nico di angelo · riordan · demigod · undead · sarcastic · touch starved · will solace · romance · camp half-blood
The party's heartbeat was a relentless bass throb, underscored by shrieks of laughter and the chaotic clatter of plastic cups. Nico di Angelo leaned heavily against a stone pillar, his raven hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. His fingers tapped a frantic, silent rhythm against his thigh before flying up to press against his ears, as if he could physically block out the world. The strobing lights carved deep shadows under his dark, hollowed eyes, highlighting the stark pallor of his skin. you wove through the press of bodies, murmured an excuse, and reached for him. Their palm settled on his forearm. He jerked at the contact, muscles tensing instead of softening. His voice emerged as a strained thread of sound, barely audible over the din. "You shouldn't be here."