AMANTI, nico di angelo

IV. they were sisters before he was there

0004. | THEY WERE SISTERS
BEFORE HE WAS THERE

Vela woke once more in a cold sweat, a habit he was most irritated by. The nightmares that plagued him no longer seemed as ghastly as they used to, not because they weren't so frightfully terrifying as ever, but because Vela was used to them.

He was able to console himself in the knowledge that they were only memories. Memories couldn't hurt him, and neither could past pain. His scars were only scars, on his skin, or on his heart, he didn't care.

            He refused to care about his nightmares because if he let himself care then he would have to face the fact that what happened to him was truly traumatising and to hell was he going to do that. No—better to ignore it and hope it goes away. That's always worked out well for him.

So, in an effort to remain nonchalant to his ever-growing sadness, Vela slid himself out from under Nico, moving from where he was. Vela had grown to like laying on his back (it helped him see the stars through the window before midnight), and Nico had grown to like laying on top of him, their bodies tangling together in a desperation to be close. Like Plato's soulmates, Vela and Nico made every effort to rejoin themselves together.

        Nico's hands grasped at the blankets, trying to find his missing soulmate in his sleep and Vela felt himself smile at the sight. He wanted to crawl right back in beside him, but he knew he watched him a moment longer that there would be no stopping the fulfilment of that wish. He spared one last glance to Neeks before padding his bare feet out of cabin thirteen.

           He needed to wash away his sweat and he knew exactly where to go. Unfortunately, it was the one place he hadn't been since the end of the war.

              The sight of lavender sent a rise of bile up in his throat and his steps faltered. His hands were shaking. He tried to ignore it. He remembered how he had first seen cabin ten. The cabin that was very pink and would've hurt his eyes if he had looked at for too long in sunlight, but then it looked almost lavender in the light of the night, soft and silent as everything slept. He scrunched his hands into fists.

His throat felt tight but he took another step. He kept going, trying to bolster himself, marching up to the door over the dewy wet grass of midnight. His foot hovered on the decking, brushing against the painted wood and he froze.

He chewed on his lip, squeezing his hands. His eyes watered and he saw a girl walking out of the cabin, a girl he used to know. Silena was pretty, very pretty with her bare face and dark green sweater that fell down her legs which had goosebumps from the cold night air. She had dark brown hair that had been wrapped up in tight sleeping curlers under her matching green headscarf that tried to keep the hair rollers in but was failing epically. Silena had faint brown freckles over her nose and under her eyes, and she had a pretty face that could suit any hair or eye colour. Which was probably for the best as her eyes didn't have a colour. They were changing as they stood there, running through every colour imaginable but somehow lingering on blue. Vela didn't know how to describe it, but he thought it was pretty.