the world is spinning and he can't breathe through the smoke in his fragile lungs , and he is waiting - for something he isn't quite sure what , but it is brewing in his bones like the beginning of a wildfire.
[word count: around 27,500]
/NICO DI A...
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He walks the streets alone, the darkness falling thick and heavy around him, footsteps silent and breath clouding. Eyes roaming the sky, the constellations of stars, and he tugs his beanie from his hair and stuffs it in his pocket. (He didn't want to be here after dark)!
He walks the streets alone and slinks into the darkness, melting into the shadows that curl around his feet. His eyelids weigh heavy, burning each time he blinks as his lips crack in the cold air.
Illuminated by the orange streetlights, he pushes his palms onto his forehead and breathes through the bitterness in his throat. He treads through the empty streets with doubt in his footsteps. (He didn't want to be here after dark)!
Eyes narrow, scrutinizing, the glow of the streetlights rest on a building tucked away from the rest, paint peeling and windows steamed. He swallows the anxiety in his throat, clenches his doubt in his fists. (It's almost as if it isn't here at all).
His hand hovers over the worn handle.
(He didn't want to be here after dark)!
-
Tom regards him with a kind of offhand curiosity. “What can I get you?” He asks, voice gruff and low as Nico steps up to the bar, pulling down his black hood and letting the lights fan over his face.
He grimaces. “I was wondering, actually,” he says, and he notices Tom glancing down to the silver ring glinting on his middle finger, averting his eyes when Nico taps it on the bar. (There is nothing he is worth other than silver and the holy blood that runs through his veins, staining his destiny and ichor and red), “if I can send a letter, Mr.”
Tom shows his teeth in an awkward smile. “Sure I- that'll be...I'll have to check.”
Nico frowns, bottom lip worried between his teeth. “Oh,” he breathes, “Do you know anywhere that's hiring around here? I, erm, just moved from America and I- I don't have any money.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Nico looks up through a curtain of hair and meets Tom's dark eyes. “Well,” he starts. “I suppose you could do some things for me- nothing- just a bit of cleaning here and there maybe if you…”
“Oh, thank you!” Nico smiles and stands up straight.
“Where are your parents, boy- don't want them worrying, do we?”
Nico scuffs his feet on the dirty floor. “Oh, erm, they died a while back, so my aunt was homeschooling me. She became too ill to care for me any longer, so she helped to England and...” (He is nothing but silver and blood, a liar with golden blood and wealth in his veins).
Tom’s eyes burn onto his neck, and he hears him shuffle awkwardly. “Tell you what, don’t worry about the letter, I'll get it covered. Go to the top floor, there’s some owls and parchment and quills. Come see me afterwards for work, but just be...careful- some of them are a bit-”
