It was well past ten o'clock when Nico finally arrived at his flat. The stars were glimmering brightly, casting a dull glow on the weathered cobblestones.
Nico shouldered the heavy door open and proceeded inside, flipping on the lights as he did so. The fluorescent bulbs flickered on hesitantly, spluttering to life.
He flopped down on his bed, the dark comforter crinkling beneath him. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, more out of habit than tiredness. The caffeine from the coffee was still pulsing through his veins, and besides, his insomnia usually kept him awake well into the night. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be going to sleep any time soon.
His cold fingers found the laces of his combat boots and he loosened them considerably before tugging the shoes off his tired feet. He was a wanderer, and his feet showed it. His soles were covered in callouses, the skin rough to the touch.
Nico stood and stretched, reaching his hands toward the low ceiling cracked from water damage. While mentally he didn't feel tired, his body was exhausted. Walking around all day took more effort than he would have thought.
A smudged mirror hung on one wall and he stepped forward to peer into it. It had been a while since he checked what he looked like.
The last two years definitely hadn't been kind to him. His once-olive skin had paled and now was stretched across his face tightly, throwing emphasis onto his high cheekbones. His eyes were dark and hollowed, shadows rimming them from countless sleepless nights. And his hair…it hung wildly around his face, partially obscuring his eyes. He hadn't realized how long it was getting. With everything that had been going on, a haircut seemed like the least of his priorities.
He turned away with a sigh. He looked like someone who had been to hell and back…and in a way, he kind of had.
Nico threw himself back onto the bed, face down, eyes closed. For what felt like the millionth time he found himself wondering how he had gotten to this point in his life. After the accident, he had watched as his world shattered apart around him. Everything he knew had been ripped away from him, and not for the first time in his lifetime. Maybe this was the life he was destined to live—a life of isolation and wandering and a darkness that he just couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried.
Jason's face swam behind his eyelids. He heard the conversation in his mind, echoing through the quiet.
Have you thought about going to university?
Nico inhaled shallowly, breathing in the somewhat stale smell of his comforter. Surprisingly, he had considered it a few times during the past two years. If everything had gone as planned, he would be starting college shortly. He was eighteen now. He should be worried about classes and grades, not about when the money would inevitably run out and what he would do when that happened.
He rolled onto his back, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. Not for the first time he thought about how much he disliked his apartment. It was a studio, cramped and tiny, with one room and a bathroom that barely passed as a bathroom. There was a kitchenette situated in the far corner, but he had no idea how to cook anything. Most of the time he just ate takeout. It was easier that way. A single grimy window let in a small amount of moonlight, but did little to filter the air. The whole place smelled old and musty.
He hadn't been in London long enough to bother with furnishings. He was so used to moving after about a month or so that décor held no appeal to him whatsoever. With the money dwindling he had focused on the bare basics. It was a rough way to live, but he had managed so far.
It's not your fault…what happened.
Nico shut his eyes tight as the words filled his mind. He knew Jason meant well, but he had heard the phrase so many times that it no longer held any meaning. No one had been there when it happened. No one else had felt the world around him shatter apart like the glass that had littered the asphalt after it happened. He would always blame himself for what happened. No one could tell him otherwise.
You could start over here. Take a few classes.
Nico desperately wanted to start over. God, did he want to start over. If only he could rewind those last few moments before it happened. The memories had plagued him mercilessly over the next two years. No matter how far he travelled, he couldn't escape the guilt that ate away at him like acid. And worse, he could never escape the nightmares, shaking him awake in the dead of night, leaving him gasping and shuddering, tears streaking his cheeks. Maybe it would be good for him to stay in London for a while. Jason was here, and Jason was the closest thing to a friend that he would get. Jason was the only one that wouldn't shrink away when they saw him, with his ratty hair and sunken eyes. Jason was the only one that didn't treat him like an outcast.
I'm here for you. I can help you with whatever you need.
All at once Nico's mind was made up. He needed a change—needed it more than anything else. This lifestyle was slowly fading him, and he knew that. He couldn't keep running forever, as much as he'd like to.
With that in mind he sat up suddenly, renewed strength coursing through him. He tugged his combat boots back on and shrugged on his old aviator jacket before heading outside once more.