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...
IM NOT CALLING YOU A GHOST, JUST STOP HAUNTING ME.
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It is sometime in the evening, with the soft pink glow from the sky splintering through the arching windows and glittering on the pale stones, and Nico sits, legs crossed, on the floor of the library. The sunset leaks from the sky and onto his skin, thin wrists and long fingers, the spines of the books that stack on the shelves, and it is quiet, the last few students milling around like the ghosts that roam the empty halls.
He sits and waits, counting the shadows and the spiders that he can barely see living in the shallow crevices of the walls. He doesn't have much to do while he waits for Neville to return, so he takes to watching the way the world moves around him, as the evening slips behind the horizon and the sky melts to black.
There is unease resting in his bones, thrumming in his veins, and he tries to swallow down the bile and anxiety that has crawled is dirty fingers up his throat. The library is quiet, and he is silent, but he can hear the whispers of those long-dead lingering in the walls, breathing down his neck the same way the golden sunset does. Tapping his fingernails along his wrists, he waits with something tight in his chest, because he does not know whoever Neville wants him to meet, and although he likes Neville well enough, his past still hides in the shadows of this school and he's not sure what he would do if anyone knew more than what he has intended them to.
The minutes pass, and restlessness snakes down his legs. He half-considers leaving, but then he hears the door open, close, a hushed laugh and Neville's familiar footsteps snaking around the bookcases. He steps into view, and Nico wants to lay down and maybe die a little.
Behind him, stands Duncan, because of-fucking-course he does, because Nico di Angelo has pissed off a lot of gods in his overdue life and this is their fucked up way of getting him back for every bad thing he has done. He wants to lay down and maybe die and he meets Duncan's airy gaze for a split second before he throws up his hands and stands.
"Fuck this," he says, and he does not dare look at the rest of the group because he knows he is over-reacting but oh my god!!!! "I can't fucking do this, so long." He brushes his hands on his jeans and slips past Neville, head down, mouth shut, tongue between his teeth.
Neville reaches out a hand, and he can hear someone whisper something to someone else he doesn't recognise, who scoffs and mutters something back; it makes it skin itch; it makes him want to scream. Nico whips around, and he's not sure what he is doing, but he feels too much like a caged animal to lower his heart-rate and relax like he fucking should, so he meets their almost mocking eyes with an icy he has spent time trying to perfect.
The boy is tall - and very handsome, his mind supplies unhelpfully, with smooth dark skin and piercing eyes, short hair and a weak smirk and silver rings on long fingers. He wears a black robe that is lined with silver and green, and an unwavering air of arrogance that makes Nico think his daddy gives him whatever he wants whenever he asks. He is arching one perfect eyebrow, and Nico wants to show him something his daddy can't fix.
"Nico, wait," Neville protests. He lets his eye slide towards Neville, and so Duncan, who is still watching him with that far-away gaze of his that Nico finds himself both hating and admiring. He narrows his eyes at the group, and takes a moment to assess them: he counts seven, most of which he has no fucking clue who they are and only a few he can vaguely recognise. They are regarding him with a mixture of fascination, curiosity, and perhaps a few who look a little bit frightened. In the rose glow of the sunset, Nico's skin shimmers pink - he hopes he looks divine.
He burrows his hands further into his pockets to hide the way they are shaking. "Look, Neville, I'm honoured you want me to meet your friends, but I'm not if - not right now," he says quietly, so that he catches the others leaning towards him to hear what Nico is saying.
Next to Neville, Duncan scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says, "Bullshit, we want to meet you, too," with some kind of shit-eating grin, as the rest of group freeze for a never-ending second before they nod too - except for the Slytherin boy who keeps his hands folded over his chest and eyebrow raised, and Nico thinks he would suit blue and purple very well on that sharp jawline of his. Under their heavy gazes, he almost shivers.
Neville shifts, a little uncomfortable, but keeps his gaze steady and hands by his sides, and Nico thinks he might be beginning to admire him - he is braver than Nico could ever hope to be. "Just come sit with us for a while," he says with a tender smile, "you don't even have to stay long, just -"
He still wants to puke out his guts a little, but Nico finds himself nodding.
*
The sky is now dark, and the library quiet, and Nico is sitting with his back against a bookcase and cheek on his knees. Candlelight flickers across his skin, washed-out orange and tender, and his eyes flutter, the world around him swaying a little in the exhaustion that is heavy in his bones.
Neville is speaking, he thinks, but he is too tired to pay attention or care, so he takes to dragging his fingernails up and down his forearms because it helps to keep him awake. He can't remember when he last felt like this: sleepy and tired around people he doesn't know. It is unsettling, and there is unease still crawling in his stomach, and he can feel the presence of ghosts in his chest, and there is a thousand other things telling him that Something Is Wrong and yet -
And yet: the soft candlelight is flickering on his skin, and there is the soft murmur of voices drifting over him, punctuated only by a sharp laugh from someone he doesn't know; their hair is burning red, set alight in the tender light. He thinks he might be sick if he stays any longer.
this is a really short and kinda awful chapter n im not quite sure why i have even posted it bc it ends so abruptly and awfully but. i guess i just wanted to prove im still working on this story, and i think im going to make it my top priority regarding what im writing. i think the next chapter will be from neville's pov, just to introduce the characters a bit better. anyways. i feel like this chapter was a bit disappointing even for me to write but hopefully i can get back into it soon. ily.
i hope you are all staying safe too, and i understand that this is not a political story but i feel the need to say that you can still sign petitions and donate. fuck everyone who is saying the protestors are thugs. they are not.
