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i. The Casual Mention
The new Hermes kid, Leo, was holding court.
Again.
Today’s subject: the tragic, soul-crushing loneliness of demigod life.
“I’m just saying,” he announced, waving a half-eaten ambrosia square like it was a mic at a press conference, “the mortality rate, the constant battles, the emotional baggage that would take three therapists and maybe a priest to unpack—who in their right mind signs up for that? We’re cursed to die alone and unloved!”
The audience—about a dozen other unclaimed, newer campers—sighed dramatically. They were hanging on every word, half because it was entertaining and half because Leo’s brand of chaos was easier to process than their own creeping fear.
“Tell me about it,” Chloe, a daughter of Hebe, chimed in. “I went on a date with a guy from my maths class. We got attacked by a Cyclops on the way to the movies. He moved to another state. Honestly, third-period calculus was scarier.”
The group groaned in sympathy. Someone muttered about being ghosted after a hellhound ruined a school dance. Another swore they couldn’t even text their crush without their phone mysteriously shorting out. The atmosphere was a cocktail of tragedy, melodrama, and teen angst.
And that was when Nico di Angelo passed by.
He cut across the sunlit green like a living shadow, a blade of gloom in a place full of color and noise. Black aviator jacket zipped despite the heat, boots heavy against the dirt, expression unreadable—he looked like the kind of ghost story you’d whisper about to scare yourself before bed. Conversations died on the spot.
He didn’t acknowledge them at first. Just kept walking, silent and sharp, until Leo—because Leo never knew when to shut up—called out.
“Hey, di Angelo! Settle a debate for us. Aren’t we all basically doomed to be single forever?”
Nico didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. He flicked his eyes toward them—flat, dark, tired. Then, in that low, affectless voice that seemed to drag the temperature down five degrees, he said:
“My boyfriend says the probability of a stable, long-term demigod relationship is statistically improbable, but not impossible. The sample size is just too small to be significant.”
And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the tree line.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
Leo’s jaw dropped. The ambrosia square tumbled out of his hand into the dirt.
“Did he just say…” Chloe’s voice was barely a whisper.
“…boyfriend?” another camper finished, wide-eyed.
For a full beat, nobody moved. Then Leo let out a sharp, almost hysterical laugh. “No way. No way. ‘My boyfriend says’? That’s comedy gold.”
Chloe shook her head, though she was already grinning. “He was totally messing with us. He had to be. Like—‘Oh, my super smart, statistically-minded boyfriend who definitely exists.’”
Leo snapped his fingers. “Exactly! It’s part of the whole spooky aesthetic. Ghost King, Prince of Darkness. Of course he’d have a made-up, creepily specific boyfriend. It’s perfect.”
“Do you think he rehearses those lines?” one camper whispered.
“No, he’s just naturally terrifying,” another replied.
The tension snapped. The group dissolved into giggles and chatter , the earlier gloom forgotten, replaced by the sheer absurdity of the image: Nico di Angelo, Scariest Boy in Camp, casually mentioning a boyfriend like it was nothing.
It was ridiculous. It was hilarious. And, unanimously, they decided: it was a lie.
ii. The Glowing Apparition
By the next week, the story of Nico’s so-called boyfriend had become a running joke among the newer campers.
Any time the son of Hades walked by, they’d exchange looks and stifle their laughter, like they were all in on some grand secret. A few even started whispering “How’s the boyfriend?” under their breath like it was a password.
Sometimes they tried to bait him into elaborating.
“So, uh, Nico,” Leo asked during archery one afternoon, his bowstring squeaking as he pretended to adjust it. “Does your… boyfriend… like stargazing?” His grin was all faux innocence.
Nico just stared at him—flat, unblinking, the kind of look that could peel skin right off your bones.
Leo’s grin faltered. Then collapsed entirely. “Uh. Okay. Never mind.” He mumbled an apology and all but tripped over himself retreating to the quiver rack.
Nico never took the bait. Not once. Which only made the joke funnier.
Then Miranda Gardiner from the Demeter cabin told her story.
She wasn’t prone to exaggeration. She wasn’t even the type to gossip. So when she stood up at the dining pavilion, spoon still dripping soup back into her bowl, and said she’d seen something strange, people listened.
“I was at the beach,” she began, tucking her braid back over her shoulder, “gathering seaweed for fertilizer. It was just before sunset.” Her voice lowered, pulling in half the table. “And I saw Nico.”
That was enough to get a few eyebrows raised. Nico didn’t do sunsets. He didn’t do beaches.
“He was standing right at the edge of the water. And he was… talking.”
“To a ghost?” Leo asked immediately, leaning forward. His eyes were alight, ready to add another piece to his ridiculous conspiracy.
“That’s what I thought at first!” Miranda admitted. “But no. It wasn’t a ghost. There was… someone. Or something. Hard to see with the sun behind it, but—” she hesitated, looking around as though bracing for mockery. “It was glowing.”
A collective gasp rippled across the benches.
“Glowing?” Chloe pressed, eyes wide.
“Like, actually glowing,” Miranda insisted, her cheeks heating but her conviction firm. “Soft. Golden. Like a person made of bottled sunlight. And Nico was just… looking at it. And then…” She trailed off for a beat. “He smiled.”
The table erupted into disbelief. Nico di Angelo. Smiling. Voluntarily. At something glowing.
“Nico di Angelo. Smiling?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Maybe it was gas,” Leo suggested, flapping his hands dramatically. “Like… swamp lights! Or methane or something! The beach could’ve been, I dunno, leaking!”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a trick of the light?” Malcolm offered, skeptical as always. “Or maybe a minor god? A will-o’-the-wisp?”
Miranda shook her head. “I know what I saw. They were close. Talking. And then the figure touched his arm. And he didn’t flinch. He didn’t shadow-blast it. He just… leaned into it.”
The silence was thick, like everyone was trying to imagine Nico not only allowing physical touch but leaning toward it.
Leo broke the tension with a slap to the table. “New theory,” he declared, eyes shining. “It’s not a human boyfriend at all. It’s a spectral lover. A glowing apparition. A radiant spirit that visits him at dusk. That’s so much cooler!”
“Oh gods,” Chloe groaned, already laughing.
But the more they talked about it, the more it stuck.
Within seconds, the theory spread like wildfire. Everyone was nodding, laughing, building on it. Of course Nico wouldn’t have a normal relationship. The Ghost King having a glowing phantom boyfriend? That made sense.
It explained everything—why no one ever saw them together, why Nico was so private, why he never corrected the rumor. It was tragic. Beautiful. The kind of supernatural romance that belonged in an epic poem.
And, like everything else so far, it was entirely fictional.
By the next week, they were making bets about when the glowing figure would return.
“I heard it only appears if Nico plays the violin at sunset,” one Demeter camper whispered.
“That’s ridiculous,” said another. “It’s clearly a tragic curse. He’s bound to a spirit of light and they can never touch.”
Leo, naturally, kept upping the ante. “No, no, no—you’re all thinking too small. It’s gotta be interdimensional. Nico’s got a boyfriend in another timeline. One where everyone actually survives puberty.”
The joke should’ve died out. But it didn’t. It only became sillier, stranger, and more elaborate—an entire campwide fanfic written around the Ghost King’s glowing, radiant, 100% not-real boyfriend.
And Nico? He never confirmed. He never denied. He just kept walking past, silent and steady, letting the mystery ferment until it was more powerful than any truth.
iii. The Care Package
The “phantom lover” theory held strong for a while. Campers leaned into it, whispering about Nico’s tragic glowing boyfriend whenever he passed by. Some even started timing sunset trips to the beach, hoping to spot the supposed specter.
And then the care package arrived.
It came during breakfast, a large cardboard box set down at the end of Nico’s table by Chiron himself. The thing was plastered in mortal postage stamps, battered from its journey, the handwriting on the address looping and cheerful:
Nico di Angelo
c/o Camp Half-Blood
100 Half-Blood Hill
Long Island, NY
For a split second—so quick you’d miss it if you weren’t watching—Nico’s expression softened. His scowl flickered into something smaller, gentler. Then he picked the box up, tucked it under one arm, and stalked out of the pavilion without a word.
The silence he left in his wake was deafening.
“Did you see that?” Leo hissed as soon as Nico was out of earshot. “A package. From the outside world.”
“Do ghosts use the postal service?” Chloe asked, bewildered.
“Maybe it’s from his dad,” another camper whispered. “A box of cursed jewels or something. Maybe a free coupon for a séance.”
The speculation didn’t stop all morning.
By afternoon, the group had hatched an excuse to loiter near the Big House, where Nico had planted himself on the porch with the mysterious package. He sat in the sun—which was weird enough on its own—methodically pulling things out of the box.
The campers, led by Leo, turned a game of tag into an excuse to circle past again and again, trying not to look obvious.
What they saw only confused them further.
The box was full of utterly mundane things. A neat stack of black T-shirts, the kind Nico practically lived in. Several bottles of nectar labeled with precise dosage instructions in neat handwriting. A box of high-grade ambrosia squares—the kind only the best healers could make. And then, scattered like treasures at the bottom: mortal candy. Torrone, dark chili chocolate, enough sour gummies to rot a demigod’s teeth.
But it wasn’t the food or the clothes that caught their attention. It was the slip of paper Nico unfolded from the box.
They couldn’t read the whole note, but they could all see the handwriting—sunny, looping, unmistakably mortal. Nico’s fingers brushed over the sign-off like he was memorizing the curve of the letter.
Love you & Miss you terribly sunshine - W
For once, Nico didn’t look like the camp’s resident grim reaper. He looked… pensive. Soft, even.
The spying campers ducked behind a hedge, hearts racing.
“Okay,” Leo said breathlessly. “New rule. Glowing apparitions do not send care packages. That’s… scientifically impossible.”
“So… he really does have a boyfriend?” Chloe whispered.
Leo shook his head so fast his curls bounced. “No, no, this is even better. He’s faking it. He’s mailing himself gifts, people! He’s forged the handwriting. He invented ‘W’ just to sell the bit harder. It’s—” he threw his hands up—“honestly genius.”
Malcolm frowned. “But the ambrosia… that was medical-grade. Where would he even get that?”
“Black market!” Leo snapped, desperate. “Or maybe he stole it from the infirmary! Point is, the story matters more than the facts. The story is that the Ghost King has a glowing ghost boyfriend. This?” He gestured wildly toward the porch. “This is just… a minor plot hole.”
It was twisted logic, but the others nodded along. Because, really, wasn’t it easier to believe Nico was so dedicated to his spooky aesthetic that he sent himself presents… than to believe he actually had a thoughtful, doting boyfriend somewhere out there?
The care package didn’t prove the boyfriend’s existence.
It only proved Nico’s commitment to the act.
iv. The Phone Call
If the care package had cracked their theory, the phone call nearly shattered it.
Nico di Angelo—the boy who treated modern technology like it was cursed—suddenly had a smartphone. A sleek black one, no less. He was rarely seen with it, but when he was, his posture changed. Instead of lurking in shadows, he’d sit with his shoulders hunched, the glow of the screen lighting his face, thumbs moving in careful, deliberate motions.
Naturally, Leo noticed.
“See?” he whispered one night, pointing at Nico across the fire pit. Nico was off to the side, sitting cross-legged with the phone balanced in one pale hand, expression unreadable. “He’s on a paranormal dating forum. Has to be. GhostKing_94, seeking same, must enjoy long walks in graveyards and owning your own ectoplasm.”
The others snickered. It fit the narrative too well. W wasn’t real; he was an online persona, a roleplay partner, some poor mortal who had no idea they were flirting with the actual Ghost King of Half-Blood Hill.
That theory lasted until the evening by the lake.
Nico was perched on the dock, boots dangling just over the water, phone pressed to his ear. Actually talking into it.
The campers—Leo, Chloe, and a couple of others—crouched behind a bush, straining to hear.
Fragments of Nico’s side of the conversation drifted across the lake.
“…No, I’m fine… Yes, I ate… Gods, Will, I’m not a child, I know how to eat… No, I haven’t over-exerted myself. What does that even mean?” A pause. “Shadow-travel? Just once. To the store. For… things. Nothing.”
The words themselves were shocking enough. But the tone—that was what made the eavesdroppers exchange wide-eyed glances. Nico’s voice wasn’t its usual bored monotone. It was softer. Warmer. Almost—dare they say it—fond.
Leo’s throat went dry. Chloe gripped his arm hard enough to leave bruises.
Then came the slip.
“Yes, I’m wearing the jacket,” Nico muttered. “No, it’s not that cold. Hypothermia risk, my ass. You sound like a camp counselor.” A beat, then—lower, quieter: “Yeah… I know… You worry too much.”
There was silence on his end as he listened, shoulders softening in a way that felt wrong on him. And then—almost too faint to catch—Nico laughed. A short, private sound that made Chloe slap a hand over her own mouth to stop a squeak.
The campers leaned closer, breathless.
And then they heard it:
“…Love you, too.”
It was whispered, like he hadn’t meant for anyone else in the world to hear it.
He hung up, staring out at the water for a long moment, the phone loose in his hand, an expression on his face that none of them had ever seen before.
The spies retreated in total silence, minds reeling.
“He said ‘love you,’” Chloe whispered finally, pale as parchment. “To a phone.”
Leo swallowed hard, grasping at the tatters of his theory. “Performance,” he said, but his voice wobbled. “That was all for show. Practicing for… I don’t know. A play. A one-man act. About a tragic ghost boy with a fake boyfriend.”
It was the weakest theory yet, and they all knew it. But the alternative — that Nico was truly, openly, deeply in love with someone named Will — was too paradigm-shattering to accept.
They left the bush shaken, their world wobbling on its axis. And Leo’s insistence echoed in their ears like a lifeline:
“It’s just a play. It has to be.”
The others stared at him, unconvinced.
Leo doubled down, desperate. “Avant-garde. Very artistic. Very tragic.”
But no one was laughing this time. Because deep down, they all knew the truth: that smile, that softness, that quiet little love you too had been real.
And that was a reality none of them were ready to accept.
v. The Denial
The final straw came during Ancient Greek history.
The class was dragging. Everyone knew it. Even Kayla, who was running the lecture, looked like she’d rather be restringing her bow than talking about minor gods. She was mid-sentence, flipping through notes on Asclepius, when she mentioned offhandedly, “Our best healer, Will Solace, is actually doing a month-long exchange at the Temples of Asclepius right now. He’s basically getting a demigod doctorate in advanced healing. It’s insane how good he is.”
A murmur ran through the class. A doctorate? That sounded impressive. Will Solace already had a reputation—hero of the wars, head medic, golden boy of Camp Half-Blood. The idea that he was out in Greece leveling up made him sound even more untouchable.
And then Leo spotted his chance.
He leaned back in his chair, grinning across the room at Nico, who was slouched low in his seat, hood pulled up, expression unreadable. “Hey, di Angelo,” Leo called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “This Will Solace guy sounds like your type. Smart, healer-y. You should see if your boyfriend knows him.”
He winked at Chloe, and the room erupted into giggles. Their favorite inside joke, reborn.
Nico lifted his head slowly. Too slowly. The look he gave Leo was sharp enough to cut, but his voice, when it came, was flat. Clear. Final.
“He does know him,” Nico said. “Intimately.”
Silence.
Leo blinked, thrown off. “…Wait, what?”
Nico didn’t give him room to recover. “Will Solace. Son of Apollo. Head medic. Six feet tall. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Annoyingly sunny disposition. Currently in Epidaurus. That’s my boyfriend.”
He said it like it was a fact. Like water being wet, or the sky being blue. Not a boast, not a joke. Just truth.
The class froze.
Everyone knew Will Solace. Everyone had heard the stories—about his heroics, his healing, his brightness. Pairing that with Nico di Angelo—the brooding, terrifying son of Hades—wasn’t just hard to imagine. It was impossible.
For a second, no one moved. Then Leo laughed. Loud. Too loud. Relief flooded his face like he’d just been saved from drowning. “Oh, gods! Good one, di Angelo. Will Solace? Really? That’s the best one yet.”
The tension broke. The whole class erupted.
“Yeah, okay!” Chloe giggled. “And I’m dating Percy Jackson!”
“Well, I’m dating a Titan. Long distance. Very long distance,” another camper added, snorting.
The laughter spiraled, bouncing off the walls, feeding itself.
Nico didn’t join in. He didn’t even look annoyed. He just sat there, staring out the window, his expression distant—like he would rather be anywhere but here, like his better half was somewhere else in the world and every part of him ached to be there with him instead.
But the others didn’t see that. They only saw his silence and read it as confirmation: it was a joke. The best one yet.
By the end of the lesson, the rumor was everywhere. Nico di Angelo’s crowning achievement: claiming the camp’s golden boy as his own.
It was audacious. It was hilarious. It was, in their eyes, proof that Nico was a comedic genius.
And Will Solace? Just the punchline.
+1. The Homecoming
Word spread through camp like wildfire: He’s back.
The pegasi-drawn chariot appeared first as a glimmer in the sky, then descended in a blaze of golden wings and dust kicked up across the green. The entire Apollo cabin poured out of their door in a cheering mob, and the rest of camp wasn’t far behind. Rarely did anyone warrant such an official return, and curiosity alone had half the newer campers following the commotion.
The chariot touched down, and then he stepped out.
Will Solace looked like sunlight carved into human form. Taller than the rumors suggested, broader in the shoulders, his hair kissed pale gold by the Grecian sun. He waved to his siblings with a smile so dazzling it could’ve powered the camp’s solar panels. His whole presence radiated warmth, an aura of confidence and easy charm that made the crowd lean instinctively toward him.
The Hermes kids gawked openly. “Wow,” Leo muttered, jaw slack. “Okay, I get it now. No wonder Nico picked him for the story. The guy’s basically—” He cut himself off.
Because Nico di Angelo had appeared.
He didn’t walk so much as emerge, stepping out of the shadows by the Hades cabin like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He wasn’t running, but his entire body was taut with anticipation, gaze locked on Will as though the rest of the camp no longer existed.
And when Will’s eyes swept the crowd and found him—everything shifted.
That public, radiant grin melted into something private. Softer. Intimate. His shoulders loosened, his entire face lighting up in a way that was utterly different from the smile he’d been giving his siblings.
“Nico!” Will’s voice carried clear across the green, bright and full of unguarded joy.
And Nico—Nico, who never ran for anything—ran. Boots pounding across the grass, dark hair flying, he launched himself into Will’s arms. Will caught him without hesitation, laughing as he spun Nico in a circle, the sound bright and unrestrained.
The crowd went silent.
Will set Nico down but didn’t let him go. His hands cradled Nico’s face, thumbs brushing over pale cheeks like he needed the confirmation that Nico was here, real, alive. He leaned in close, murmuring something for Nico alone, their foreheads pressed together.
Nico closed his eyes, leaning into the touch with a rare vulnerability that stole the air from every onlooker’s lungs. Then, slowly, unbelievably, he smiled. A real one. Wide, radiant, shattering every rumor that had ever clung to him.
Will’s answering grin was pure adoration. He closed the space and kissed him.
It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t quick. It was deep and certain, the kind of kiss that spoke of long nights apart and promises kept. Will’s arms locked tight around Nico’s waist. Nico’s hands fisted in the fabric of Will’s sun-bleached shirt like he’d never let go.
The green was so quiet, the silence felt physical. Dozens of campers stood frozen, mouths open, staring at the impossible scene unfolding in front of them.
Leo’s brain short-circuited. The glowing apparition. The care packages. The mysterious “W.” The whispered phone calls. The deadpan “that’s my boyfriend.” Every single piece clicked into place with brutal clarity.
It had all been real.
Nico di Angelo hadn’t been lying. Wasn’t role-playing, or method-acting, or pulling off the longest con in camp history. He was just a boy—desperately, stupidly, breathtakingly in love—and Will Solace was his.
The kiss ended slowly, neither of them eager to break it. Will slid an arm around Nico’s shoulders, tucking him in close. Nico didn’t resist. His face was flushed, his smile smaller now, almost shy, but steady. At peace.
Will looked up at the silent crowd, cheeks faintly pink but expression shameless. “Hey, everyone,” he said lightly, still a little breathless. “Missed you all.”
Then his gaze landed on Leo, whose face had gone from smug to utterly horrified. A grin curled at Will’s mouth, sharp and mischievous. He winked.
Leo felt his soul exit his body.
Will turned back to Nico, his voice soft enough that most of the crowd couldn’t hear. “Come on, sunshine. I’ve got a month’s worth of kisses to make up for.”
Nico muttered something that sounded like “gross,” but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He let Will lead him away, fingers brushing at Will’s sleeve, not even glancing back at the campers whose entire worldview had just been shattered and rebuilt in under a minute.
The silence held even after the Apollo cabin door shut behind them.
Finally, Chloe turned to Leo, voice faint. “So… ‘W’ was for Will.”
Leo just stared at the closed door, color drained from his face. His voice cracked as he managed, “…Oh. Oh, no.”
Bonus Scene: The Sun’s Declaration
The Apollo cabin was chaos. Joyful, deafening chaos.
Will’s return had sparked a full-blown celebration. His siblings crowded around, clapping him on the back, demanding stories about Greece, pelting him with questions about advanced healing techniques. He laughed, warm and patient, doling out answers and teasing replies in equal measure. Every so often, he pulled a gift from his travel pack—small, thoughtful trinkets chosen for each of them. A sun-charm necklace here, a scroll of healing notes there.
Through it all, his attention kept slipping back to Nico.
Nico was perched on the edge of Will’s bunk, sipping at the glass of nectar Will had pressed into his hands, looking both overwhelmed and uncharacteristically content. His eyes followed Will around the room, that rare small smile tugging at his lips, the kind of smile that wasn’t meant for public display but slipped out anyway.
Kayla noticed. Of course she noticed.
She sidled up to Will while he was digging through his bag for one last gift, her expression somewhere between amusement and apology. “So,” she said lightly, “you’ve caused quite the stir.”
Will grinned, still bent over his pack. “What, just by coming home? I missed you guys too.”
“No,” Kayla drawled, lowering her voice. “Well—yes, that. But mostly… about him.” She tilted her chin toward Nico, who was listening to Austin explain something about a new reed for his saxophone.
Will’s head snapped up. His healer instincts flared instantly, blue eyes scanning Nico like he might suddenly collapse. “What about him? Is he okay?”
Kayla blinked. “What? No, he’s fine.” She held up her hands quickly. “Physically, anyway. But—yeah, there was a whole thing. While you were gone.”
Will frowned. “A thing?”
“They didn’t believe him.”
Will blinked, confused. “…Believe him about what?”
“About you.”
The words landed like a stone.
Kayla winced, rushing to explain. “They thought he was making you up. That you were some—what was it Leo called it?—a glowing postal ghost boyfriend. Part of his ‘spooky aesthetic.’”
Will froze. His smile vanished. The noise of the cabin faded beneath a rising tide of disbelief and anger. He turned slowly to look at Nico, who was still sitting there quietly, expression calm but tired around the edges. Like someone who had endured far too much.
“They—” Will’s voice came out low, dangerous. “They thought he was lying?”
“Yeah,” Kayla admitted, grimacing. “They thought the care packages were him mailing stuff to himself. The phone calls were to telemarketers. Even when he told them outright, they just laughed.”
Will’s jaw clenched. Fury burned bright in his chest, hotter than the sun he carried in his veins. He thought of every package he’d sent, every phone call, every ounce of effort he’d poured into bridging the distance between them—dismissed as a joke. He thought of Nico, who had finally allowed himself something real, something good, only to be laughed at for it.
Nico must have felt the shift in the air. He glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly. You okay? he mouthed.
Will forced a smile and shook his head. Fine.
But he wasn’t fine. Not even close.
He stood abruptly, resolve solidifying with every step toward the cabin door. Kayla called softly after him, but he waved her off. He had something to do. Something to fix.
Outside, the conspirators were still loitering near the green—Leo, Chloe, Malcolm, Nyssa, Drew, and a few others. They looked wrung out, guilty, like they were still processing the kiss they’d witnessed earlier. They froze when Will Solace walked out, golden and furious, planting himself in front of them with his arms crossed.
“So,” he said, voice carrying across the green. “I hear there’s been some confusion about my relationship status.”
Leo swallowed audibly. “Uh. W-We might have… slightly… misunderstood—”
“A misunderstanding,” Will repeated, tone deceptively mild. “You thought my boyfriend—the brave, brilliant, impossibly stubborn son of Hades who has saved this camp more times than I can count—was so lonely he invented a fictional partner and mailed himself candy. That’s your misunderstanding?”
The group collectively winced.
“In my defense,” Malcolm started, “the statistical likelihood—”
Will cut him off, voice sharp. “The statistical likelihood of someone as amazing as Nico di Angelo choosing to love someone like me is the greatest miracle of my life. And I thank the gods for it every single day.”
The words rang through the green like sunlight. Campers nearby stopped to listen. The crowd thickened.
Will straightened, raising his voice so there could be no mistaking his declaration. “My name is Will Solace. I am the son of Apollo. And I am madly, completely, and totally in love with Nico di Angelo.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
He pressed on, eyes blazing. “The care packages? From me. The phone calls? To me. The glowing apparition on the beach? Me—because I missed him so much I couldn’t stay away. He is my boyfriend. I am his. And if anyone ever dares make him feel small for it again, you’ll answer to me. And I promise—I’m not nearly as nice when I’m angry.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some campers clutched at each other, stunned. Others stared, wide-eyed, at the fierceness burning off Will Solace like a second sun.
And then—soft laughter from the cabin doorway.
Nico was standing there, arms crossed, cheeks faintly pink, dark eyes glittering with something caught between exasperation and affection. “You’re such a drama queen, Solace.”
Will’s anger melted instantly into a beaming smile. He strode back toward Nico, unabashed. “Your drama queen,” he corrected. “Someone has to balance out your brooding menace aesthetic.”
He reached Nico and pulled him in without hesitation, wrapping him up in another hug. He ducked down, murmuring against Nico’s hair, “I meant every word.”
“I know,” Nico mumbled back, fingers clutching at his shirt. His voice softened, just for Will. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me,” Will teased, pulling back enough to grin at him.
Nico rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile anyway. “Unfortunately.” A beat later, quieter, almost too quiet to catch: “…Thank you.”
Will’s chest ached, full and fierce. He kissed Nico’s temple, ignoring the dozens of campers staring at them, and let the silence stand.
Drew, like the Aphrodite daughter she was, sighed dreamily. “Now that,” she declared, pressing a hand to her chest, “is true love. I want what they have.”
And this time—no one disagreed.