Chapter Text
Nico di Angelo had learned, over the years, how to disappear without anyone noticing.
It wasn’t the same as shadow-traveling-this was quieter, more insidious. It meant slipping out of campfires before the laughter grew too loud. It meant standing at the edge of rooms and making himself smaller, duller, easier to overlook. It meant carrying the weight alone because that was safer than explaining it.
Tonight, it meant sitting on the infirmary floor at an hour when even the ghosts had the decency to be asleep.
The moonlight filtered through the windows, pale and cold, painting everything in shades of silver. The cots stood empty, their white sheets too clean, too pristine-like they expected him to bleed on them and were disappointed when he didn’t.
Nico pressed his back against one of the beds and drew his knees to his chest.
*You’re being dramatic*, a voice in his head sneered. You’ve survived worse.
That was always the problem. Surviving had become the standard. As if the fact that he was still breathing meant the damage didn’t count.
His chest ached-not sharp, not physical. It was the slow, crushing kind of pain that came from memory. From knowing. From realizing that no matter how many battles he won, no matter how many times he clawed his way back from the brink, the past still had its teeth in him.
Tartarus never stayed buried.
He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was there again-darkness pressing in from all sides, the air thick with despair, the constant feeling that the pit was watching him. Waiting for him to slip.
*You belong here*, it had whispered.
Sometimes Nico worried it was right.
His fingers trembled as he dug them into the fabric of his jacket. He tried grounding himself the way Will had taught him-naming things he could feel, hear, smell. The cool tile beneath him. The faint scent of ambrosia. His own breath, uneven and traitorous.
It didn’t help.
He swallowed hard, throat burning. His eyes stung, and he hated that most of all. Crying felt like failure. Crying meant he hadn’t gotten better. Crying meant all the progress everyone praised him for was a lie.
A tear slipped free anyway, landing on his knuckle.
“Stupid,” he muttered to himself.
“Hey.”
The word was soft. Careful. Like it didn’t want to scare him off.
Nico’s spine locked up instantly.
He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Will Solace had a presence-warm and steady, like sunlight you could feel even with your eyes closed. Nico hated how easily Will found him. Hated how part of him was relieved every time.
“Go away,” Nico said, voice flat.
Footsteps approached anyway, slow and unthreatening. Will didn’t crowd him. He never did. Instead, he sat down across from Nico, legs crossed, hands resting loosely on his knees.
“Can’t,” Will said gently. “I’m on infirmary duty.”
Nico scoffed weakly. “It’s midnight.”
“Yeah,” Will agreed. “And my boyfriend is having a bad night.”
Nico’s chest tightened at the word boyfriend. It still felt unreal sometimes-like something fragile he didn’t deserve to touch too hard.
“I didn’t say that,” Nico muttered.
“You didn’t have to,” Will replied.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Nico stared at the floor, tracing cracks in the tile with his eyes. He waited for Will to start asking questions. He braced himself for concern, for pity, for the well-meaning attempts to fix him.
None of that came.
Will just stayed.
That somehow made it worse.
“I thought I was past this,” Nico said finally, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice sounded small. Younger than he wanted it to. “I really did.”
Will tilted his head slightly, listening.
“I mean-gods, I’ve done the whole self-reflection thing. I’ve talked about my feelings. I survived Tartarus. I came out. I’m-” Nico laughed bitterly. “I’m supposed to be fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” Will said quietly.
Nico’s jaw clenched. “That’s the problem.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could physically hold the ache in place. “It just comes back. Out of nowhere. The fear. The anger. The loneliness. I keep thinking I’ve outrun it, and then suddenly I’m twelve again, and Bianca’s gone, and my dad looks at me like I’m a disappointment.”
His breath hitched. He hated that Will could see right through him. Hated that he didn’t pull away.
“I don’t want to be like this forever,” Nico whispered. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize I’m too much work.”
That got Will moving.
He shifted closer, close enough that Nico could feel the warmth radiating off him, could see the faint glow beneath his skin-the mark of Apollo’s son, softened and muted.
Will didn’t touch him yet.
“Nico,” he said, voice steady. “Look at me.”
It took effort. It always did. Nico raised his eyes slowly, bracing himself for disappointment.
He didn’t find it.
Will’s gaze was calm. Anchored. Like he wasn’t looking at something broken, but something hurting.
“You don’t scare me,” Will said. “Your pain doesn’t scare me. And you’re not a burden for having scars.”
Nico shook his head weakly. “You say that now.”
“I say that every time,” Will replied. “And I mean it every time.”
He reached out then, deliberately slow, giving Nico the chance to pull away. Nico didn’t. He leaned forward, forehead pressing into Will’s shoulder like gravity had finally claimed him.
Will wrapped his arms around him immediately, holding him firm and warm and real.
The shadows that clung to Nico’s skin wavered, uncertain.
“I hate that I’m still haunted,” Nico murmured into Will’s shirt. “I hate that I can’t just let it go.”
Will’s hand moved up and down his back in slow, grounding strokes. “You’re not haunted because you’re weak,” he said. “You’re haunted because you survived things no one should have to. Trauma doesn’t disappear just because you’re strong.”
Nico’s grip tightened. His breathing shook, tears soaking into Will’s shirt. He didn’t bother apologizing. He was too tired.
“I’m scared,” he admitted. “All the time.”
“I know,” Will said, kissing the top of his curls. “That’s why I’m here.”
The glow around Will brightened just a little-not blinding, not overwhelming. Just enough to push back the darkness curling at Nico’s edges.
“You don’t have to be okay tonight,” Will added softly. “Or tomorrow. Or ever, on someone else’s schedule. You just have to let yourself be held when it hurts.”
Nico closed his eyes.
For once, he didn’t fight the warmth.
“Promise you won’t leave?” he asked quietly.
Will huffed a soft laugh. “Nico, I’m a doctor. Abandoning my patient would be wildly unethical.”
Nico managed a small, broken smile.
“And,” Will continued, tightening his arms, “I love you. That part’s not conditional.”
The weight in Nico’s chest didn’t vanish.
But it loosened.
And for tonight, that was enough.