even in the silver light

FIVE.

Nico knows he's an intimidating guy. Even people who are dressed just like him, heavy dark clothes and hair that hides their faces, seem to avoid him. People have crossed the street to the opposite sidewalk to avoid him.

It's fair, he supposes. He's not the most inviting looking person. He can't put his finger on it exactly, but he assumes there's just something off about him. Something not quite human enough, not quite alive enough for other people to be able to stand him. Even animals avoid him.

He looks tired. He knows that much just by looking in the mirror, though he doesn't try to do that often. He doesn't particularly like the way he looks.

He avoids looking at the bags under his eyes, almost purple, at the crooked bridge of his nose, at the acne covering his cheeks. But he doesn't quite think any of these things, these mundane, human things are what people don't like about him.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to have friends.

People to hang out with, to mess around and joke with, to wander with and to hold. To eat with.

The closest he's got to friends...

Hazel. And, he supposes, Jason. Percy and Annabeth and Frank. Piper and Leo. Thalia. But he hasn't seen any of them in a while, hasn't talked to any of them in a while. (Except Thalia, who he happened to run into while wandering on his own. She made him come to Camp Half-Blood with her, in spite of his protests.)

And Will.

But if Nico is honest, he isn't sure if he'd consider Will a friend. He's... something else.

He doesn't have any friends at Camp Half-Blood. He sits under trees, reading books he's stolen from libraries and bookstores. He stays in his cabin, reading or meditating or cleaning, trying to make the cabin feel like home. (It's not cold inside, but it feels cold. It's unwelcoming, even to him. There are no decorations anywhere, unless one could count the alter Nico set up as decor. The curtains are black, but thin enough that even moonlight shines through then.)

It's nice outside. The weather has been nice lately, sunny and warm enough for him to sit anywhere.

Most other campers pass him by mindlessly, without a second glance. He's grown used to being ignored.

So he doesn't really know what do when when he sees a girl approaching him, walking right toward him. Looking at him.

He lets his book close slowly as he looks back at her. She can't be older than fourteen, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail at the top of her head. She's wearing an oversized graphic t-shirt that says Florence and the Machine. (Nico wonders if anyone wears the orange camp t-shirts anymore.)

"Hi," she says nicely when she's close enough.

"Hi," he says hesitantly.

"Sorry, I don't... know where the crafts center is."

"Oh, it's..." Nico starts to tell her, looking in the direction of the crafts center before hesitating. "I can show you," he says, changing his mind and folding the corner of the page he's on as he stands. When he looks up the girl is looking at the book with wide eyes.

"Sacrilege," she whispers dramatically. He chuckles lightly.

"I always forget a bookmark."

He starts walking, and she follows him, her arms swinging cheerfully.

"So you're new?" he asks awkwardly after a second.

"Yeah. I just got here a few weeks ago."

"Who's your parent?"