When Nico got home later that day, he couldn't get rid of the strange feeling inside him. He felt…well, it was difficult to put in words exactly how he felt. It was almost as if he had drunk a fizzy beverage and the bubbles were spreading through him, making each step lighter. While the memories still clung to him, they were no longer threatening to drown him. Instead of flashbacks to that terrible moment when everything changed, he kept seeing Will's face hovering just behind his eyelids. Warm, bright Will.

And despite the knowledge that Will would be better off without him, Nico couldn't bring himself to push Will away like he did with everyone else. Not when Will looked at him with a kindness in his eyes that wasn't tainted with pity.

In the meantime, Christmas was quickly approaching. In his other life Nico had thoroughly enjoyed the holiday, but now, not so much. He couldn't go anywhere without being plagued by carols and the twinkling lights strung everywhere were beginning to get on his nerves. He couldn't wait for it to be over so everything could go back to normal.

Nico wanted to see Will again. It had been a week since they had gone ice skating, and Nico hadn't heard a word from him. Before they had gone their separate ways, Will had told him that he had had a great time. Nico had said the same, but without the beaming smile that Will had given him. And then, he was gone.

Will hadn't texted Nico since, and while the logical part of Nico knew that he was a person and had his own life, he began to wonder if Will simply didn't want to hang out with him again. He knew he was being ridiculous, but his mind, as he well knew, had an agenda of its own. It began to wander down that dark path that it always did when he was given too much time to think. Maybe Will had invited him to go skating out of pity? Nico kept himself up at night thinking these kinds of thoughts.

Finally, Will texted him. Nico felt an uncharacteristic jolt of happiness when he saw the screen of his cell phone lit up with Will's name, but it was short-lived.

Hey Nico! It's me, Will. I mean, you already know it's me because I texted you before and you probably have my number in your contacts. But anyway. I just wanted to say that I've never gotten kicked out of an ice skating rink before, and that was pretty exciting. We should hang out again sometime. I'm going to be out of town until after Christmas, but we could get together after that.

Nico replied shortly after. Unlike Will, his texts were short and direct (that's what texting was for, right?). While he wanted to say that he was disappointed that Will would be gone, he couldn't bring himself to write that. No matter which words he used, the message sounded stupid.

The holidays came and went. Nico spent Christmas Eve wandering the streets of London, trying not to feel lonely as he listened to the sounds of celebration all around him. He walked until the early hours of Christmas day, when the pale sky began to turn pink and excited voices filled the air. Jason sent him a text reading Merry Christmas! which he ignored. He had found that ignoring the holiday to the best of his ability helped ease the lingering sadness that often accompanied him.

Vaguely, he wondered what Will was doing. Was he sitting beside a Christmas tree, surrounded by piles of wrinkled wrapping paper? Drinking a cup of hot chocolate while his family sat around him, happily opening their gifts?

December 26th was a relief. Nothing could have made Nico happier than seeing discarded Christmas trees in the trash, the needles limp and beginning to turn brown.

With that out of the way, the beginning of term seemed closer than ever. All of a sudden it seemed more real, him going to college. The prospect was daunting, but it was also exhilarating. He couldn't wait to get back onto campus, this time weaving back and forth to classes instead of idly wandering about to pass the time.

And with the closeness of term, a weight of anxiety began to sink onto Nico's shoulders. He knew that he was his own worst enemy, but it was difficult to face the thoughts drifting relentlessly through his head, telling him he wasn't good enough. But worse than these thoughts was the real, tangible issue looming on the horizon.

The money is his bank account had been low for some time now. He had tried to be as careful as he could, but he had known in the back of his mind that eventually the money would run out. Unfortunately, he hadn't given any thought to what he would do when that inevitably happened. But now, with a bank receipt in his hand, he knew that he needed to find some source of income. He didn't even have enough money for a plane ride back to America—like he would go back in the first place. And though he hated his dingy apartment, he definitely didn't want to get kicked out of it for not being able to pay the rent.

With this bleak prospect in mind, he set off to find a job. It couldn't be that difficult, could it? Surely there was some place that would hire him?

He began the day trudging through central London, peering through the windows of every business in search of a Help Wanted sign. This proved unsuccessful.

As the weak, watery sunlight began to fade, Nico had travelled miles, still without any luck. He allowed himself five minutes to rest, in which he sat on a grimy bench and ate a bag of chips. His stomach growled with hunger, but he didn't allow himself to eat. Not until he found a job. If he didn't, he'd have to get used to being hungry.

Nico pressed a hand against his forehead, his fingers freezing cold against his skin. He stared at the ground, trying to see every tiny detail in the cracked cement. It was a trick his mother had taught him; if you were ever feeling hopeless, focus on the miniature world existing alongside your own. The point was to realize that, while tiny and otherwise insignificant, this life continued. Nico eyed a delicate sprout peeking out between the cracks of the sidewalk.

With a sigh of frustration he picked up one combat-boot clad foot and stomped it down on the sprout. He had never really liked those kinds of retrospective things. A waste of time, he thought.

His stomach gave a forlorn groan and he refrained from telling it to shut up. Now that his mood was spoiled, it was clear that he was falling into one of his crummy patches, where everything irritated him in some way and his sarcasm was almost uncontrollable.

He glanced up, trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He had drifted for a while, not really paying attention to where he was. There was a dim café nearby, and a fountain that had long been dry. Where was he?

Nico pushed himself to his feet and took a few steps forward. His feet ached, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

It was then that he noticed a small business squished between two buildings. There was a tattered awning over the front door, right below a burned-out neon sign that read Ghost Town Mortuary.

With the tiniest smirk resting on Nico's lips he made his way over to the shop. He stood just outside, taking in the dismal building. The walls were made from brick, but they were chipped and worn from the elements. The windows had been covered by black curtains on the inside, so he couldn't see into the store from where he stood.

A normal person would probably have passed this strange shop quickly, without giving it a second glance. But Nico, as he had long known, wasn't exactly a normal person.

He pushed the door open, triggering a bell that sounded more like a strange wail.

Nico blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He fought the urge to laugh—it was as if a Halloween store had exploded. There was a large black desk at the far end of the room draped with faux cobwebs. A fog machine was hidden somewhere, spilling mist over the Styrofoam tombstones placed strategically here and there. Fake skeletons hung from the ceiling. Strange organ music filtered through the air.

Nico picked his way across the room, trying his best not to step on any props. He reached the black desk and peered over it. A Sudoku game rested there, unfinished, accompanied by a can of Sprite. It was a strange sight, given the surroundings.

"Hello?" Nico called, his voice sounding strange.

There was a pause in which Nico looked around idly, wondering how long he should wait until he gave up.

"Who goes there?"

Nico turned back to face the desk. Someone had emerged from the shadows. Their footsteps echoed with dull clunk clunk following each step. Nico knew that sound immediately: combat boots.

The person that materialized in front of him wasn't surprising. It was a boy, probably a few years older than Nico. He could be easily described as emo. Black lipstick coated his mouth, along with dark eyeliner around his eyes. His head was partially shaved, the rest dangling long and turquoise to one side. He wore a ripped shirt with a skull on it that looked rather familiar and close-fitting black jeans.

"Um, do you work here?" asked Nico, unfazed by this person in front of him.

"Maybe," said the boy, examining his fingernails.

Nico rolled his eyes. He knew this all too well—the scary dark boy that seemed as if he didn't care about anything. He knew it was all a façade.

Nico stepped forward and put his hands on the desk, leaning closer. He had been walking all day and he was starving. He was in no mood to be toyed with.

"Look, I know what you're trying to do," he said, his voice silky. "You're trying to act all intimidating, with your eyeliner and—black lipstick, seriously?"

The boy touched a finger to his lips, looking a bit shocked.

"I will repeat what I said before, and this time, I want an answer. Do you work here?" Nico finished, tilting his head forward ever so slightly, so his messy hair fell in front of his eyes.

The boy looked him up and down, obviously sizing him up. He crossed his arms and gave Nico a look that was—thankfully—thoughtful and not irritated.

"I do, yeah," he said. His accent was a bit Irish. "What do you want?"

Nico willed himself to stay strong. He had made it this far. He couldn't chicken out now.

"I need a job," he said. "And you need some help with the décor. I mean, I know this is a mortuary, but a fog machine? Really?"

The boy held up his hands in mock defeat. "Watch it. I hold your fate in my hands as we speak."

Nico resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. "Whatever. Are you hiring or what?"

The boy hesitated slightly, but then spoke, his voice unwavering. "Believe it or not, we are. And you seem like just the person we were looking for."

"So…could I have the job?"

The boy sighed. "I guess. No one else has come by asking about it, so you're the best candidate."

A rush of relief passed through him.

"Well, you don't have a sign or anything," he pointed out.

The boy tilted his head slightly. "Wait, there wasn't a sign in the front window?"

Nico shook his head.

"Bloody hell," said the boy, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "No wonder. I could have sworn that I put up the sign…"

"It doesn't matter now," said Nico hurriedly. "What's the job?"

The boy blinked quickly, looking at Nico as if he were seeing him in a whole new light.

"Secretary. Don't worry. You don't have to touch the bodies or anything. Just take phone calls, occasionally pick up my lunch, banish any wandering spirits, etcetera."

"Sounds lovely," said Nico, his words brittle with sarcasm.

The boy reached for a pad of paper and scribbled a number down.

"Here's the number for the store. You can start tomorrow. My name's Chalice, by the way."

"That's your real name?" questioned Nico, raising a single dark eyebrow.

"What, got a problem with it?" said Chalice, though his voice lacked hostility.

"Not at all," said Nico, picking up the slip of paper and heading for the door. As he turned the doorknob and opened the door he turned to look over his shoulder at the boy who still stood behind the desk. "See you later, Fancy Cup."

Please review! It would make my day :) And if you want to check out more snippets and drabbles I've written, you can check out my tumblr (I'm feverfooted there as well).

-Sid