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TW: Talk of suicide and mental health
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We were lying side by side, the room quiet except for the distant hum of the city below. Nico was on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely around my waist. I was tracing idle patterns along his stomach, my fingertip following the lines of his abs.
"Nico?" I asked quietly.
"Mm?" he hummed.
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting heavy in my chest.
"What... happened to your mom? You don't talk about her."
His body went still.
I felt it immediately—the subtle tension, the way his chest lifted sharply before he exhaled. He swallowed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, not really looking at anything.
"She... uh... she ended her own life," he said quietly.
My heart dropped, I didn't say anything yet.
I lifted my head to look at him, but his expression was distant, like he'd slipped somewhere far away.
"I was young," he continued, voice steady but hollow. "Really young. Sometimes I try not to remember exactly how old I was. It was right before my twelfth birthday... I believe."
I stayed silent, afraid that if I spoke I might break something fragile.
"She was going through a lot," he said. "My parents had a complicated marriage.
She was from Italy. Her family married her off young—too young.
I think she was fifteen when it happened.
My father was eighteen, already part of the life.
Her parents were desperate for money, his parents forced him.
It was a business deal. She didn't choose any of it. "
My fingers curled slightly against his skin.
"She was smart," he went on. "She read constantly. She knew things. She understood the world better than people gave her credit for. But she didn't have family here. America felt cold to her. Lonely."
His jaw tightened.
"Depression took over. She struggled with pregnancy for years. She wanted a child, but when it didn't happen, it destroyed her. Eventually, she told my father he could be with other women." He paused. "One of them got pregnant quickly."
I sucked in a quiet breath.
"She didn't blame him," he said. "She blamed herself. But being alone all the time... it... it broke her."
He finally turned his head toward me, eyes dark and tired. Sad.
"When I was born, she was happy. For a while. She did everything with me. She loved me deeply. She was a good mother. A good person." His voice softened. "She didn't belong in this world."
I rested my cheek against his chest.
"That's why," he said quietly, "I will never force you into anything. That's why I need you to choose me. She didn't get that choice, Daria. And it destroyed her."
Tears stung my eyes.
"Nico..." I whispered. "I do choose you. I'm so sorry. That must have been so hard."
He nodded once.
"It was," he said. "But I didn't find her. Lesio did. He told my father." He paused. "Papa blamed himself for a long time. I think he believed he failed her. But I don't think anyone could have saved her."
I didn't know how to fix it. So I held him like I could keep him here. Like I could somehow, take away some of his pain.
"She used to sing to me in Italian," he murmured. "I don't even remember the words anymore. Just the way her voice sounded when she thought I was asleep."
Silence settled between us, heavy but intimate.
He inhaled slowly, then reached for my hand and guided it to his side.
My fingers brushed warm skin... then raised ink.
Italian.
"This one," he said quietly.
I traced the letters gently. "What does it mean?"
His throat worked. He didn't look at me when he answered.
"Sempre con me. Always with me."
He smiled a little.
"She used to say it to me," he chuckled softly, hurt in his voice. "Every night. Like if she said it enough times... she'd never really leave."
My chest cracked open. Nico was far from being an emotional man. But the sound of his voice when he spoke, broke something in me.
"I put it where I could feel it," he added. "So I'd never forget her voice. Forget her words. I promised myself I'd never be the reason someone felt trapped."
He was quiet for a long moment after that, like he was deciding whether he was ready to say the rest.
"By the last year of school," he said slowly, "when I met you... I already knew what was coming."
I lifted my head slightly, listening.
"I knew I'd have to follow the family business," he continued. "I wasn't ready. Not after seeing what it did to her. I didn't know every detail, but I knew enough to be afraid of it."
His jaw tightened.
"Before I turned eighteen, she had wrote me a letter to open on my birthday."
My chest tightened instantly.
"In the letter, she told me to keep my head high. To be proud of who I was." His voice dropped. "She told me not to worry... because I was stronger than she ever was."
I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes.
"She knew," he said. "She knew that once I graduated, everything would change. That I wouldn't just be her son anymore. I'd be... this. It was my destiny, since the day they had me."
His hand flexed at his side.
"That's why I couldn't focus on school. That's why I couldn't focus on anything. It felt like I was counting down to losing my damn self."
He finally looked at me then.
"And it hurt too much to remember her," he admitted quietly. "Until I met you."
My breathing went shallow. The tears rolled.
"You were the first thing that felt soft," he said. "You didn't look at me like I was already gone."
His thumb brushed my skin, soft.
"You made me want to stay. Pushed me to do better, though little Daria didn't know ... she saved me... from myself."
I lifted my head and kissed his chest gently, right over his heart. My hand lifted to hold his.
"Your mom. She was lucky to have you," I said softly.
His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.
"And I'm lucky to have you," he replied.
I tried to be strong for him. I really did. But as his breathing finally steadied against me, tears in my eyes, I realized something I couldn't ignore anymore.
I think I'm falling in love with Nico Costa.
This chapter was super emotional to write but it had to be done. Also we are all falling for nico??!
Thank you for 1k votes holyyyyy smokes!