Disclaimer: Do not own PJO!

Nico was in a bad mood. Worse than usual. He'd been surrounded by raging Italians gesturing wildly with their hands and stupid tourists ("Are you actually Italian? Say something in Italian. Hey, kids, stand next to this guy so we can take a picture—") and the smell of oregano all day. It wasn't exactly his idea to start working at a restaurant per se, but if he didn't, he would've been stuck doing Hades's dirty work. Because he was a demigod who didn't exactly get an education, college was out of the question, and working at Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter didn't really interest him. He wanted a somewhat mortal life, believe it or not. In this case, it was working in a small, albeit well-known, Italian restaurant named La Petite Mort. Little Death in honor of the owner's mother who had died when he was a young child.

(He met the owner's mother, Luna, in the Underworld once. She was such a nice old lady that Nico couldn't bear to ignore her request of keeping an eye on her son.)

But yeah, Nico was tired. His feet ached from walking around in uncomfortable loafers—why he couldn't wear his black converse was beyond him—and his ears rang from loud conversations about family members.

All he wanted to do was go home, curl up on the couch, and maybe cuddle with Leo (no matter what mood he was in, he always wanted to cuddle Leo) if he didn't pass out beforehand. Being a waiter was some serious business, and not something to be taken lightly. He'd be lucky to make it a few feet into his humble abode without collapsing first, to be honest.

Nico had tipped the taxi driver ("Thanks." "Go away, kid." "Wow, rude." "Get the hell out of my car.") as best as he could and began to make his way across the street, towards a tall building. His apartment.

The moon was covered by thick clouds and the wind bit at his skin, making him even more anxious to get inside.

Taking the steps two by two, he slid through the entrance, gave a nod to the doorman, and entered the elevator. Thankfully, no one had pressed all the buttons this time and he had a quick ride to the third floor. Normally, Nico would take the stairs because he absolutely loathed elevator music, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so he endured 10 seconds of Staying Alive and quickly got out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

And as soon as he took a step, he was hit with the smell of smoke and swore, "Fucking Katie Gardner and her fucking stoner friends."

With a groan, he trudged across the hallway, the smoke becoming more and more intense. As he walked pass Katie's door, he came to the sudden conclusion that, no, the smoke wasn't coming from her place but rather his.

He hastily shoved his keys into the lock of his apartment door—missing plenty of times and spitting out plenty of curses before he finally got it in—and worriedly ran his palm down his face before stepping in.

"Nico!"

"Leo? What," Nico paused. He was mortified to say the least. "What happened here?"

Leo laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "You weren't supposed to be home so early."

"What were you doing? And why," Nico coughed, "is there so much smoke?" He made his way through the room and towards the balcony, ignoring the high-pitched squeals of the smoke detector. He opened the glass door and watched the black gas float out into traffic.

"I-I tried to make dinner for you." He heard Leo say behind him. Nico walked back inside and picked up a stray rag in the kitchen, using it to fan out the never-ending smoke near the detector to stop the beeping. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see a charred-to-death turkey still in the oven and a fire extinguisher. He didn't even want to see what else Leo had tried to do. He was the only one that could even cook, godsdamnit, and was that velvet cake stuck to the ceiling?

Nico sighed and gave his boyfriend a tired glance. "For the love of the god's, Leo, are you sure you weren't trying to make a bonfire in here? Or have a food fight?" Leo looked like a kicked puppy with his downcast eyes and slumped posture, so Nico quickly coughed and then said carefully, "Why'd you go through all of this trouble for me?"

"Because..." Leo trailed off and looked at the dining table. Leo let out a frustrated groan and continued, "Because you're so fucking cute I just want to kiss your cute stupid face and cuddle the shit out of you and hold your fucking hand and—"

"Leo."

"I tried to get some wine but the gods are so mean and it shouldn't even matter that we're underage because we fought Gaea, for Zeus's sake—"

"Leo." Nico stressed.

"So all I have is apple cider and not even sparkling apple cider, like how fucking lame am I and—"

Nico frowned. "Your hair is on fire."

"Oh Styx," Leo said, hurriedly using his hands to pat it out. Sometimes, when Leo is nervous or mad or babbles on for way too long, he catches on fire; Nico thinks it's one of the more adorable things about the son of Hephaestus.

"Leo," he began, "it's okay."

Leo looked at him indescribably. "Are you kidding me? I just messed up so badly. This," he gestured to the table. There lay two empty plates, a red rose in a vase, and burning candles. "Was supposed to be a romantic night where you come home and I'm there to sweep you off your feet and we have a romantic dinner and we have amazing sex afterwards and I messed up."

Nico sighed. "Oh, Leo."

He tugged at his dark curls harshly. "I mess everything up. I always do. You deserve someone who can make you dinner without burning the kitchen down, someone who can give you what you deserve." Nico wrapped his arms around Leo before he could say anymore. Leo buried his head into the crook of Nico's neck and whispered, "Lo siento, mi amor. Lo siento."

Rubbing the back of his boyfriend's back, Nico said, "It's alright, Leo. It's alright."

"You deserve more." He muttered.

"I deserve you. Now shut up with all of this Minotaur crap and let's order something and watch stupid movies on Netflix, okay?"

...

In the end, they ordered two extra large pepperoni pizza, Leo promised to never turn on the oven again as they cuddled on the couch, and Nico kissed him quiet. The candles were kept lit.

A/N Did you know that petite mort is an Italian euphemism for orgasm? The more you know. And I hoped you liked this Haley! (I tried okay.)

Valdangelo and Cuddles.

~Taffeh