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Part 3: The Sting of Insecurity
The shared moment in the amphitheater felt like a crack in a dam. For the next week, Nico didn't run. He was still skittish, still prone to vanishing into the shadows when a social situation became too much, but he no longer bolted at the sight of Will alone.
He started showing up at the infirmary not just for injuries, but with vague complaints. A headache. A stiff shoulder from "sleeping wrong." Will saw right through it, his heart soaring each time Nico lingered in the doorway. He’d pretend to do a thorough examination, his hands gentle as they checked Nico’s temperature or pressed on his neck, both of them pretending the medical excuse was necessary.
One evening, Will was in the Apollo cabin, trying to untangle a complicated chord progression on his lyre. The door creaked open and Nico slipped inside, his presence so quiet it was like a candle had been lit in the dark room.
“Hey,” Nico said, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Hey yourself,” Will replied, setting the lyre down. “To what do I owe the honor? Phantom pain? A sudden allergy to sunlight?”
Nico almost smiled. “No. I, uh… I finished this.” He pulled his sketchbook from inside his aviator jacket and held it out, open to a specific page. “It’s for you.”
Will’s breath hitched. He took the book with reverent hands.
It was a portrait of him. Not as a medic, but as a musician. He was drawn sitting on the porch of the Big House, his lyre in his hands, his head bent in concentration. The lines were sure and strong, capturing the slope of his shoulders, the focus in his eyes. But the most stunning part was the light. Nico had drawn the sunlight not as a generic glow, but as a cascade of tangible, golden strands, wrapping around Will’s hands and the lyre as if the music itself was made of light.
“Nico… I…” Will was speechless. It was the most beautiful, most deeply seen he had ever felt. “This is… I don’t know what to say.”
Nico watched him, a rare, unguarded hope in his eyes. “You said you liked how I see things. So… that’s how I see you.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and immense. Will looked from the drawing to the boy who created it, his chest so full of emotion he felt it might burst.
Just then, the cabin door swung open with a bang. Two of Will’s siblings, Austin and Kayla, tumbled in, laughing and covered in grass stains from a failed attempt at a new game.
“Will, you gotta see the new— oh, hey, Nico,” Austin said, his cheerfulness momentarily pausing.
Kayla grinned. “Making a house call, Death Boy? Will finally wear you down with his mother-henning?”
It was a lighthearted tease, the kind exchanged between campers a thousand times a day. But the effect on Nico was instantaneous and devastating. The open hope in his eyes snuffed out, replaced by a familiar, cold wall. He snatched the sketchbook back from Will’s hands, his expression shuttering closed.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice flat. “Just… a medical question. It’s fine.”
“Nico, wait—” Will started, his heart sinking.
But Nico was already moving, brushing past Austin and Kayla without a second glance. “I have to go.”
He was gone, the cabin door swinging shut behind him, leaving Will with the ghost of the drawing in his vision and a cold dread in his stomach. The moment of perfect understanding was shattered, replaced by the sting of an insecurity Will hadn't been quick enough to soothe.
Part 4: The Reason in the Rain
It rained for two days straight. A relentless, gray downpour that matched Will’s mood. Nico was avoiding him again. He wasn't in the dining pavilion, the amphitheater, or his usual brooding spots. The Hades cabin was dark and silent.
Will felt a frantic worry gnawing at him. He’d messed it up. He’d let his siblings ruin the most important moment of his life, and Nico had retreated further than ever.
On the evening of the second day, Will couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled on a raincoat, grabbed a dry blanket, and marched through the mud to the Hades cabin. He didn’t knock. He just pushed the door open.
Nico was sitting on his bunk, back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. He looked up, startled, his face pale in the gloom.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough.
“You’ve been avoiding the infirmary. So the infirmary comes to you,” Will said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He shook the rain from his coat and hung it up. “Doctor’s orders still stand. I need to check your arm.”
“It’s fine,” Nico said, turning his face away.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Will sat on the edge of the bed, the old mattress groaning. He didn’t wait for permission this time; he gently took Nico’s forearm, his fingers pressing over the bandage. The skin was cool. The wound, as far as he could tell, was healed.
“See? Fine,” Nico mumbled, trying to pull away.
Will didn’t let go. His grip was firm but gentle. “The cut is fine,” he said softly. “But something else isn’t.”
Nico was silent, his body tense as a bowstring. The only sound was the drumming of rain on the cabin roof.
“They didn’t mean it, you know,” Will continued. “Austin and Kayla. They were just joking. They like you.”
Nico let out a bitter laugh. “They like the idea of me. The son of Hades who doesn’t quite fit. It’s a novelty. It’ll wear off.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Nico finally looked at him, and the raw hurt in his eyes stole Will’s breath. “That’s what always happens, Will. People see the shadows. They see the ‘Death Boy.’ They don’t stick around for the… the rest of it.” His gaze flickered to where the sketchbook lay hidden under his pillow.
Understanding washed over Will, warm and fierce. This wasn’t just about a teasing comment. It was about a lifetime of being misunderstood, of being seen as a spectacle or an omen. Nico hadn’t just given Will a drawing; he’d given him a piece of his soul, and he was terrified it would be rejected.
Will’s voice was barely a whisper. “I see the rest of it, Nico.”
He slowly, giving Nico every chance to pull away, reached out and cupped Nico’s cheek. His thumb gently stroked the pale skin under his eye. Nico shuddered, a full-body tremor, and squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned into the touch, just barely, a silent surrender that spoke volumes.
“I see the artist,” Will whispered. “I see the boy who remembers the history no one else does. I see the person who draws sunlight like it’s a tangible thing because he feels it so rarely himself.”
A single tear escaped from under Nico’s closed eyelid, tracing a path through the shadows under his eyes. Will caught it with his thumb.
“Your sketchbook isn’t a novelty to me, Nico,” Will said, his voice firm now, full of a conviction he felt in his very bones. “It’s a privilege.”
Nico’s eyes opened. They were wide, vulnerable, searching Will’s for any hint of a lie. He found none.
Slowly, hesitantly, Nico’s hand came up and covered Will’s, pressing it more firmly against his own cheek. His skin was cold, but where their hands met, it was the warmest thing Will had ever felt.
Outside, the rain continued to fall. But inside the Hades cabin, for the first time, there was a fragile, budding silence that felt like the beginning of everything.