How Icarus Fell From the Sun (a Solangelo fanfic)

mentre tu sei tra le nuvole

Nico liked living in a hotel. For a 7 year old boy, it was a dream come true. The hotel was fancy, a home for i ricchi. A new adventure every single day, whether it was getting breakfast in a real dining area, a crowd of Americans, or the tall stranger always speaking to his mama in hushed tones.

Today was a good day, though. Bianca had let him color with her, even though last time he had accidentally snapped her orange crayon. Mama had said that she couldn't get a new one because there wasn't enough money. There was a war on the verge, very close now, mama said, and prices were rising.

Mama only ate at breakfast times. Nico and Bianca had breakfast and dinner. Always the same. It was okay though. Nico was happy to color next to his sister, ignoring the whispers of the strange man next to his mama. He wasn't burdened by the loss of money. He was never too hungry. He was a 7 year old boy. He had no time to wonder why they could afford a hotel like this, but not lunch. And he didn't care. He was content.

He did this for quite some time, drawing in the lobby of the pretty hotel with his sister, blocking out the world, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Creatura," Maria was leaning over him.

"Yes, mama?"

"Did you not hear me calling? Ha la teste tra le nuvole, amore." Your head is in the clouds, love.

"La sua testa è sempre tra le nuvole, mamma." Bianca added. His head is always in the clouds, mom. Nico stuck his tongue out at her, and Maria laughed.

"Beh, ogni tanto vivere con la testa fra le nuvole ci aiuta a tenere i piedi per terra." Well, if you live with you head in the clouds every now and then, it helps you keep your feet on the ground.

The stranger. He had never spoken to Nico directly before. He walked up and put his hand on mamas shoulder, who was still bent down to be at eye level with Nico.

He had a deep voice, and his accent made him hard to understand. He didn't sound American, but he certainly wasn't Italian. He wore un nero abito, con strisce bianche. A pinstripe suit. He towered over Nico, and he couldn't decide how he felt about the man. His mama seemed to trust him. But he was wary.

Nico felt the hair on his arms stand up as his mama let go, ruffled his hair, and walked to the other side of the room with the man. She sat, gracefully as ever on the sofa, and the man sat on the chair, very close to her. They began whispering again, but louder this time. Nico didn't like it. The man sounded angry. Mama sounded determined. He wanted to distract himself.

"Bianca!" He said, tuning towards his sister.

"Si, Nico?"

"Let's play carte!"

"We don't have any cards, scemo."

"Beh poi facciamo un gara!" Well then lets race!

"Va bene, va bene." Okay, okay.

They began to run, and run, playing to avoid the marble columns, and see who could run the most laps around them before getting too tired. They'd played this game a lot in the past few days, having little other passatempi.

As they played, Nico watched his mother kiss the tall man, and stand up from the sofa. He chose to ignore it. She'd tell him about it later. He continued running circles with Bianca, laughing excitedly as she began to slow.

Suddenly the room filled with a mind numbing electricity. Bianca stopped running. She could feel it too. The strange man, the man with no name, un trascurabile faccia, a forgettable face, stood from the couch looking troubled, and yelled out, "No!"