Solangelo One Shots

Sleepless Hollywood

Nico's POV

He groans, flipping over on his hard mattress as headlights dance across the wall and shine in his eye before passing by, replaced by another. He buries his head in his pillow, gathering it up in his arms but it does nothing to block out the sounds of car horns, or yelling from the street. He's living in an active world, even at three in the morning.

He sits up when he realizes that sleep is going to be impossible amid the sound of yelling and light so he sits up, shifting his butt on the solid mattress and pushing back his scratchy blanket. It's not like he needs it, in the heavy air of the side roads of Hollywood, but he never sleeps without one. The air feels too dirty to sleep uncovered.

The door to Percy and Annabeth's room is cracked open and he can see them tangled together on their bed, the frame splintering, the paint rubbing, but still, it's their frame. Their bed that they come home to every day, sleep together in with their legs intertwining. It's not the greatest bed, but at least they have one. At least they don't come back to the apartment to a mattress underneath the window and wonder where everything went so wrong that they had to room with his best friend and his girlfriend.

The city is still alive; he knows that the city is still alive, after jumping right into the world of auditions and bartending after high school. He knows that the bars, the stores, the coffee shops will still be open so he ties his shoes without knowing exactly where to go, but all he knows is that he has somewhere to go.

Percy and Annabeth don't stir when Nico walks past their room. If they can sleep through the drug raid that happened last night in their neighbor's apartment, they can sleep through Nico slipping out at three in the morning on another one of his sleepless nights.

The streets of Hollywood are engulfed in shadows, shady figures hovering in back alleys with hands shoved into pockets. He walks through the circles of lights cast by the glow of the stores, the flickering streetlamps. He isn't sure where he's going yet, but he'll find something eventually. Even this late at night, in the shadows of the witching hour, there's always something to do in the back streets of Hollywood.

Will's POV

He isn't exactly sure why there's a coffee shop open twenty-four hours, but as long as he gets paid, he doesn't care what's open in Hollywood at three in the morning. It's not like he doesn't get customers, either; usually, it's only one or two an hour, stopping in on their break to get a boost that will last till morning or to get a baked good to mop up the alcohol sloshing in their stomachs. But there usually isn't much action, not much to do other than wipe down the counter five hundred times and sample the different drinks that end up leaving his mind still tired and his body buzzing with caffeine. It's such a strange feeling, to be so physically energetic and yet so mentally exhausted and sometimes he wishes that his body would just choose one state to live in. But, at least he's awake.

The manager left hours ago once midnight struck, reminding Will not to let the shop burn down before the people on the morning shift arrived. He's only got three more hours to go, and he's doing pretty well. Sure, the latte machine started smoking at around one-thirty, but he got that taken care of and now, there's nothing to do than eat his muffin and watch the street with sleepy eyes.

In the quiet of the coffee shop, he slips out from behind the counter, rag in hand as he begins to mop up imaginary crumbs and fake stains. It takes him five minutes of pretending to be busy to remember that his manager isn't there; he doesn't have to worry about her watchful eyes on his back, worry about being given menial tasks that make his blood boil so he slumps down in one of the seats, the rag held loosely in his hands. It wouldn't be such a bad thing, to take a quick nap. He's exhausted, despite the caffeine. A built-up tolerance from working at the coffee shop and the fact that he hasn't slept in twenty-two hours will make any amount of caffeine feel arbitrary He feels his eyelids droop down and he's just about to fall into a restless sleep that will probably leave his neck sore, when he hears the bell jingle from above the door.