(Nico's POV)

Damn it.

Why did Will had to appear here just like this and mess everything up?

He always did though, there was no chance that you'd leave him alone for a few minutes without everything getting messed up. But in a good way, in a way that didn't hurt anyone. In the way you should mess things up. With Will everything was always like it was supposed to be, a great, good mess.

I know that I hurt him, and holy hell, I didn't ment to. Not really. A part of me, probably. But not really, that wasn't why I decided to talk to him even I shouldn't.

I just wanted to tell him that I didn't want to talk to him, or spend time with him at all, that I'd prefer if we could just ignore each other. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. I did know it wouldn't be that easy, but I went anyway.

Because he was so right, I did need him. So bad. And I missed him, I still do I guess. But I don't need him anymore, I can't afford needing anyone.

Because people will always leave you, and it's bad if you love them, it hurts if you love them, but when it's about people you need, desperately need, like air, then it kills you.

At least almost. Enough. Enough to never want to need someone, enough to avoid even getting at risk of this.

And it worked out so fine, no matter what he says, about being happy and winning - I can't even say he's wrong, chances are he's right - I'm alive.

Hella alive. Not happy, a loser for sure, and so deep down, my younger self could have jumped over me easily, but alive.

It's just that I sometimes don't feel alive.

Not when I'm sitting alone in the darkness and can't tell if it's for minutes or days. When I haven't slept in days, or for days and everything is dizzy and I eventually fall down and don't see a point in getting up. When it's just cold floor, cold air, everything cold.

Alive, but not living.

Even kissing. It never feels real, just like something you do.

Better then laying on the floor. Okay. Not really alive, not living.

I think that's why I talked to Will in first point, it was always so different with him.

I'm almost at home.

I don't even know why I still go here, it's not like anything would wait for me. I doubt my father would notice if I'd stop coming home for one or two weeks. Or months.

And even if, he probably wouldn't care. He stopped carrying. This and being alive. Just like me.

Probably that's why I still go home every day. I don't want to be like him, at least that. More alive, just more than him.

I wonder wether Will is still in the park, on the bench I left him on.

Maybe.

He is more. More than my father. More than me.

Still an idiot, still no one I want to trust, still to dangerous.

But more.

----------------------

He really is still sitting there.

I think Will is crying. Shit. I didn't ment to hurt him. Or feel bad about it. I didn't ment to feel anything at all.

I'm pretty close now, just a few steps from the bench he's sitting on, I can tell for sure now that he's crying, his feet on the edge of the bench, his face buried in his knees.

I sit down as quite as possible, he doesn't even notice that I'm here, next to him, until I start to awkwardly pet his back, already regretting that I didn't just went home.

He lifts his head and looks at me surprised, his blue eyes red from all the crying. Hell. Why did he had to move here?

And why does it, after all those years, feel so right to sit here next to him even though I know it just going to hurt even more.

'I - I shouldn't have - ' Will's voice sounds rough, there are still tears running down his face ' I mean, I was -' it's a pain to listen to him, stuttering around like this.

'You should shut up.' he does.

A part of me wants to wipe away the tears from his face, wants to lay my hands on his tan skin with all the freckles, wants to hold on forever - a part of me wants to run away.

I know, that's what I do - running. Keep running. It's a lot of running if you want to get through life without constantly getting hurt.

I think that's how most people die; wether to hurt to carry on or to exhausted from all the running.

But since it's all death in the end, who stops you from choosing the painful way? So I don't run and sit just next to Will and hope that he'll stop crying at some point, because if this isn't going to be very soon I might join him.

Happily he does stop. What means that we have to talk now I guess.

'Why are you doing this?' he ask, his voice is barely a whisper, but I sit so close to him it doesn't really matter, I can even feel him breathing.

'Doing what?'

'This. Everything. All alone.'

'Running.' I say 'Keep running.' You can say a lot about him, but Will usually understood what I wanted to say, as long as he wanted to. Apparently now he does.

'But, if you always keep running, how do you want to see all the beautiful things around you? You have to stop for them.' this answer is just so much him. That's what he'd say.

'Yes. But all these beautiful things, they won't last forever. They will go over and it will hurt even more to lose them.'

He is shaking his head lightly now, one of his golden curls falls into his eye. 'No. That's not the point. How could anything be beautiful if it would last forever? It would just hurt even more. Because at some point you would want it to end, but you can't, because it's made forever and you are so grateful for never having to say goodbye, and it hurts so bad that you don't see there's sometimes no need to say goodbye, and no need to hold on when something goes over, because the only thing that truly matters is stop running and see all the beauty flow by, and let it see you flow by. Not to last forever, to smile for this exact moment. And then for the next, and the next.'

I look at Will, he seems to be out of breath now, but he looks at me so intense, like he would dare me to tell him he's wrong.

Damn, I want to kiss him. Hold on.

But running is safe. Running is good.

And besides, it never said you have to run alone.