Our Oblivion

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for tuning in to another chapter of my fan fiction. Sorry that it took me so long to get this posted. I've been so busy lately. Anyway, thank you once again for reading and I hope you enjoy. See you all soon! Bye, my friends! :D

Chapter 2: Thoughtless
Percy's Point Of View
August 16, 6:32 A.M.

"Get the hell up." The words cut through my hazed sense of unawareness as the blanket is jerked back from my form harshly. Automatically, my body begins to crave the warmth. Throughout the night my bedroom has become cold and harsh, the chill grazing my physique and leaving goose bumps in its wake. Rolling over, the light bulb stinging my eyes, I looked up, being met with a stern gaze from my step-father.

Instantly the usual come back of "screw you" boils up on my lips, although I suppress the words and swallow my pride as he continues to hover over me. Three days. Three more days. I won't waste them arguing with some creep.

"Get up. Now. Or you'll be late for school." I stiffen as Gabe turns to leave my room, slamming the pastel door behind him and leaving the foundation shaking in retort.

"Bastard." The word hangs heavily in the air as I slink up out of bed, my feet chilling as they make contact with the icy hard wood flooring. In the dim morning light I manage to stumble to my feet and pull on the crumbled pair of jeans that lay folded on my floor in a heap. Left from the previous night, I know they need to be washed, but I don't bother. Or maybe I will? Who knows? It might change a few things. Change it up a bit before I die.

The bitter, hollow sound that leaves my throat is unexpected to say the least. I have no reason to be so angered by the fact that my death is coming. I should be relieved if anything. I've thought about it before- dying- and I've come to the conclusion that the world is full of cruelty. Best to escape before it gets to you too, right? That's why there is no fear. Because death is just relief. And at least I know I'm going somewhere in the end. Whether it be heaven or hell, at least there is something there.

Looking down at my jeans, staring at the frail legs, I quickly stripped down once more to my boxers. Moment passed sluggishly as I moved towards the closet across from my bed and pulled out the best garment that I owned. The simple dark denim jeans and royal blue polo were the best I could muster in such limited time, but it would do.

Today was going to be a good day. I could feel it.

Briskly lacing up my Converse and combing fingers through my hair, I charged down stairs, entering the dingy kitchen with a light grin. My mother didn't expect it to say the least.

"Percy," She gushes, grabbing the front of my shirt between two fingers, "I was wondering when you would wear this. When did I buy this for you? Last year."

The mocking laugh echoed from her throat deeply, chiming like the sound of Christmas jingle bells. If there was one thing about my mother that was constant it was her charmed and upbeat mood. No matter how much crap we go through or how many times shit hits the fan- which is a lot- she is always grinning within her grief. It makes her stronger. I know that.

"Better late than never." I reply meekly, trying to keep the irony from my voice. I would never have the chance to do this later.

My mother gives me a light kiss on the cheek before turning back to the pan that flames on the burner. Moving around to the other side of the isle I realized exactly what the burning contents were in silver cooker. Pancakes. Blue pancakes, to be exact. A droplet of food coloring can go a long way.

"You always know what I want in the morning don't you, mom?" I couldn't conceal the smirk that curves upon my lips. She always knows.

"Of course," The sense of hidden pride claims in her voice, "You're my son. I know you, Percy. Better than anyone."

"Yeah." The conversation ends too quickly as Gabe enters the room, followed by the wicked scent of booze and cigarette smoke that wavers behind him. Closing my eyes, fingers pressed to my temples, the automatic headache comes. Like always. Gabe has that effect on me. I can't stand him in the slightest. Even the meekest of conversations with him makes me want to throw up black acid and jump off the house's rooftop.

Squeezing between me and the isle, jostling my shoulder and nearly knocking me over, Gabe continues his course like a tank. Struggling through the section, kissing my mother on the cheek, and opening the fridge, he takes out a can of beer and pops it open. The smell makes me sick to my stomach. I want to drop to my knees and vomit. It's absolutely and unequivocally disgusting.

"Percy?" My mother questions lightly, eyes begging for me to not make a scene, as she holds out a sleek, white porcelain plate. Her fingers curl around the edge of the dish like claws, threatening to crack the thin figure as she bites back her anger.

The problem is I don't know whether she is enraged with me or Gabe. It could go either way. She could be pissed due to the drinking in the house again or at me for the obvious distaste with my step-father. Either way it doesn't matter much. The anger is still there. The hate is still brimming in her eyes.

Turning my face downwards, cheeks heating and lips pursed, I gently took the plate from the woman's fingers before lowering it back to the counter.

"Mom," I said with a deep gulf of air. She looks at me as though she's expecting something vial to fly from my lips. Like she is expecting all hell to break lose. Even Gabe has been charmed by the low and clear importance in my voice. It's hard to peek the man's curiosity, but somehow I managed.

"Sorry, but I won't be eating breakfast this morning. I've got something I have to do. I'll see you after school, alright?"

"Oh… Okay. Have a nice day, sweetheart." She smiles slightly as the spatula in her hand lowers. It hits the pan with a cling, chiming through the room like a bell. Despite my mother's understanding Gabe somehow manages to weasel his way into our conversation and, unlike my mom, he is not as calm about it.

"Really? Your mother has been down here cooking breakfast for you and then you just up and leave?! You disrespectful little prick."

"Gabe!" My mother's voice is strong and clear despite the wavering of her hands. Fingers tremble as tempers rise.

"Sally, you know I'm right! Boy, you better learn some respect for your mother and for me or…!"

Despite the threat hanging in the air, I'm already gone. Grabbing the backpack slung across the coffee table, closing the front door with a slam, I race out into the street. I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't take it! I hate him. I hate him. I don't care if I am being a little rash, running away like so, but I can't stand to be around him.

Automatically my fingers cling to my own hair, shaking harshly in the light chill of morning. The sky is dotted with shades of aqua as the air begins to shift from night to day. My ears ring. I can't take it.

August 16, 2014
6:54 A.M.

With my head bent low I sit on the curb outside my neighbor's house, pencil in hand as I chew lightly on the eraser. It's a bad habit, I know, but I can't stop myself. Whenever I get nervous or angry or scared even, I chew on pencils. My friends think it's gross, my mom thinks it's fine, and my girlfriend constantly tells me how many germs I can come in contact with while doing so.

So here I sit, chewing away and waiting for the door next to my own to swing open and reveal the raven hair, dark eyed, moody teenage boy that I haven't talked to in about six years. I know exactly when he leaves for school. Exactly when he comes home too, and as I wait for him to emerge I can't contain my emotions. Fingers knit within the fabric of my jeans. Eyes dart lightly from the sidewalk, to my own home, to Nico's front door.

Closing my eyes gently, searching for something calming within myself, an image comes to my mind. A image of the boy next door. Not now, but when we were younger. And now with this mental photograph locked in my frame of inner vision, I pick apart every inch of the boy. His dark eyes that shone with a devilish light. His ebony hair that collapsed over his face and eyes. The often flush of his cheeks. His olive skin, dotted with tiny freckles and usually stained with a sunburn or bruises- like most children gain from playing or time outside.

Shaking my head at the fading memory of the young boy, I sit up. And I can't believe my stupidity.

Standing a few feet away from me, walking solemnly in the other direction, Nico has his head bent and eyes closed. He seems to be blocking out everything that's going on around him.

I can't believe that I've been so engulfed in my own mind that I didn't even notice him. I didn't notice that he came out the door. That he walked right passed me. Standing up with a jolt I can't help the word that explodes from my lips.

"Nico!" I call. Automatically he recoils and, in a way, I cringe as well. The sudden harshness of his movements makes my stomach twist and guilt liters my mind. It hurts. It hurts him and his pain bounces back and strikes me tenfold.

"What?" The word comes out like a hiss. His tone is devilish. The heat seethes on his tongue, hatred burning his throat like liquid fire. Even though he doesn't voice his distaste I feel it in the air. In his demeanor. And he has every right to hate me.

His eyes glower at me as he attempts to wipe the disgust from his face. He doesn't look like the same kid who I knew a few years back. His features are so much more deadly. His eyes are so much crueler.

"Hey." My voice falters.

He pauses for a moment, face momentarily filling with anger before the flames goes out. Instead of yelling like I expect him to do he stands there, absolutely dumbfounded. His lips are pursed, eyes half lidded as he stares at me curiously. I'm probably the last person he expects to be speaking to this morning.

"Hey…..Percy, right?" He shakes his head, waiting for confirmation. Despite his attempt to act natural with the words- to let the question roll from his tongue with ease- I know that he knows my name. And he knows that I know.

Looking at him silently, all words have been lost. There is nobody else around us- just me and him and the old man across the street who insists on walking his Pug at six in the morning. The silence is consuming now.

"I've been meaning to talk to you." I finally murmur out, looking at him across the distance. He shifts from foot to food, obvious anxiety slinking through him. I don't want him to be uncomfortable around me, but to be honest; I have now lost all ability to speak. Not just from awkwardness, but from shock as well.

Nico di Angelo has grown up. A lot. Despite how he looked when we were younger- short and lanky with eyes that were too far apart and olive skin that made him look exotic- he has now grown to be quite beautiful. In fact all parts of him that use to be out of order has now fallen back into pace with the rest of him.

His skin has leveled out some, not quite olive, but not quite pale. His dark eyes are now livid- a orb of ebony, flecked with gold that shinned to the point of become amber. It's a beautiful mix.

Long strings of hair scatter over his face, bangs stretching passed his right eye and dark locks swaying about his head in a frazzled frenzy. His body is just as small and lanky as it previously has been, however, his height has sky rocketed. Although he's still shorter than me.

"About what?" Nico questioned lightly under his breath. The words were so quiet that it was nearly inaudible.

I paused. For a split second a cold sweat spread across my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps glazed across the pale flesh. Eyes stared out at me from that cute heart shaped face as Nico tilted his head to the side. With that look my mouth turned as dry as sandpaper.

"I'm sorry." I felt that my words were slightly lacking, but within this second my voice was either going to crack or go completely mute if I tried to strain for anything more.

"Why?" This took me by surprise.

"Why what?"

"Why are you apologizing now?" Nico moved his hands wickedly, agitatedly as he spoke, "Why do I deserve an apology? Why did you wait so long to tell me this? It's been six years Percy. Six years."

"I know. I'm sorry! I was…," I choked over my own words. I was stumbling. Floundering. "I was afraid that you would hate me. I know you hate me. I just want you to forgive me. I need you too. Please."

My heart ached as I waited for a response. I didn't know whether there would be anger or forgiveness waiting for me when the other found his voice. I was terrified for the results.

"I never hated you." The simple response took me back. All my breath left me as I stared at Nico, eyes widening to the size of saucers. Nico stared back, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, "I never hated you. I'm just really hurt. You were my hero when I was little. I would see you- see you playing with all the other kids, everyone cheering you on, laughing with you, high fiving you. Everyone liked you and I did too. I just wanted to be friends with you. And then you pretty much told me to go fuck myself."

Once again I gasped. I didn't expect him to be so vulgar. So upfront about it.

"It was kind of like that moment when you realize Santa Clause isn't real." Nico snorted bitterly at his own words, "It's someone you pray is real. Someone you look up to and someone that you think is so amazing. That is until you find out that none of it is real. None of it is how it seems and that's how I feel about you. You were just a myth. All of you kindness and lovingness was untrue."

"I know." Was all I could say, raising my hands in defeat, "I know."

"But I never hated you." Nico emphasized again.

"Then let's keep it that way." I said suddenly. My lips were moving faster than my mind could analyze the words, "How about you and me go get breakfast together? We still have a while before school starts. Come on. Let me start making up for everything that I've done in the past."

Nico stood rooted to his spot, fear reflecting in his eyes, however I could see him pondering my offer. The thought roared through his head.

"Okay." He stated finally, his voice soft and hazed, "But only if you pay."

August 16, 2014
7:14 A.M.

Me and Nico sat in the grass just outside of the school grounds, a McDonald's bag sitting between us and wrappers laying stray around us. His feet were propped up against a flat rock jutting just above earth level while sipping Coke from a straw. Our time together had been overall quiet; however, we had now struck up a conversation over the book that lay perched in his lap.

"The Great Gatsby." I read lightly, taking the book from his right hand. I examined the book's cover, staring at the beautiful artwork and the overall picture.

"It's a great book. I've read it before." Nico murmured as he looks back at me. A small smile manages to curl upon his lips, exposing a tiny sliver of beautiful white teeth, "Have you ever read it?"

The question catches me off guard at first, causing me to choke on a french-fry. Looking up at him, I shake my head and listen to the wistful sigh that comes from his lips.

"Not many people have anymore. Seems that no one appreciates the classics."

"You sound like my English teacher." I justified. A hefty snort comes from the boy, one that you wouldn't expect such a small person to make. It shakes me for a moment.

"Isn't that book all romanced up and stuff? It doesn't sound like my cup of tea." I declare as I scout the back for a book description. There isn't one, but I don't have to wait long for Nico to give me a complete run down of the plot.

"That's not all it's about." He huffs with indignity, "It's about this man named Nick Carraway who moves to New York. He ends up renting a house next to this mansion owned by a mysterious millionaire named Jay Gatsby. Each night Gatsby holds these extravagant parties, but he never participates in them. He allows the entire city to come to his parties uninvited and no one has ever met him. Until Nick gets an invitation in the mail."

"Why does he get invited? What makes him so special?" I ponder out loud, not really looking for an answer.

"His cousin, that's what. See, Gatsby fell in love with Nick's cousin Daisy before leaving for war years ago and every night he looks for her at the parties in hope of finding his love again. Nick ends up setting up a meeting between Gatsby and Daisy."

"Do they end up together?"

"No," Nico says, his tone slightly crestfallen, "Daisy is actually married and rather than running away with Gatsby she stays with her cheating husband Tom."

"So in the end, not everyone is happy."

"Hardly," Nico shakes his head bitterly, "After Daisy decides she wants to stay with her husband, her and Gatsby drive home in his car. They end up hitting and killing the woman Tom was cheating on Daisy with. Daisy was the one driving, but Gatsby takes the blame for it. Myrtle, Tom's mistress, has a husband named George who concludes that the driver of the car killed her and was having an affair with his wife. At the very end of the book he finds the car in Gatsby's drive way. He then shoots Gatsby and himself, killing them both. The man Nick sets up a small funeral for his friend before moving back to the Midwest, disillusioned by what has happened and claiming that New York has made him sick."

"Seems like a sad ending." I conclude.

"It is, but isn't life kind of sad in that beautiful, tossed up way."

"I guess." I sigh before tossing the book in the air, catching it with one hand. Noticing my action, Nico quickly snatches the novel from my grip, bringing it to his chest protectively.

"Protective much?" I questioned with a lightly laugh. I didn't get a response. Instead Nico glared down at the ground, his face flushing over my comment.

"I didn't mean anything by it." I retreated.

"It's all right." Nico's once again calm demeanor returned although the flush on his face lingered. He shot me a sad smile, eyes reading nothing less than happiness, but definitely something more. There was something there, something that I couldn't place. Regret, perhaps? Burden maybe?

"My dad always says the same thing about me reading this book. He says I've read it once so why read it again? Actually tried throwing it away once. I almost had a break down." Nico commented as his eyes turned to face the ground. Without thinking he gave a deep sigh and I swear I heard his heart break.

"What did you mom think about that? I mean if my step-father tried to throw something I cared about away she would make sure there was hell to pay." I called, lying back in the grass. To be honest, my mom would have beaten the hell out of him. She wasn't afraid to. I mean she probably wasn't afraid to.

"Nico?" I questioned, looking over at him when he didn't respond. All my breath left my body in one gasp. He was crying.

Nico di Angelo was crying. I could believe it.

Silent tears filled his eyes, sliding down his face in a steady stream. And at that moment I realized something, something I had long forgotten: Maria di Angelo was dead.

It's a far off memory, one that barely makes a connecting from when I was eleven, right after Nico had left me alone. It was one of those days were the rain was falling and the air was clotted with think mist making everything seem more gloomy and dark. I was sitting at my window, wishing I could go out into the back yard or run around with friends. Instead I was stuck inside, watching as a car pulled up into my neighbor's drive way. Nico and his father, Hades, clambered out silently, the younger boy running to keep up with the older man. They both seemed to be quiet as they moved, heads bent low and body's bent forward in a hunch.

Nico had been crying then too, tears falling down his face freely as the nine year old sobbed and wailed. It was a broken sound, one that I could hear even through the thick sheet of glass.

My mother simple came up behind me, shaking her head before murmuring, "Poor thing. It must be hard losing his mother like that."

Now looking at the boy, he was crying in the same way. And once more I can't take it.

"Nico, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by i-"

"Shut up, Percy. Just shut up." Nico hissed, refusing to meet my eyes. The air seemed to drop by about twenty degrees, leaving me cold and empty.

"No, listen to me. I'm so, so, sorry. I didn't even think about it. I wasn't using my head. I didn't… I didn't…. I'm sorry."

"It's alright." He claimed, shaking his head and drying the tears with the sleeve of his black sweater, "Most people forget and it's not like I talk about it much."

"Do you need to?" Apparently, I'm completely and utter stupid. Sometimes I can't shut the hell up and right now seemed to be that exact moment. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I should have just let the conversation end there, but for some reason I can't. I've lost my ability to simply leave things alone.

Nico looked at me jaggedly, eyes tearing through me like a knife. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, "I would like to, but I can't. No one's ever offered before."

"Well, I'm offering."

Once more, he met my gaze. Within that second a silent passing came between us and I promised I would never speak of this to anyone- a promise I made without saying a word.

"I was nine at the time. It was one of the worst days of my life." Nico murmured under his breath as he struggled to keep tears at bay.

"I knew that. Your age." I complied, kicking a rock with the end of my shoe. It only seemed fair that I give him that single piece of self-worth. At least I cared enough to know how old he was at that time. He could at least have that.

He smiled slightly at that, but as quickly as the grin sparked, it faded once more, "She was one of the most amazing people in my life. Her and my sister. I'm sure you heard about Bianca. She's the one who gave me this book. It was one of her favorites. She died a year after my mother. She drowned in the lake across town. None of us expected it. Not me or my father. It was awful. I just remember cry for hours on end. It was constantly just me sobbing around the house or my father sitting there silently. It was like the entire world was dead. I couldn't function. It wasn't really from sadness at first- it was more of a shock. For the first few weeks I couldn't feel anything. I just thought it was a bad dream. That eventually I would wake up and everything would be back to normal. That Bianca would come into my room and shake me awake for school. That she would be to help me with my algebra homework or help me make breakfast while my dad was at work."

"Finally, I realized this wasn't going away. My sister was dead. She was gone." At that point, Nico began to sniffle again, tears forming in the corner of his eyes before expanding, "It was like the entire world was broken. I still couldn't function. There was something wrong with me after that. Everything seemed a little darker. And to think that that was the second time."

"First, when my mother died, it was even worse. I died a little with her. When she left, so did I. I just couldn't live with that. I would sit there, day after day, staring at nothing but the wall and sulking. I stopped eating, stopped reading, stopped doing the things I liked, stopped…..living. It was the end of me."

For a moment, I looked at him. His face was now red, completely burned from his tears and every part of him seemed to be aching, hurting. He took a deep gasping breath before continuing, "After a while though, you get through it. You find a way to just go on. And then no one talks about it. No one tries to help you completely get over it. They just hope you keep all your emotions at bay so you don't have to deal with it. I never have. Not until now."

With his final words, he tucked his head down into his arms, closing his eyes and clinging to himself painfully. Moving closer I couldn't help my impulse to help him. To stop his pain.

"Nico," My voice is lower than I expect. "Open your eyes. Please."

For a second his dark eyes are on mine, locked within our own world between the gaze, and we are both quiet. The world is quiet. I can't feel the breath in my lungs, between my lips. For a moment it doesn't exist.

Flickers of ebony, amber, and gold shine within those orbs as tears fall silently, brokenly, achingly. I can't believe him. I can't believe myself. I can't even believe the words that have been shared. And then it comes again. A soft noise, almost a sob, but not quite. Without thinking, my hand rises, as I watch him fight the compulsion to flinch away.

It lands on his cheek, cupping the velvet flesh that is tinged with pink. He's flushed. He's hurt. He needs help. And before my mind can process what I am doing my hand drifts downwards onto his chin, thumb brushing his thick, pink lips. Then, I move to his throat. Fingers press against the heated skin on lower shoulder and neck. It feels like fire under my own hands, but I don't move my hand. In fact, I enjoy the feeling. I enjoy the way his body trembles under my light touch. At first it's nearly unnoticeable. Then, it's jagged, erratic, and out of control. Nico's crying harder.

"Nico…please don't cry." I murmur under my breath as my hand begins to lower. In a moment of begging, pleading relief, Nico clutches my hand onto his neck. His wails thin out slightly, become more airy, more…receded.

His eyes are hollow for a moment, book in his lap as I look at him with a sense of pity. Well….not pity, but sympathy. My chest feels clotted, breath harsh and uneven. It hurts to watch him now. I didn't expect all of this. All his hurt and all his pain to come roaring out in one go. He shouldn't have been acting like this, especially since we've just meet in a way (officially). With a brief look at him, I realize why.

I'm his new outlet.

Nico di Angelo has lost so much in the last few years. He was bullied, only to lose his mother shortly after and then, of all the shit to happen, he loses his sister as well. And I never fucking knew. I never bothered to look into it.

He's never had anyone to talk to and now that I'm asking for him to talk about it, it all comes out. Because he knows and I know that this might not happen to him again. He might not get another chance to relieve his pain, his anger, and most of all his fear. His fear of being alone.

"Nico, Nico…" My voice trails off as I continue to feel the pulse under my fingertips. Without an ounce of thought, the younger boy tosses my hand away from him in sudden disgust.

"I can't believe this." He mutters out between tight clenched teeth. Curling in on himself, cradling the book within his chest and arms, I watch as Nico tucks his legs to his body. He looks so small, so unequivocally young. Especially when his hand comes up and wipes away a stray tear, one sniffle bursting from his throat.

"Nico, calm down. Talk to me again. You need to finish what you started and just tell me everything. I'll listen. I understand. I know what it feels like to lose someone close to you. Trust me. They seem gone, but they're not. There is something else out there. Trust me. And one day, you'll see your mother again. Your sister, too. Even if it's a while, you have right now. Tell me. Let me help y-"

"Shut the fuck up, Jackson! I don't want to hear it! Just….shut! Up!" Nico's words are bombarding, hitting me like a punch to the chest. I lose all my breath.

Jumping up from the ground, tears dripping down his cheeks, he begins to run. Running away from me, away from everything and within that moment I realize how deep his pain truly is. So deep that he's drowning in it.