🫧🏹💝🧸🌟

James: WAIT, they don't love you like I love you, WAIT!!!!

Will shoots him an exasperated look. “I know,” he says, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth before speaking because he’s disgusting, “just look at the company I keep. Revolting.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. He dodges, laughing through the pain when he slams his knee against the rickety table in his attempt to flinch away. Nico smiles, satisfied.

“That’s what you get for being a basic bitch.”

“That is not what I get for being a basic bitch! That’s what I get for falling for the biggest grouch at camp!”

Despite himself, Nico flushes, ears going as red as the plastic spoon hanging out of his boyfriend’s mouth. He busies himself with his cone, looking anywhere but at bright blue eyes and a wide, teasing smirk.

“I can’t believe I let myself be seen with you.”

“…Baby.”

Nico shivers involuntarily at the sugar-sweet rumble of Will’s voice, the dragging twang and dropped octave. He meets Will’s eyes like his head was dragged upright with a magnet, melting faster than his ice cream at the heated look he finds there.”

“What,” he manages, well aware his voice cracks and choosing to ignore it. It’s one thing to die of mortification, it’s a whole other thing to go without any dignity at all. He will not be so weak to one godsdamn pet name — he’s the Ghost King.

(Even if the pet name is accompanied by a warm hand on his wrist and fanning gold eyelashes.)

(He has standards.)

(And a reputation!)

(…Gods, though.)

(Will looks good in a tank top.)

“Nothin’,” Will says, holding his hands up in false surrender, “I jus’ think it’s real funny —” he sets down his ice cream, patting his face with a napkin — “that you put on this whole grouch an’ grumble routine, darlin’ —” his voice drops low to a whisper, and Nico leans forward without meaning to, slowly meeting him across the sticky table —“‘cause anyone with eyes can see —” he tilts his face and Nico inhales sharply, lips barely brushing his with every word — “how far-gone badly you are for me.”

“Gods, you’re full of yourself,” Nico gasps, and lets the ice cream fall from his hands and splat on the table as he busies them with sliding into Will’s hair, yanking him close, and proving him absolutely, undoubtedly right.

He tastes like vanilla.