[CLOSED] How do you grieve someone who's not actually dead?

[codicies]

Who: Dylan Brock codicies & Nico di Angelo demigoth
What: Nico coming to grips with his loss, while Dylan deals with his own.
When: Ambiguously earlier in April
Where: Dylan's room
Content Warnings: none, will add if needed

The view of Central City from the penthouse apartment was beautiful. The city sprawled below, and Dylan has to admit, he feels... powerful.

And lonely.

With the window open, he leans out and gazes down at the city below, following the streets and picking out the Descendant's location. It looks different from above, for sure.

Venom had really liked this view. Eddie... not so much. Dylan huffs a soft laugh as he remembers them both. What are they doing now? Do they even remember being here? Are they even trying to get back?

What happens when the confluence takes you away?

Comments

[codicies]

Dylan whirls when he hears the shuffling. It's too deliberate to be a burglar. He's surprised to see Nico, but not angry; He's got an open invitation to come hang out whenever. And this counts as whenever.

"Nico! Hey!" Dylan says as he approaches, happy to have someone around to cut through the loneliness. "Nice to see you. Want anything to drink?"

But as he gets closer, he notices something's off. The hair's a little too disheveled, and he seems more... withdrawn than usual.

His expression softens. "Hey... what's wrong?"

[demigoth]

This is a huge mistake. Nico used up all of his willingness to let someone in to just show up. Now what? He didn’t really think about now what.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. It’s less words than the truth, and Nico doesn’t know how long he can tolerate being looked at like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. He doesn’t have breakdowns. He storms off and gets pissed, but he’s not going to get Dylan’s apartment soggy. It all comes out aggressively, like he’s teeing up to argue in detention. “I thought you might want to hang out.”

[codicies]

Okay, so he doesn't want to talk. That's fine. He's got better things than talking, anyway, he thinks with a grin.

"You know it." He steps through the room, sweeping his arms to show off the size of his bedroom — it's big enough for a small couch and entertainment center. "How does pizza and video games sound? We could go to that fancy pizzeria that claims to be authentic, order everything on the menu, and tell me whether they're actually authentic or not."

After all, nothing clears the mind of angst like kvetching about the smaller details.