Des smiled. "You paid for the bus fare, at least let me buy you a t-shirt of something."

He laughed. It was the first time he had truly smiled all night. "If you'd like. 

Des beamed as she made a beeline for Free Atlas's table, her companion in tow. She picked out a new hoodie. Nico chose a simple pastel pink t-shirt with their logo. She recognized it from the band website. As he put it on over his sweater, she noticed how well the color complemented his sun kissed skin. Des barely caught him trying to sneak his wallet out of his pocket. "I see you, mentiroso."

He only raised a brow in response to her grumbling. She could feel the anticipation start to kick in as the opening act conducted final sound checks. Nico got them through the crowd and up to the second floor where they snagged an open half-booth near the balcony just before the first act began. 

There was a pensive pursing of her lips. "The opener seems a bit out of place. They have more of a dance club sound, don't you think?" 

There was a pause as he considered her words. "Did you...want to dance?" 

She nearly snorted. "God, no." 

They stared at each other for a moment before laughter overtook them both and Nico ducked his head in disbelief. "You're strange." 

"Says the person who offered to be an escort to a stranger." The corners of her lips had a subtle, cheeky curl to them.

He gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "My mother always said I had a bad habit of rushing in without thinking." 

Des noticed a slight change in his tone, a somber note. He had a faraway look in his eyes. The silence that pressed in wasn't comfortable like the others. Towards the end of the first act, there was a moment where Des thought he was turning towards her to say something. He only leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. She watched the careful way he brought his little finger to touch the side of her palm where it lay on the wood. Almost like a lifeline being extended. She didn't leave it unwelcome. When she looked over at him, he was staring down at the table absentmindedly. She felt like she was comforting a lost child. 

"What would your mother say about you helping me?" 

His hand stiffened on the cool surface of the table before withdrawing entirely. "She'd love it. She was kind...and unbearably adventurous." 

Des felt her palms grow warmer. "Is that bad?" 

He laughed weakly. "Not at all."

When he finally looked up at her, she saw the color in his eyes swirl like dark water that ebbed and pushed with a tumltuous emotion she couldn't recognize. Her cheeks were warm at the sight and her eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. What they were for, she wasn't sure. A few melancholic notes floated over them, the pulsing rhythm from before now mellowed. The crowd near the stage swayed in a listless stupor. 

"This style suits them much better." His tone resembled those melancholic notes. 

Des hesitated to respond. They had found themselves in an unfamiliar place and she was lost for words. Nevertheless, she wanted to try. "Do you want to talk about-"

"No," His voice had a gentle firmness but laden beneath it was an underlying desperation. "I would not."

"Right, sorry." Embarrassment prickled at Desdemona's skin, but she pushed it away for now. 

She brought her hand behind his back, rubbing delicate, experimental cirlces on his shoulder blades. He leaned into the touch. She continued. The room around them seemed to fade into a dull white noise as they sat there; Des staring into space and Nico slumping over to meet the table with his forehead. She didn't notice it at first but his eyelids were dark, and his skin had paled a bit. Questions buzzed in the back of her mind, but she knew better than to push him right now. Free Atlas had just gotten done with mic checks and was getting ready to start. Nico was still resting his head on the table. "You can get closer to the stage if you want. I'll be fine on my own." 

Des left her hand still on his shoulder. "I can hear them just fine right here." 

She felt more than heard the half-hearted laugh that loosened itself from his chest. Calm, rich chords filled the space in the dimly lit venue and covered them like a warm, thick knit blanket. The singer's voice lilted into Des' ears and she let herself settle into the firm leather of the booth. She barely registered Nico shifting beside her. He leaned back into the seat, his eyes shut, and his head tilted back. They stayed like that for the rest of the show, content to let the lax, steady tempo of the set wash over them like waves lapping against a shoreline.