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Percy felt as if he was living in a haze. Countless shadows swam in and out his vision, faint murmurs of condolences and apologies that soon turned into static the only thing he heard, but he doesn’t even notice, his eyes just trained and focused upon the framed photo of his mother placed atop her coffin.
It’s been three weeks since she’d died from the costly accident that took not only her life, but 23 others too, but to Percy, who was there when she had died, three rooms away, who should’ve helped her, who should’ve died instead of her, it was still hell.
He was constantly reliving the memory—the sound of the loud explosion was still vivid in his mind, the sudden bright light that filled his vision still burned red every time he closed his eyes.
He longed for someone else to blame other than himself, but it was a gas leak, they said, so who can he blame it to, except for himself, who should’ve told his mother to stay with him instead, who should’ve done anything, anything at all, to prevent her death?
So after a little outburst that caused his mother’s funeral event—bullshit, really—to stop for a moment, he kept quiet the rest of the time, wallowing in guilt and self pity, cursing the gods and the heavens for taking his mother’s life.
▬▬▬
He was just listening to music when it happened. He heard loud, elephant like footsteps storming along the hall and onto the space outside his room, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard his stepfather’s voice booming outside his door.
The large, obese man complained all about how he’d been asking for his beer for twenty minutes now, to which Percy tersely replied that he can go get it himself. His stepfather had stared down at him in shock, his small brain straining to wrap around the fact that Percy had just talked back to him, then asking him if he’d heard right.
‘Are you deaf?’ Percy had snarled, losing his patience—he seemed to do that a lot nowadays. ‘I told you, that if you wanted some goddamn beers, (here he did an impression of his stepfather’s voice, even scrunching his face to match the expressions the man makes whenever he says those two words), then you better fucking GET IT FOR YOURSELF!’
At that his stepfather bristled, looking almost comical as he dragged Percy out of his room, pushing him out the door, yelling at him that if he’s going to act like such a dickhead (Oh, that’s ironic, Percy said) he can go find his own place to live in. Percy shrugged his hands off him and laughed. His stepfather scowled, slamming the door right at Percy’s face, his angry roar resounding in the street.
As Percy looked around hopefully for some good Samaritan who could maybe offer him a place to sleep for tonight, he saw someone quickly closing their shutters, the street suddenly void of human presence, for obviously none of his neighbors wanted to take care of another kid, and they all probably thought that he was this rough, prodigal child when he wasn’t, and Percy felt so angry, because whatever they thought he was, whatever his fuck of a stepfather have been spreading about him, they weren’t real, they don’t know the real him at all, but fuck it, oh, just fuck it.
He picked up his duffel bag, (he’d carried it with him as Gabe pushed him out of the house), zipped and pulled the hood of his parka up, and with a last, faint breath that for a moment left a ghost of white in the night air, he walked away from the home he had known for all his life—No, not home. Home was where my mother was, he thought—and set off to start anew.
▬▬▬
When Percy had fallen asleep in the park bench he had laid on last night, he was fairly certain that he had placed his bag underneath his head as a makeshift pillow. So when he woke up with a pounding headache and a stiff neck, he had immediately sat up, ignoring the pain in his head that seemed to double, because damn it, his bag was gone, only to see some kid running away from him, his duffel right there, in the kid’s hands. So he immediately bolted up, almost falling back down, but he continued anyway, yelling and running after the thief as best as he could.
Which was a pretty bad idea, but Percy was thinking only of his mother’s last picture, the one he had tucked inside the front pocket, and of the fact that all his only worldly goods was in that bag. But however noble his cause may be, it was still a bad idea, so he wasn’t really all that surprised when black spots appeared in his vision, a dark haired stranger—most likely another thief, they’re wearing almost the same thing—appearing beside the kid who’d stolen his pack the last sight he saw before passing out, falling face first into the ground.
He woke up to the feeling of someone lightly kicking his sides. Percy blinked, once, twice, thrice, before the world finally cleared, and he was able to look up and inspect the younger male staring down at him, who was as skinny as a stick, a little bracelet adorning his wrist his only accessory, his clothes dirty, a switchblade on his pocket, Percy’s duffel—hey!—held in his left hand and a condescending smile on his lips.
“Hey, hey! That’s my duffel!” Percy shouted, quickly getting up, and out of anger and gods knows what, punched the guy, or at least tried to, because though Percy was fast, the thief was faster, and he was able to evade Percy’s fist.
“Obviously.” The thief muttered, rolling his eyes and shoving the bag towards Percy’s chest. “You a new one?” he asked.
Percy just stared at him in bemusement, “A new what?”
“A new runaway, dipshit. Do you have somewhere to crash?”
A pause. “No?”
The kid shook his head, staring at Percy with what seems to be a mix of disgust and amusement. “Name’s Nico. You could crash with me for tonight.”
“Uh, no thanks, man. You could be a human trafficker for all I know.”
“Please. And even if I were, I wouldn’t bother even kidnapping you. You wouldn’t be worth shit.” Nico grinned, evading another punch.
“Plus, it’s not like you’ve got a choice. Either you crash here, and we all know how well that went for you, or you crash with me.”
Percy debated this for a while—he looks like a serial killer, damn it—before finally deciding that oh, whatever. Once again, just fuck it, really. He looked at Nico and decided that he was okay.
“I’m Percy.” He finally said. (Though he immediately scowled after he said that. Percy rhymed with Perky!)
Nico did a double take, and then laughed. “Percy? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”
“Fuck you.”
▬▬
“So, where exactly are we going?” Percy asked about forty minutes later. They’d been walking around Times Square for what felt like hours, which Percy found grueling.
Nico scowled at him as if he was an idiot. “We’re not going anywhere; we’re already at the best spot. I’m going to let you in on my trade.”
“Trade?” Percy repeated dumbly.
“Yes, trade. Are you a fast runner, Jackson?”
Percy didn’t know where this was going, but still he said: “I could be.”
“Oh, I suppose that’s good enough.”
“You can’t be fucking serious.” Percy said, staring at Nico in shock a few minutes later.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“These are—these are hard working citizens!” He snapped, but Nico just shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.
“Hard working citizens or not—we all have to survive.” Nico shrugged once again, this time gesturing with his hands palm up. As if that was enough explanation.
“What? It’s the first rule of living in the streets—survival first, ethics last.”
After wasting more minutes arguing back and forth and debating about morals and ethics—Nico finally won.
And so off they went, off to rob a poor citizen of his monthly salary.
Thankfully, the man they had targeted looked nothing like a poor citizen. He sported on a cube dice cufflinks—obviously a gambler, one who’d won quite a lot tonight, made obvious by the drunken leer of satisfaction on his face.
It was almost as if the guy was begging to be robbed.
In fact, when they did so, it was too easy—Percy the ‘innocent seal-eyed diversion’ and Nico the wraith whose hands moved to fast for even Percy to notice, and it was over as soon as it began.
Maybe some other time Percy would stop down and consider what he’d just done, but for now, he gladly went along with Nico.
“Now where are we going?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”Nico pointed at the glowing yellow letter ‘M’a few blocks away from them. “The land of child molesting clowns and the best burger and fries in town—McDonalds. You deserve a celebration.” Nico replied, waving the wad of money they’d stolen in the air.
They had ordered six cheeseburgers and three large fries with cokes in take out, hastily leaving the place when they saw the same Latino kid that they’d stolen from (after the gambler) entering the place. (Thankfully the kid hadn’t noticed them.)
A few minutes later they’d found themselves a cozy spot in central park, home of the hoodlums of central New York. They sat next to one another and started wolfing down the delicious treats they’d (wrongly) earned after a full hard day of ‘work’.
After that, Nico took out a cigarette and smoked. When he noticed Percy looking at him incredulously, however:
“Here, try one.” He said, grabbing the pack and giving it a little shake to get the cigarettes out, then placing one between Percy’s index and middle fingers.
He lit it up, and Percy, still feeling unsure but stupidly wanting to impress him, placed it in his mouth and sucked.
Nico grinned almost sadistically when he started coughing, right hand hastily grabbing at his chest.
“You fucking piece of shite!” Percy snapped once he’d gotten his breath back, which only made Nico’s grin grow wider. (He now reminded Percy of a feral Cheshire cat.)
“Gods. That was fucking horrible.” Percy said, scowling as he threw the stick on the ground and put the fire out with the sole of his foot. (He’d seen it done at movies.)
He turned to Nico, who was still laughing like he’d just seen the funniest thing on earth.
Percy solemnly wondered what on earth he was doing—sleeping in park benches and stealing money from unsuspecting citizens and hanging out with a kid a year younger than him—it just seemed like a sad way to live.
He also thought about the said kid: how long had he been doing this, and what had happened to him, to his parents, to his relatives, that was so bad that he had to resort to the life of an outlaw, a renegade?
He wanted to ask Nico, but it seemed like a rough topic that shouldn’t be talked about the first day you spend with somebody.
Still—he looked at Nico again, who’d stopped laughing now, looked at him, really, and he could see it—the lostness and the longing that accompanies bereavement and the harsh anger, the determination to not be hurt again, not by anyone, that you can only see in the eyes of someone who had known pain, became friends with it, even.
Suddenly he had a sudden urge to say something—and so he pulled out the only photo he had of his mother, looking beautiful and serene and so damn alive that it took a lot of effort for Percy to not start crying.
“She’s my mother.” He muttered, showing the photo to Nico.
A pause, and then:
“I’m sorry.” Nico said, seeming to understand what the sad look in Percy’s face meant when he said that without even asking, and Percy knew he meant it.
He recognized in Nico the same desperation, after all—the same guilt, the same burden that he’d seen in his own face in the mirror after the accident.
Again, Percy wondered what Nico had lost, but he supposed that even if he himself was ready to open up about that, Nico wasn’t. And he respected that.
▬▬▬
Months passed by and that was how they spent their weeks—thieves by day when the crowd in the city’s too many, the people packed tight like a can of sardines so it’s terribly easy to slip out and not be noticed, and by night, finding some random place to doze off and get high and get drunk and just talk, and Percy thought, they might just end up in jail by the time they’re both eighteen with how they’re doing, but it didn't matter, no, no, because what they had, what they do?
Never had Percy felt as much freedom and the sense of being alive as he did then.
And Nico—Careless, self-destructive Nico; hair unwashed and grimy, clothes tattered and black, (‘Easier to hide the bloodstains,’ he said), bloodshot eyes and that throaty laugh, appallingly thoughtless and wild, yes, Nico, who grew up without a mentor, who grew up a wolf in a meek, little sheep nation, as stealthy as a cat and as unnoticeable as a ghost, Percy knew without a doubt that he would’ve traded all the people in the world for him.
▬▬▬
Some days, however, they spent just laying down in some field, Percy’s old and antique music player along with a few CD’s, some drugs, and a few beers their only company, humming along to the lyrics or in Nico’s case, screaming them and showing Percy his zombie like dance moves. “I took the world by storm with this shit!”
Like tonight.
Duran Duran’s Hungry like the Wolf played out loud and the two of them bobbed their heads along to the beat and the do-do-do-do’s of the singer, sipping beers (Percy) and holding cigarettes limply between two fingers (Nico).
Percy watched as Nico brought the cigarette to his lips, sucking a little bit on it and pulling it away, smoke rings billowing out from his mouth.
His eyes landed on the bracelet Nico had always worn, the kind of bracelet that you can do by yourself, with only a string and little blocks or whatever it was, it was way too girly for him anyway, really, and noticed that instead of a name, which is the usual, Nico’s contained numbers.
His curiosity got the best of him.
‘Oi, corpsebreath, tell me, what the hell’s that bracelet for? What do those numbers mean?’ he asked, feeling brazen from the alcoholic drink, because he knew that asking any other time would most likely result in a black eye and a split lip.
For a while Nico just stared at him. Percy tensed, wondering if it still wasn’t the right time to ask that question, when finally, Nico spoke. “My sister, Bianca, she died seven years ago, when I was ten.”
Percy suddenly froze, unsure how to handle this new information. What was he supposed to say? He remembered his mother’s funeral, people coming up to him to offer their condolences, saying sorry, and the anger he felt when they said that, because they didn’t understand, they don’t know shit, their words were nothing but mindless chatter, and Percy just one day exploded, standing up and yelling at them to shut up, saying that if he could be given the chance to bring his mother back in exchange for all their lives, he would’ve done so.
People stopped coming to him after that.
“Oh.” He finally said.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”Nico took a beer.
“So that... that was the date?”
“Yeah.” Nico tipped his head back and drank, almost finishing the whole bottle in just one take.
“Tell me about her.” Percy said, breaking the silence that ensued between them.
“Hm. She was a fatalist. That’s the thing that I remember most about her. And see, here, this is what she looks like,” Nico said, pulling a picture from his pocket, (Do you always carry that around? Percy wondered but didn’t ask), giving it to Percy, and he took it, heart aching when he saw Nico, ten years old and innocently naïve, still a child, unaware of the complete 180 that’ll take place in his life a few months later.
Finally, he was able to tear his gaze away from Nico’s younger self to look at the other person in the photo, and immediately took notice of her and Nico’s similarities. They had the same eyes and hair, but Bianca’s nose was doe-like, whereas Nico’s was a little longer, more pronounced, and yeah, they were family alright.
“She’s … pretty.” He lamely muttered, returning the photo back to Nico.
To which the other male only grinned, mumbling something that sounded a little bit like, ‘definitely on the other side of the bus’, before looking back and claiming that yeah, yeah, she was, of course she would be, she was his sister after all, and seeing as he’s got great looks, it’s no wonder his sister does too.
And Percy just laughed, ‘Please, you have as much a sex appeal as a fucking toilet.’
“Ha, says the man who probably jacks off to my face when I sleep.’ Nico smugly replied, and Percy, whose face was burning, punched him.
After a few minutes of punching and yelling, Nico finally resumed talking about his sister.
“Yeah, well, she was a good sister. The best. We would constantly fight over the smallest things but it was worth it, I suppose. She always threw huge hissy fits whenever she catches me watching things that should not be watched by innocent ten year olds—I loved making her angry—Nico this, Nico that.” Nico did quite a good impression of his sister’s voice, Percy thought, but he wasn’t really sure since he’d never even met her.
He watched as the other male talked about the perks of television and card games and rules being broken just for the hell of it, all flailing hands and voice impressions, Percy still red from the jacking off accusation and thinking about what else he could do to wipe that smug grin off Nico’s face.
But soon enough he didn’t notice even that, because he was too busy staring at Nico’s lips, wondering what they’d taste like, and if they were really as soft as they seemed to be, and as he heard the wailing chorus of Radiohead’s Creep playing, what sounds would Nico make once he felt Percy’s tongue skimming his throat?
And just as Nico was saying, ‘See, I was the best at this one game called mythomagic—‘, Percy moved, his hands firmly pulling Nico’s face to him and kissing him, his tongue skimming his lips and his first thought was, ‘They are as soft as they look.’ and then it was all warbled and gibberish, his hands furiously moving across Nico’s hair, his neck, his back, and he felt Nico finally responding, his hands moving too, across Percy’s body, and Percy went on and found the answers for the questions he’d been asking himself seconds ago, and gods, was he contented with the answers he’d received.
He almost wanted to yell what he’d always known but didn’t realize until now, that he loved him, this skinny little guy who cusses like a drunken sailor, but he knew how stupid he would sound and feel like if Nico didn’t return those feelings, so he only grinned as he pulled away.
“That’s bullshit.” Percy finally quipped, after licking his chops, a reply that summed up all he thought of Nico’s long explanation about his arcade game skills.
Nico didn’t offer anything else other than an unidentifiable sound, a little ‘nngn’ in return, but Percy was already smirking, fairly contented with the dazed look on his face—not smug now— that was obviously not from the alcohol.
▬▬▬
And that was how they finally started, from a small, simple kiss to well, whatever it is that they had now—all hushed words and soundless moans, midnight meetings in secluded places, eyes meeting one another amidst the throng of a hundred people—sometimes they’d even let a few people go by without taking anything, minds too distracted with the thoughts of the other—and Cheshire smiles as the other’s face grew flushed, hands scorching through skin of bronze and gold.
“Hey, hey, calm down.” Nico muttered as Percy’s lips fluttered throughout his neck, licking, sucking, and biting the delicate skin as Nico shivered under his touch. His fingers ghosted over Nico’s bare chest, then his hips, sliding back and forth, taking pleasure as he watched Nico’s face, seemingly memorizing each expression that he makes. His eyes stayed on his, watching the pupils dilate as he finally gripped the hem of Nico’s boxers.
“Idiot, we can’t. Anyone would come in any minute now and—“
“And catch us two lovebirds sucking each other’s faces off.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
‘Hmm. That’s funny.”
“I-What?”
“You’re acting like some virgin, and that’s funny, considering the fact that you seemed to have no problem with it the first time.” Percy smirked, his gaze turning sensual, and he started to pull Nico’s boxers down. “And frankly, from what I could remember, we did it in an alleyway.”
“Fuck you.”
Percy chuckled, finally removing the last piece of clothing. He’d like to believe that he was past the point of being careful, for they’ve done this so many times, but honestly, he was still nervous. This—whatever he had with Nico—it was something that he didn’t want to fuck up.
That didn’t mean that he won’t make a joke at Nico’s expense though.
"Nice cock," Percy comments.
"Thanks," Nico snorts. "I grew it myself."
A short laugh, and then they were kissing, breathless and dizzy with lust, hands sliding across their bodies, ravishing one another until they didn’t know where the other ended and where the other began.
▬▬▬
“So, remember, if we ever get chased, we’ll have to split up. That—” Nico said, pointing at the little block of a building (a restroom) in the deserted gas station they were currently in, “is our rendezvous point.”
Percy nodded, eyes inspecting the rundown bathroom Nico was referring to. It’s about a few inches wide, with four stalls inside. It smelled like shit and trash were abundant in the floor—little sachets of condoms and gum wrappers, toilet paper strewn about—but oh well, Percy supposed that beggars can’t be choosers.
After a few more minutes of planning and scheming—Percy didn’t understand what the point of all that is since they’ve already been doing the same thing for months, but Nico seems distracted and the one time Percy asked about it, a few days ago, Nico had just shrugged, telling him to drop it with a stare. So he just went along with it.
When Nico was done, they headed to Times Square, eyes eagerly inspecting the massive crowd once they arrived. Percy summed up that with people as many as this they could probably get a thousand, and he felt adrenaline coursing through his veins, feeling giddy, as if this was their first time doing this again.
He grinned at the memory, eyes sliding sideward to Nico, who didn’t even seem to see the ensemble in front of him. Percy frowned. He was about to ask what was wrong again, hand reaching for Nico’s shoulder, but the ‘seeing-but-not-seeing’ look in Nico’s face disappeared just in time and then he was pushing Percy, urging him, ‘Go, go, go!’ so Percy, having no choice, walked off, blending in with the crowd.
He surveyed the people around him, eyes alert and vigilant. He made his way amidst the throngs of the people, immediately crossing out the ones who looked lost and paranoid off in his list and grinning when he saw his first target: a fat, bald man who looked to be in his forties, hastily wiping at his face with a cream colored handkerchief, wallet ridiculously placed on his front pocket.
Percy quickly aligned himself to the man, half checking out his watch and watching for the man’s shoes, letting out a fake oomph when he bumped into the man, hands quickly reaching for the fat man’s lapels as if to keep himself standing upright.
The said man scowled at him in annoyance, but Percy said a quick apology, the hand slipping into the man’s pockets and pulling out his wallet in a matter of seconds going unnoticed, smiling as innocently as he could as he made to dust the man’s lapel and with a second apology, sashayed past the man.
He quickly walked off, making sure to put a few blocks between him and the person he stole from.
And just as Percy was about to grin at the exhilaration of taking the man’s money without him noticing, he saw Nico running, almost barreling into him, yelling at him to run, run, run, he’s being chased, and his smile immediately fell, turning around and doing as Nico asked.
He skirted past people who looked at him in annoyance and shock, looking back at Nico who was just a few inches away from him. He turned a corner and almost bumped into a blonde girl carrying what seems to be a load of books—all about architecture and myths, if not for Nico’s hands darting and grabbing at his shirt, immediately righting his stance.
He muttered a quick sorry and continued, Nico behind him, until they turned into an alley about twenty minutes later and finally stopped. They stared at one another, Nico grinning (more like grimacing, really) and Percy frowning down at him.
“What the fuck happened to you? You’ve never been chased! And you’ve been off this past few days, Nico—”Percy would’ve went on if not for the sound of sirens blaring a few blocks away from where they were.
Nico did a quick look behind Percy and sighed, his eyes telling him of the apology he couldn’t say.
“I’ll explain later. Meet me at the rendezvous point.” He finally said, running away before Percy could say anything in return.
Percy scowled, feeling angry and annoyed, before ignoring Nico’s plea and making his way back toward the city, daring the cops to catch him and hating Nico for being a coward who runs away from all his problems.
(Only to realize how much of a hypocrite he was being a few hours and stolen wallets later.)
He went back to their so called safe haven and house for the night, pushing the door open, mouth opening to say a quick apology for not coming early, only to snap itself closed once again once he saw that there was no one else in the room.
He checked out the stalls, feeling worried, but decided to not act hastily and with a resigned sigh, sat on the floor, taking out a small package of twix and munching on it.
After all, Nico had been doing this for years, and surely he could keep himself safe. He trusted Nico enough to do that, at least. But still, he’d been acting weirdly these past few days, and Percy solemnly wondered what Nico’s problem was.
He was right about what he’d said, about Nico never getting chased before in all the months they had spent together, so what’s different about today? What could be so wrong that it’d make Nico distracted enough to almost get caught?
Hours passed by and Percy’s worry grew—he stood up and wiped the dirt of his ass, intent on going out and finding Nico and saving him from whatever predicament he’s placed himself—maybe he’s gotten into a feud with someone from a gang or was in debt—when finally Nico stumbled in, smelling of harsh liquor and cigarettes, almost falling face first in the floor if not for Percy catching him.
“Jesus, you’re drunk as a fucking sailor.” He muttered, rubbing Nico’s back as he vomited.
“Am I? I haven’t noticed.” Nico laughed, and it sounded so broken, and finally, a memory of Percy saying “What the hell’s that bracelet for!”, and Nico, drunkenly replying, “My sister, Bianca, she died seven years ago, when I was ten.” as he showed him the picture, saying that it was his only memento of a life long gone and their first kiss, surfaced in Percy’s memory, and he grabbed Nico’s wrist, immediately sobering up when he noticed that the numbers in the bracelet, the date of Bianca’s death, corresponds with the date today.
He immediately took the younger kid in his arms, his lanky arms wrapping themselves around Nico’s skinny frame, holding him close as he started crying, anguished sobs escaping his mouth. Percy could hear him murmuring ‘I’m sorry’ again and again, and his heart broke for Nico all over again.
For he knew that Nico was saying sorry not to him but to the sister that he had lost—the sister whose death wasn’t Nico’s fault at all but the guilt of it, of not saving her, a burden forever to be carried by him.
(Percy knew how he felt—His mother, Nico’s sister—it seems that they’re both haunted by similar ghosts.)
Nico tried to pull away a few times, but Percy held on, holding him close until he finally relented, letting himself be lulled to calmness by Percy’s voice saying, ‘I know, I know, I love you, I know.’
And they sat there for hours, Percy just holding him protectively, patiently waiting for him to stop crying, sharing his pain just as Nico shared his, the smell of stale cigarettes and vomit putrid in the air, the watch on Percy’s watch striking midnight and his shirt getting soaked with tears, and the loud thud of the other cubicle as another, faceless couple entered, a female giggling and someone else urging her to be quiet, there could be someone else in here, but they don’t even notice.
--
They had fallen asleep in that position—so they weren’t at all surprised when they woke up sore, Percy making a quip that—well, shit. It’s not like it’s the first time we woke up in certain positions and feeling as sore as a new born baby, huh?—grinning as he evaded Nico’s punch. Nico was blushing madly, which made Percy feel good.
(It was a good effort to lighten the mood that paid off, at least.)
Percy supposed that what people used to say about there being intimacy in pain was true, because after that night, his and Nico’s relationship seemed to change.
Something had shifted between them—in a good way. From partners in crime, perpetually high and drunk, to two people slowly, madly, falling in love with one another—Percy hated how sappy it sounded but it was true.
And yeah, yeah. The two of them could be well on their way to jail—or worst, hell, if it even existed—but Percy’s opinion about what they’d been doing and about Nico’s thoughtlessness hadn’t changed, he still would’ve traded everything and everyone in the world for this one kid.
And the two of them called it a day and just laid there—a boy who craved oblivion and a boy who had lost everything-inches apart and hands not quite touching, their breathing the only sound in the room, and Percy noticed that their chests rose and fell at the same time, and he could just imagine their hearts echoing, thud, thud, thud, beating at the same time, the same rhythm.
And right here, right now, lying beside Nico, he felt as if he’d found the answers to all the questions worth asking and all the secrets of the universe.
And that’s enough for him.