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The thing is, Nico has a reputation to uphold. He’s closed-off and a little bit on the scary side, especially when he’s buried in one of the books on ancient burial rites he’s taken to reading outside the Apollo cabin on sunny afternoons, so it’s more than a little unnerving that he and Will have formed a sort of routine, as comfortable as Nico’s one-sided sparring matches with Jason or the frequent arguments he has with Piper about his vampire coffin bed. It’s a routine that the other campers seem to have noticed too, judging from the Aphrodite girls who start cooing as soon as Will drops by with a slice of Hawaiian pizza he’d nicked from the dining hall earlier.
One of the girls—Lacey, Piper’s friend—shoots Nico a thumbs-up as he takes the plate, and he’s painfully reminded of the pep talk the Aphrodite cabin had given him the other day, when Piper had been out with Jason. “You’re cute,” Lacey had mused, patting Nico’s head, “And if all else fails, you can always summon a skeleton army to scare him shitless. Then he’ll jump into your arms in fear, and you’ll live happily ever after.”
Needless to say, he’d avoided the Aphrodite cabin ever since.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” Will tells Nico now, like Nico is the only one with bags under his eyes. Camp Half-Blood had lost too much in the war against Gaea, and, as head of the Apollo cabin, Will’s been stuck in a long string of meetings ever since the Romans left. When he’s not discussing the camp’s recovery process, he’s off volunteering in the infirmary, or teaching the archery skills he doesn’t have to the younger Apollo campers. Will hardly has a moment to himself these days. He shouldn’t need to make time for Nico too. Nico needs too much, and he gets that.
But, as Will had angrily pointed out over a bumbled game of Mythomagic the other day—Will sucks, but Nico appreciates the effort—Will wants to.
And isn’t that the biggest mystery of all.
“I eat,” Nico says defensively.
Will looks him over, scrawny limbs and all. Nico’s elbows stick out where he’s hunched over the fold-out of King Tut’s sarcophagus, and his shoulders are too skinny, pushing up against his black shirt. The sun beats down on his back, and he can feel the sweat collecting on his upper lip and matting his hair against his forehead. Attractive. Will, on the other hand, basks in the sunlight. It catches in his hair, framing his face in a halo.
Will is far too blond. Nico’s genuinely offended.
“So,” Will says, dropping down next to him. Their thighs almost touch, and it suddenly becomes hard to breathe. Nico draws his knees to his chest, clenches his hands into fists so that he can’t act on his impulse to run his fingers against Will’s skin. He’d only tried it once before, when Will had checked on him in the infirmary as he recovered. “Just to see if you’re still solid, Death Boy,” Will had said. When Will drew away to visit his next patient, Nico had brushed his fingers along Will’s wrist.
The memory of that warmth had kept Nico up for nights, until even Jason had noticed, and, seeing as Jason’s one of the most oblivious idiots Nico’s ever had the pleasure of accidentally befriending, he’s surprised there isn’t a neon sign over his head proclaiming his huge fucking crush on someone that unattainable. Will stretches in the sun, his shirt riding up on his flat stomach, and the doubt begins to fill Nico’s throat again because gods, Will looks so comfortable like this, so himself, and Nico can hardly leave the shadows without curling up—
“You’re doing that thing again,” Will says suddenly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Stop thinking so damn much.”
“I—“
Will places a large hand on his knee. Nico jolts reflexively, but he breathes hard, trying to expel the jitters from his system. The hand stays there, and the warm weight grounds him. Will begins to draw circles with his thumb, small movements that shouldn’t make Nico’s breath stop in his throat like this, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Will to realize that this is a mistake, that Nico isn’t worth it after all.
“Your face is turning red, Death Boy.”
“Stop calling me that. Sunshine.”
Will tickles his ankle, where his jeans have gotten too short. Nico may actually be growing. “Oh no, you’re really asking me to write haikus in your honor, aren’t you? Let me just say, I inherited the gift of poetry from Apollo. I think my debut could be the open mic night Chiron’s organizing.” Will clutches a hand to his heart. “I thought we were friends / But you broke my breaky heart / Let me cry in peace.”
Nico shoves him, but he’s laughing. It’s become easier recently. “You’re the worst.”
“Get used to it. I plan on being the worst for a while.”
And as Nico sits there, staring down at a beautiful boy he’s allowed to feel things for, Nico believes him.
Will draws closer. “You know, Mitchell says we’re in danger of being as cute as Percy and Annabeth.”
There’s a hint of uncertainty in Will’s voice, a waver in the end that only strengthens Nico’s resolve.
From the corner of his eye, Nico catches sight of the couple in question. Annabeth had baked blue mocha cake for Percy, but they’d abandoned the plate in favor of their usual bickering. Within five minutes, they’d be making out on the banks of the lake, until one pushes the other into the water in frustration. Nico used to want that, wanted to argue with Percy until both their faces turned red, knowing that whatever words were exchanged, everything would turn out fine in the end.
He’s past that now, and he thinks he prefers flip flops and bad poetry.
“Don’t be gross. They’re sickening,” Nico says, but he leans his head against Will’s shoulder anyway, presses his body against Will’s side. When Will wraps an arm around his waist, he doesn’t draw away.