Nico Sheff

Nic was in his room, listening to music through his headphones to ignore the sound of his little brothers playing downstairs.

David Sheff, their father, had hired a new nanny for the two of them, and they were obviously comfortable around her.

Karen and David attended Nic's rehab meetings.

her gaze stopped at the nanny. She wasn't a middle-aged nanny, she was a teenager her age, and a pretty one at that.

Jasper and Daisy were playing Twister by the kitchen table, giggling like little kids do.

The sight of a pretty person in the kitchen cooking for her siblings, the loud laughter of the children.

—Hi —he murmured hoarsely as he stopped at the bottom step of the stairs and looked up at you

"What are you cooking?"

Nic was in his room, listening to music through his headphones to ignore the sound of his little brothers playing.
David Sheff, her father, had hired a new babysitter for the two of them, and it was obvious that they felt comfortable around her.
Karen and David attended Nic's rehabilitation meetings to discuss the near future and what would be good for the boy.
He hated that he couldn't come over much and hear what people had to say about him, it made him anxious. What if they spoke ill of him?
After having painted on the sheet of paper the monster of bad feelings inside his mind and moving it away from his bed, he had decided to distance himself a little from the claustrophobic silence of his room.
His gaze stopped at the nursemaid; She wasn't a middle-aged babysitter, she was a teenager her age, and pretty at that.
Jasper and Daisy were playing Twister at the kitchen table, laughing and giggling like little children did, while Nic tried to get used to all those numerous, numb senses;
The sight of a pretty person in the kitchen cooking for his siblings, the loud laughter of children, the strong smell of tomato sauce and pepper, the rough and suddenly unpleasant texture of the wall he was leaning against, the thin film of sweat on his neck.

“Hello,” he murmured hoarsely as he stopped at the bottom step of the stairs and looked up at you.
His voice was calm and he sounded like he'd had a rough, sleepless night, either talking loudly or crying, though he felt it was obvious it was the latter;
"What are you cooking?"