nico had been pursuing a spirit for the last handful of moons; a hysterical spirit that seemed incapable of staying put. by the time the son of hades had managed to shun the rogue soul back into the blazing underworld, it had dawned upon him that he was absolutely, disparagingly alone. and tired.

exhausted, actually.

it wasn’t just the ghost. it was everything. he needed a fucking break.

and for a reason that absconded his mind, your ‘intolerable’ company served as the most adequate source of comfort. nico was certain it was due to how intimately acquainted he was with you.

you were a boy of his age, sweet-tongued (even when you seethed expletives) and charming-faced (even when you scowled). though nico would sooner be swallowed by tartarus’ depths than admit such a flustering things.

the knock was startling, anomalous—but fists rattled against your front door nonetheless, panicky.

nico was aware how unkempt of a visage he must’ve been, with rain soaking through his entirely black ensemble, dishevelled hair plastered to his forehead. his slight body was taut with agitation, but the moment the door wrenched open, he exhibited no hesitation. nico marched inside, initially without uttering a single word. the distinct scent of death clung to him like a shadow, now mingling with damp leather and petrichor. the boy was soaked to the bone.

if he was to be frank, he wasn’t even sure what he driven his spontaneous arrival. perhaps a subconscious part of him sought respite from the grasping shadows, to feel something tangible, something beyond the weight of souls on his mind.

“you got a towel?” nico prompted, his shoulders quaking from the cold that had seeped into the very marrow of his bones. absently, he ran a hand through his soaked hair.