. Sally Jackson watches him carefully from the projection, small smile on her face, greying hair curling around her temples. Her brown eyes remind him of Bianca and how she would sometimes look at him, when he was fidgety and overwhelmed. Patient. It doesn’t help with the ache slowly spreading from his chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson,” he manages, finally. His voice is more of a croak than anything.

Her smile widens, even as her face turns chastising.

“Sally, Nico.”

“…Mrs. Sally.”

She laughs, although Nico hadn’t meant it as a joke. Her laughter is twinkling and calming, like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Nico’s shoulders relax without him realising, and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in too long.”

Nico winces. The last time he’d seen her was an Iris message similar to this, only her eyes had been red-rimmed, and she hadn’t been smiling. Nico had pushed past the lump in his throat to report that he hadn’t heard anything about her missing son, either, although he’d promised he was looking, and then a few weeks later he felt like the worst person ever when Percy showed up in the Little Tiber and he said nothing. He’d clenched a drachma in his hands for hours after, guilt eating him alive.

Sally looks fine, now. He fights the urge to apologise — it would only upset her. His guilt is something he simply gets to live with.

“I’ve been okay,” he says finally. She hums. “Uh, busy.”

“Saving the world again, I hear,” she replies, grin turning wry. “Carrying a forty-foot statue across the world.”

Nico flushes. He wonders who told her, Percy or Annabeth. Or both, or maybe someone else, even. He knows the Jacksons’ place is something of a refuge, in this day and age. He’s not sure how he feels about other people talking about him like he’s a hero or something. He had a job to do, and he barely managed still.

“That was Reyna’s quest.”

Sally hums again. Her eyes never leave him, piercing and soft as they are.

“Happy Birthday, Nico.”

For the second time in ten minutes, he jumps out of his skin. It’s been a while since he’s heard those words — he forgot that Sally is one of the few people who knows his birthday, that he told her, two years ago, when he’d crawled through Percy’s window when he was sure the boy was at school because he was bleeding and half-delirious and didn’t know where else to go, so soon after the Titan War. So soon after ditching camp, skin crawling at the stares of the other demigods, knowing how strange he was to them. Sally hadn’t asked questions. She’d cleaned the empousa scratch and wrestled him into staying for lunch, soft voice and kind, calloused hand prying answers out of him he hadn’t expected to give.

(She was aghast when she found out he was walking the streets on his own birthday, celebrations not even crossing his mind. Even more so when she noticed his cold-chapped hands and thin, ripped jeans. “Thirteen, you know, is a big deal,” she’d said, and when he’d insisted on leaving before Percy got home she sent him out with snacks and a pair of gloves.)

He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“How’d you celebrate, today?” Her grin is wide and creases her forehead, eyes nearly shut. Her smile is identical to her son’s, only with less of the trouble attached. “First year at camp as a full timer! Annabeth has told me that Chiron usually brings you all to the city to celebrate, it must have been fun.”

Nico avoids her gaze, shrugging. He picks at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt.

“I didn’t — um, we didn’t do that.”

He can practically feel the face she makes, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“…Something else, then? How did you spend your day?”

Nico shrugs. “Stayed in the infirmary.”

He looks up just in time to see her face crease in alarm.

“You’re hurt?”

“Oh, no, I’m — I’m not —” He stumbles over his words, rushing to assure her. “I’m not hurt. I was just cutting bandages, helping out. My friend —” his face glows, he knows it does, he pretends it doesn’t — “my friend says I have a magic touch. He’s full of it, because he actually does have a magic touch and does not need my help organizing nectar bottles, but. He’s stubborn. And annoying. And too lazy to organize it himself, probably.”

Sally’s grinning again. This time, the expression has just as much mischief as her son’s does, and despite himself Nico flushes darker.

“Sounds like your friend just wants your company.”

“Or something.”

She watches him for a moment longer. Nico fidgets. He wonders what he’s supposed to say, if there’s an etiquette to talking to ex-crushes’ mothers who kind of mother you a little bit, too. Then he wonders who the hell he’s supposed to ask about that.

“Why didn’t you tell your friends about your birthday?”

It’s an odd thing for Nico to hear. ‘Your friends’. He has those now, he supposes. Will, and Nico, and Lou Ellen. Kayla. Austin. Cecil. Percy and Annabeth, even, and of course Hazel and Reyna and Jason. Maybe even Piper and Leo and Hedge. Mellie, too, ruffles his hair when she breezes by him, and Grover grins and waves when he catches his eye. Tyson beams at him when he visits camp. Sometimes Rachel picks the lock of his cabin for no reason and sighs dramatically in a corner until Nico snaps at her, then she grins and drags him off to do something stupid. If Nico thinks about it, about the list of people who insert themselves in his life, now, his head starts to hurt. When did he become so social?

Nico shrugs. “They’re gonna — make a big deal out of it. Will’ll probably try to — sing to me, or something.” He snorts just thinking about it. “He’ll break my ear drums. He’s a horrible singer.”

“I see.”

“Or, worse, he’ll write a poem or something. And it will be bad. The worst part about it, actually, is that he’s really quite good at poetry, but he thinks it’s funnier to write bad poetry, so he does and he recites it all the time and drives everybody crazy. One time I read a good one he wrote and he got all embarrassed because he is a walking indovinello, that’s what he is, let me tell you —”

“Hm.”

“— and Cecil, gods, don’t even get me started, Cecil would do something stupid like — like — steal me a car, or something. Even though I’m not even old enough to drive! And Lou Ellen would probably help him. And who even knows what ridiculous thing Kayla and Austin would plan, and, Zeus’ beard, I know Jason would start crying about something —”

“Nico,” Sally interrupts, gently, grinning, “it sounds like your friends would be very happy to celebrate with you.”

“They would be — overbearing,” he huffs. “Well — not Reyna. Or Hazel. Maybe a little Hazel, but mostly not.”

“Have you told them?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“It just seems — off, I guess,” he admits softly. “I didn’t have to tell Bianca about my birthday. She knew. She —”

His voice breaks, and he looks down, embarrassed. He swipes the tear from his eye and hopes Sally doesn’t see, even though he knows she does. Sometimes he feels like the record his mother has that was so thin and played-out that it skipped on every track and always made the needle get stuck. She was too attached to throw it away and get a new one. Nico is that track, he thinks, worn out and bumpy and always making the needle stick, always coming back to the same thing. He used to complain every time his mother brought it out. He wonders how many people must roll their eyes at his own skipping, repeating track.

“Maybe you don’t tell them, then,” Sally says, hushed. Nico finally gathers the courage to look back up at her, and she doesn’t look annoyed at all — kind, only, and determined. “You mentioned your friend in the infirmary. Do they still have patient files?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Yes? I think so.”

“Do you have one?”

Nico grimaces, remembering his first stay in the infirmary where Will left forms out for him to fill and Nico balled them up and chucked them at him. Will had chucked them back on reflex before remembering Nico was his patient, blurting out a red-faced “Sorry! Gods, I’m so sorry!” that had Nico laughing until he cried, as Will cussed him out, practically glowing a bright tomato-red. They never did get back around to filling those out, despite the numerous times Nico has landed himself back under Will’s dorky stethoscope. The medic must be stuffing the injury reports in a random file somewhere.

“I. Will definitely get one.”

“Put your information in,” Sally suggests. “Percy’s told me about the head medic in passing — Will, I think? He mentioned he’s quite thorough, I imagine he checks the files regularly.”

Nico nods. He does. They get messy and cluttered fast, what with the sheer number of maimings and stabbings et cetera, so once a month Will sits on the floor in the middle of the room and organizes everything in some inane system that only makes sense to him. If Nico fills out a form and stuffs it in his file, Will will definitely notice.

“That’s — doable.”

Sally smiles. It’s kind of radiant and hard to look at, and Nico feels himself smiling back on reflex, if a little shyer.

“Good! Oh, Nico, I’m so glad. I’ve worried about you, kiddo. I’m sure Percy’s tired of me asking.”

Nico whips his head back up to stare at her, jaw dropping.

“You…ask about me?”

“Of course.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’d have to do it less if you visited more than once or twice a year.“

Nico opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn’t quite know how to say that he had no idea that he was welcome — that she wanted his visits, rather than dreaded them.

“I made cake,” she says casually, like she can sense his turmoil. “Blue, of course. The best kind.”

Nico snorts. She winks at him.

“I’d hoped I would see you today. But cake lasts, you know. It will still be good tomorrow, if you don’t have any other plans.”

He imagines asking Argus to drive him into town — Will has still banned him from shadow travel, although he has begrudgingly allowed other “less draining” magic, not that Nico has to listen to him or anything — and pulling up to the apartment in Manhattan. Climbing up the rickety fire escape; or, this time, knocking on the door. He imagines Sally’s wide smile, maybe even Paul Blofis’ charming grin, her kiss on both cheeks and strong hand guiding him into the warm kitchen.

He swallows roughly. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Consider it done,” she says lightly. “Come over when you have time, I’ll be home all day. I look forward to seeing you, Nico.”

Nico smiles at her. Some of the ever-present ache in his chest lessens. “Me, too.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

He swipes through the message, dissolving the connection. The billowing steam from the humidifier returns to its usual soft plumes, and Nico stands there for a few moments, breathing deeply, imagining it settling in his lungs, clearing out the lingering smoke he imagines has taken home in them. He breathes in, breathes out, and walks, trance-like, to his dresser, tugging on his PJs and feeling like he’s floating.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of sweet blue cake and sweeter laughter ringing through a small kitchen.

#i had so much fun with this truly nico i love you #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #nico #nico do angelo #sally jackson #nico di angelo & sally jackson #happy birthday nico!!!!#fluff #i feel like i should tag will 💀 he’s not in this but nico talks about him so damn much omg #pining nico di angelo #solangelo #will/nico #idk what else to tag i’m not familiar enough with this fandom’s tagging system yet #i’ve only been lurking #anyways #my writing #fic #longpost

111 notes · View notes

formulawonu · 1 year

Text

mingyu & shopping

summary: best friend!mingyu is arguably the best thing that has ever happened to you but everyone else is in love with him so you have the lucky privilege of humbling him all the time

a/n: i wanted to post this on mingyu day but i clearly didn’t make it :// just a small blurb for our birthday boy. belated happy birthday, gyu. i hope you’re smiling everyday <3 also this isnt proofread sorry! also thank u for 500 followerssssss <3 <3 <3

wc: 605 😸

“not everything looks good on you, kim mingyu. reel it in a little.”

—and that makes lie number three you’ve told your best friend today. the first was telling him how tiring it was seeing his face every morning when he picked you up (it was actually the best part of your otherwise dreary day) and the second was you telling him you didn’t care if he asked this one girl out (it bothered you more than it should have).

mingyu makes eye contact with you in the mirror and scoffs at the look on your face. “i don’t know why i always bring you along with me. you never say anything looks good on me.” he starts angling himself and squinting at the mirror, probably trying to figure out if he really didn’t look good in the outfit.

it was funny to you that mingyu took everything you told him to heart. whether it be teasing him on how clumsy he could be to how much of a closet dork he was, his reactions to it all always made you laugh. you befriended mingyu in the fifth grade because you were the lone person who had the guts to tell him being tall wasn’t as big of an advantage as he thought it was; you thought it just made him more susceptible to being bossed around to do favors for everyone else shorter than him. he bickered back, saying you were just jealous because you were shorter than him. you replied saying you didn’t want to have his height if it meant not being able to handle the truth of the matter.

that was the first time someone wasn’t praising mingyu for the things he was simply born with. he thought you were being real and you thought he was cute. it was the perfect dynamic to becoming best friends.

“that’s what best friends are for,” you say. you flash him a smile and he rolls his eyes. “you know i’m hopelessly in love with you regardless of how ugly you look in that sweater anyway.”

your best friend groans then turns away from the mirror to face you. he starts striking the silliest poses at you (still managing to look good, you add in the back of your head.) he sends you a genuine smile. “i know. and i love you too.”

your heart flutters even when you know he doesn’t mean it in the way you wished he would. you continue to watch him try on clothes, happily content with wasting away your saturday afternoon like this.

“are you excited for our date tonight?” he asks you as he pays for his clothes at the register.

“i’m always excited when you’re paying.” you reply.

mingyu jokingly frowns. “sometimes i feel like you’re just using me for my money.”

“okay, but who else will put up with you?”

he reaches over and pinches your cheek, knowing you hate it when he does that. you attempt to swat his hand away but he catches it and interlocks your fingers. the cashier looks at the both of you and smiles as she hands over his bag of clothes and receipt. mingyu takes it with his free hand. “you two are so cute. enjoy the rest of your day!” you’re about to protest but mingyu simply says thank you and pulls you out of the store.

as you walk down the street with your best friend, still hand in hand, you let yourself revel in the simplicity of the moment. this would do for now – maybe forever – as long as it meant always having kim mingyu by your side.

371 notes · View notes