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.

Will sits up fast, scratching at his neck as a boy about his age steps in, sweatpants swallowing up his legs, his hair messy in the back. The boy looks around, frowning, until his eyes land on Will, and his face flushes red. "Sorry," he says, shoving his hands into his sweatpant pockets. "I thought you were open."

"We are," Will says, glancing at the floor so this boy coming into a coffee shop at three in the morning can't see the flush on his face. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"Hey, I get it," the boy says, laughing softly. "It's been a long year." Will laughs and upon closer observation, he can see the rings underneath the boy's eyes from working late nights just to keep his head above water, the slump of his shoulders underneath the weight of the world. Will understands it, the dejected feeling of coming to Hollywood in the vain hope of making it big until that's crushed by a bad job in a bad part of town and the feeling of wanting desperately to get a callback that will never come. He feels it himself, the feeling that his dream is slipping through his fingers. It's not a fun one and if this boy, the boy walking the streets of Hollywood in the middle of the night, is anything like he looks, he's feeling it, too.

"Are you gonna order now or do you want another few minutes?" Will asks, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. Maybe it's unprofessional, to loudly broadcast to a customer how incredibly exhausted he is. But he hasn't slept in twenty-two hours, and he's got an audition he knows he's going to bomb tomorrow morning, and if he's reading this boy correctly, he doesn't care what Will does, anyway.

"I'm good now," the boy says, stepping up to the counter and running a hand through his hair. It makes it stick up even more, enhancing the sleepy look that the boy is sporting, the one that directly translates to how Will is feeling. "I'll just take a large hot chocolate." Will finds it strange, as he rings him in and takes his money, that he would be ordering a hot chocolate, although Will doesn't know why it's strange to him. Maybe it's because this boy, with his porcelain face and black hair curling around the curve of his ear, looks like he should be grown up. Like he should drink black coffee, and abandon his dreams of acting for a steady desk job. But maybe that was stupid of Will to think. Because a closer look at the way he walks, the way he talks, the movement of his hands, all point to a spark of youth that hasn't been lost yet, the kind someone needs to push and push and push in Hollywood, the kind that seems to flicker out more and more in Will's chest as the monotonous days of rejection and working pass. And then Will wonders why he's making assumptions about this boy, based off of something so trivial as the way his steps bounce on the floor because he really doesn't know this boy at all. He doesn't even know his name. And maybe it's a little bit strange to be alone in this coffee shop with him, in the dead of night as the boy sips his hot chocolate, as neither of them talks. And so, he talks.

"My name's Will, by the way," Will says, flashing an awkward smile. The boy looks up from his frothy hot chocolate, a mustache lining his upper lip, hands wrapped around the mug. Will wonders why this boy is ordering hot chocolate on the sixty-degree night they're sitting in. And Will isn't sure if he's just made the situation awkward by talking, and when a second goes by he starts to get nervous, but when the boy's face splits into a smile, he knows he's made the right decision. Maybe this boy needs a friend to talk to on this lonely night just as much as Will does.

"My name's Nico." Nico's eyes dart around the coffee shop, scanning the glistening latte machine, the thrice-wiped countertop. "You wanna sit down or something? Doesn't look like you have much to do." Will doesn't know how he's done it, but a couple of sentences have somehow given him an in with Nico.

"Yeah, hang on. I'm gonna get another coffee." He's going to need energy for this. He doesn't know how, but he can tell. The espresso machine whirrs and he mixes in caramel syrup until the froth at the top caps off and he takes a slow sip, sitting down in the chair next to Nico. The realization that he's about to have a complete conversation with a complete stranger suddenly crosses his mind; a conversation with a stranger who, for some reason, was walking the streets of Hollywood at three in the morning. For all Will knows, he could be a serial killer. But one look at the boy makes him trust him. Maybe it's the magic of the night, the magic of the witching hour, slipping trust into his heart, making him feel safe in his seat. It's a good feeling.

"The night shift at a coffee shop must be kinda dead," Nico says, his eyes glancing around at the freshly washed tables and the glimmering machines. Will's gone over all of them twice.

"Yeah. My manager keeps talking about how it'll bring people in from the party scene or whatever, but as you can see, that's not really happening. Not to mention there isn't much of a party scene on a Wednesday night." Nico laughs softly, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. Tendrils of steam rise up, curling around his face and framing it in a heart made of steam.

"And you got stuck with it, huh?"

"I asked for it. It works with my schedule." Nico tilts his head, setting his hot chocolate down on the tiny saucer. "Auditions."

"Oh. I get that. My old job just fired me because my audition schedule is so intense I had to keep asking for days off." He purses his lips, shaking his head and when he glances out the window, Will catches just a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

"There's always here. There's always the coffee shop."

"Not sure they'd need both of us, even in this bustling atmosphere." They can hear the crickets outside, rare for Hollywood. Even the drunk people have gone home. Now it's only them, the only two people awake in a sleepless world. "Thanks, though. It was a nice offer."

"That sucks, though. You come to Hollywood to live your dream and six months later you're broke and hopeless."

"I'm sleeping on a hard mattress in my best friends living room while he and his girlfriend sleep in the bedroom together."

"I have four roommates in a studio apartment and I think that at least one of them sells drugs for a living."

"This sucks for both of us, doesn't it?" Nico says, laughing. It's quiet and normally, it wouldn't reach anyone but Will. But in the silent night, Will wonders how far the sound reaches. He hopes that the entire world can hear it, just for their sakes.

"At least we still have hope," Will says.

"How do you know I still have hope?"

"If you didn't, you'd have moved back home by now. You're still here." Nico frowns, his eyes focused on something far away and Will worries for a second that he's pegged Nico wrong, that he's just as hopeless about his goals as the rest of the world working a 9-5 in the suburbs are. But slowly he nods and he leans back in his chair, a tiny smile spreading across his face.

"And you're right again," Nico says. "Second time tonight." He leans forward, resting his head on his hand, elbow propping him up on the table and they're closer than they've ever been before that night. Will can just begin to make out the details of his eyelashes, the pale pink of his lips. Will wonders how, with beauty like that, Nico hasn't managed to land a role. He yawns and glances towards the door and out of nowhere, Will is scared. "Damn, I'm tired. What time is it?"

"Three fifteen."

"Ugh. Maybe I should go back to Percy's."

"What do you have waiting there for you?" Will doesn't know why he's pushing so hard to get Nico to stay. Maybe it's because Nico has turned out to be the most interesting customer he's ever had, and if he loses him now, he'll be swallowed up into the sea of everyone who lives in Hollywood for the rest of his life. Maybe he isn't quite ready to end this conversation, the first one in months that hasn't been about his paycheck or the scorching California weather. Or maybe, he's just bored. Bored and lonely.

"Yeah, you're right. There's nothing for me there right now. And that's the third time tonight you've been right. Maybe I should hang out with you more often."

"That'd be nice."

"Maybe I'll come back tomorrow night and distract you from work a second time in a row."

"That would be very much appreciated because this really is a pointless shift." Nico laughs again, and Will hopes that it carries out to anyone else who might be awake at this hour. The other people who are sleepless in Hollywood deserves to hear it just as much as Will does.

Hi guys! I'm sorry because I feel like this is genuinely terrible and I've just been really busy but I promise that I'm going to update biweekly, and I hope you enjoyed!

Nina