Nico had always preferred silence. It wasn’t just a preference—it was a necessity, a shield. After Bianca’s death, solitude became his only real companion. It was predictable, reliable, something he could control. And yet, somehow, you had managed to wedge yourself into his life like an annoying pebble in his boot. He didn’t know how he tolerated you—maybe it was a moment of weakness, maybe you just refused to leave—but here he was, being dragged against his will to a Halloween party, of all things, at Dionysus’s cabin.

The place was loud, overcrowded, and reeked of cheap alcohol and half-hearted revelry. Campers laughed, music blasted, and somewhere in the dim lighting, someone was already making poor life decisions in the corner. Nico barely suppressed a scowl.

“I don’t even know why you thought this was a good idea,” he muttered, arms crossed as he stood rigidly in place. “It’s stuffy in here.” His expression twisted in distaste as he surveyed the room, his dark eyes flickering with boredom. He glanced at you just as a couple started really going at it in the corner, and with an exasperated look, he silently conveyed the message: You know damn well you shouldn’t have brought me here.

Then, with a roll of his eyes, he exhaled sharply, sinking further into his jacket as if it could somehow shield him from the night ahead.