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Will Solace lay sprawled across his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as though he could block out the world by sheer refusal.
The cabin still smelled faintly of antiseptic and crushed ambrosia.
It clung to everything. His sheets, his hands, the inside of his throat.
Kayla had practically shoved him out of the infirmary an hour ago.
‘Go rest, head counselor’, she had said, hands planted on her hips with the kind of stubborn authority that only came from someone who had seen too much blood for her age. ‘We’ve got this.’
Austin was inside now, guiding the new Apollo kids, soft-voiced, wide-eyed, still learning where to place their hands without shaking. Through the endless rhythm of bandages and nectar doses. Outside, the Hunters of Artemis had arrived with injuries from something Will had only caught in fragments. Silver arrows, something fast in the woods, nothing fatal.
Hopefully.
Hopefully.
That word had become the fragile thread holding his life together.
It was breathtaking, sometimes, to have more siblings.
More laughter in the cabin. More sunlight. More voices singing off-key while they worked.
More hands to help.
And yet—
Will bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron.
More hands meant more bodies in danger.
More people who would stand in front of monsters.
More people who would bleed on his tables.
More people whose lives might hinge on whether his hands were steady enough.
Or fast enough.
Or good enough.
His chest tightened.
What if—
What if you’re the only one who could have—
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“No,” he whispered to the empty room. “No, no, no—stop.”
You came here to rest.
Not to count the dead.
Not to replay the ones you couldn’t save.
Not again.
His breathing finally slowed, uneven but obedient, and exhaustion dragged him under like a tide he no longer had the strength to fight.
Dreams did not come gently. For demigods? They never did.
He stood in the middle of the infirmary, except it wasn’t the infirmary. The cots stretched too far, disappearing into shadows that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air smelled not of ambrosia, but of smoke and bronze and something bitter. Burnt nectar?
Michael stood in front of him, Lee beside him.
They looked exactly as they had in life, sun-bright armor, easy smiles, shoulders squared like they were about to head into another battle instead of—
Instead of—
“You’re so brave, Will,” Michael said softly.
“I’m proud of you,” Lee added, voice warm, steady, the way it used to be when they’d ruffle his hair and call him Sunspot.
Will felt something fragile bloom in his chest.
A child’s relief.
A desperate, aching need.
“I—” His voice broke. “I tried. I—”
Their smiles faltered.
Then shattered.
Their faces twisted, not into monsters, but into memory.
Bronze splitting.
Fire.
The sickening stillness after a body stops fighting.
The moment you realize healing light won’t be enough.
Will staggered back.
“No—”
“You could’ve saved us, Will.”
Michael’s voice cracked like a whip.
“If you had only—”
“Will,” Lee interrupted, quieter, almost tired. “What are you doing, Will?”
His expression softened.
“Are your friends alright? Is Castor—”
Lee stopped himself, like he’d walked into a room that no longer existed.
A small, apologetic smile.
“Sorry.”
The word landed like a blade.
Because Castor was gone too.
Another name carved into the silent ledger Will carried inside his ribs.
“But the war is over, Will!” His mother’s voice swept past him like warm sunlight.
Naomi Solace moved through the shadows, brushing his shoulder as if he were still ten years old and scraped his knee.
“The war is over,” she repeated, gentler. “Yet quests never end. You could go on one.”
Could he? Shouldn’t he be—
“At least you have Nico,” Michael cut in sharply. “He faces death itself.”
The shadows deepened.
The air turned warm.
Yes.
Nico.
Will clung to that name like a lifeline.
Nico, who smelled faintly of earth and shadows and something impossibly steady beneath it all.
Nico, who had walked through Tartarus twice and still, somehow, looked at Will like he was something worth protecting.
With Nico, Will could breathe.
Actually breathe.
“…Nico,” he whispered.
“Soon,” another voice said.
Golden.
Radiant.
Too bright to look at directly.
Apollo stood at the edge of the endless cots, light pooling around his feet like liquid dawn.
“I’m so proud, Will.”
The word echoed.
Warped.
Stretched thin.
Proud?
Proud.
Proud—
The light flickered.
The warmth curdled.
“You’re so distraught, Will.”
The voice twisted, same tone, wrong meaning.
“You’re so distraught.”
The word pressed against his skull.
Distraught.
Distraught.
Distraught.
Will flinched like he’d been struck.
“I—no—I’m fine,” he tried, but his voice came out small, thin, like it belonged to someone younger. “I’m doing my job. I’m—”
The cots around him filled.
Bandages soaked through.
Hands reaching.
Voices overlapping.
Can you help—
Will—
It hurts—
You said I’d be okay—
His light sputtered in his palms, flickering like a dying candle.
“I can’t— I’m trying— hold on— please just—”
The shadows surged forward.
Will jolted awake with a sharp, broken inhale.
The cabin ceiling stared down at him, familiar wood, familiar sunlight leaking through the window in soft, forgiving gold.
His cheeks were wet.
His pillow damp.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
For a moment he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Just listened.
No screaming.
No smoke.
No endless rows of cots.
Only the distant sounds of Camp Half-Blood, laughter near the canoe lake, someone arguing about sword forms, a lyre playing badly somewhere down the hill.
Alive.
Everyone, alive.
Will pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes.
“Gods,” he whispered, voice shaking despite himself.
The war was over.
The Titan War.
The Giant War.
Even Tartarus had been faced and survived.
And still? The quiet was the worst part.
Because in the quiet, the ghosts were louder.
He swallowed, throat tight.
“…Nico,” he murmured, barely audible, like saying the name might summon steadiness back into his bones.
Somewhere outside, footsteps passed the Apollo cabin.
Life kept moving.
It always did.
Will lay there in the thin morning light, exhausted down to the marrow, wondering, like he always did. How many lives a healer was supposed to carry before the weight finally crushed him.
And whether, tonight, when sleep came again, the dead would be waiting.
Will had been tired.
Not the fleeting kind, the sort that vanished with nectar or a decent night’s sleep, but the bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind the eyes and refused to leave. He slept through the morning, through the soft gold of dawn, until the sunlight shifted and sharpened into afternoon’s steady shine. It was rare for him to do that, but not unheard of. Healers learned, sooner or later, that the body always collected its debts.
By the time he made his way to the dining pavilion, the camp was already alive with noise, laughter echoing off marble columns, cutlery clinking against plates, the hum of voices overlapping into something almost peaceful.
Almost.
Will scanned the tables without thinking, his gaze instinctive, practiced.
Dark hair.
Pale skin.
Eyes like a storm just before it broke.
There.
Nico sat hunched over his plate, shoulders sloped inward as though gravity had suddenly decided to be crueler to him than everyone else. He ate slowly, mechanically, like each bite required careful negotiation. Not pain, exactly, but effort. The kind that stole energy instead of giving it back.
Will’s chest tightened.
Please, he thought, please don’t let it be shadow travel. Because he had seen it too much already to know when it happened.
Nico had a habit of treating his own limits like polite suggestions. And shadow traveling too often, especially across long distances was a direct violation of very clear, very firm doctor’s orders. Orders Will had given with crossed arms and a stern expression that Nico pretended not to find endearing.
But there was something else, too.
Something quieter.
Will hesitated, then allowed himself the thought he didn’t want to name.
What if it’s nightmares?
Demigods didn’t dream normally. They never had. Dreams were battlefields, prophecy-laced hallucinations, memories sharpened into weapons. Still, the idea of Nico waking with that familiar flinch, the tight jaw, the distant look, the way his fingers sometimes trembled before he forced them still, hurt more than it should have.
Once or twice, they had slept in the Hades cabin together.
Not often.
Those nights had been rare, stolen between mismatched schedules and looming responsibilities. The cabin had been cold, shadows curling lazily along the walls, the air smelling faintly of earth and stone. They’d lain close, not touching much, not at first, just close enough to remind each other that they were not alone.
When nightmares came, they’d come hard.
A hand gripping a sleeve.
A sharp inhale in the dark.
Quiet reassurances whispered like secrets meant only for the dead and the living who survived them.
It had never gone further than a clumsy, half-awake kiss, soft, uncertain, more comfort than desire. Even remembering it made heat rush to Will’s face, his ears burning as he ducked his head over his plate.
Still.
Those nights had mattered.
And now, watching Nico push food around like it weighed a thousand pounds, Will wondered when they had become memories instead of habits.
He picked up his tray and moved closer, heart thudding softly, not with fear, not quite, but with that familiar ache of caring too much for someone who carried the underworld in his bones.
Maybe that was why, the moment Will spotted him at the Hades table, he didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the pavilion quickly and dropped into the seat beside Nico with a shy, almost boyish smile tugging at his mouth.
Up close, Nico looked—
Different.
His hair had grown longer than Will remembered, dark strands falling in soft, uneven waves that brushed against his lashes when he blinked. It framed his face in a way that made the sharpness of his features feel less severe, less like something carved from shadow.
He was still pale, of course he was, but there was a faint warmth beneath it now. Not the ghostlike gray he used to carry after long stretches in the Underworld.
And he had that sleepy look.
The one Will loved.
Half-lidded eyes. Shoulders loose. Like the world had quieted just enough to let Nico exist without bracing for impact.
“Morning, sunshine,” Will said, settling beside him, sunlight catching in his hair.
Nico made a small, noncommittal sound.
“Hmm… mor—”
He stopped mid-word, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked Will over.
Probably because it was very obviously lunchtime.
Or maybe because Will’s smile was a little too careful.
“Something’s wrong?” Will murmured, stirring his coffee in slow, absent circles.
Nico didn’t answer immediately.
He just watched him.
“You’re odd.”
Will winced. “Ouch.”
Nico’s gaze sharpened. “What did you do?”
Will huffed softly. “Wow. What do you take me for, darling?”
“Solace.”
Nico turned fully toward him, dark eyes locking with his.
“You can tell me.”
There it was, that quiet, steady seriousness he only used when he meant it. No sarcasm. No deflection. Just Nico, painfully direct.
Will sighed through his nose, shoulders dropping.
“…Did you shadow travel until death again?”
The words landed between them like a thrown knife.
Nico immediately regretted ever admitting, weeks ago, exactly how much it took out of him. Which was more than what he’d originally said.
“Uh—” He shifted in his seat. “I mean. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“Nico—”
“I definitely did not—”
“Nico di Angelo, those were strict doctor’s orders,” Will said, frowning.
Nico froze.
Actually froze.
His mouth hung open slightly.
Because Will almost never used his full name.
Not unless he was scared.
Or furious.
Or both.
For a second, the noise of the pavilion seemed to dull around them.
Nico recovered first, scowling faintly as he leaned back in his seat.
“You’re not my only doctor.”
Will raised a brow, amused. “Name another one who survived Tartarus with you and still bothers to check your pulse.”
“…That’s not—”
“And,” Will continued, quieter now, the edge slipping into something more fragile, “you promised you’d pace yourself.”
Nico looked away. Which, for Will, was basically a confession.
Will exhaled slowly, some of the heat draining out of him.
“How far?” he asked, softer.
Nico picked at the edge of his plate. “Not far.”
“That’s not a distance.”
“Across camps.”
Will’s jaw tightened. “Nico.”
“What? It’s efficient.”
“You nearly collapsed last time you called it ‘efficient.’”
Nico muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like worth it.
Will dragged a hand down his face.
“Gods,” he whispered. “You’re impossible.”
A pause settled between them, familiar, not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Heavy with everything they didn’t say in front of other people.
After a moment, Will’s voice came quieter.
“…Was it just that?”
Nico blinked. “What?”
“The exhaustion,” Will said carefully. “Was it just shadow travel.”
Not a question.
A gentle opening.
Nico hesitated.
His fingers stilled against the table.
“…No,” he admitted.
Will didn’t react, didn’t push, didn’t crowd, just waited, the way he did with skittish patients and wounded animals.
“…Bad dreams,” Nico said finally, voice low.
Will’s chest tightened.
Of course.
Demigods didn’t get peaceful sleep. Not after Tartarus. Not after everything.
“Same ones?” Will asked.
Nico gave a small, humorless huff. “They don’t exactly come in new editions.”
That earned the faintest smile from Will.
He nudged his shoulder lightly against Nico’s, not enough to draw attention, just enough to be there.
“You should’ve woken me,” Will murmured.
Nico’s reply was immediate. “You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I’m used to it.”
Will’s expression softened in a way that almost hurt to look at.
“That doesn’t mean you have to be.”
Nico didn’t answer.
But he didn’t move away either.
For a while they just sat there, sunlight warm against Will’s side, shadows cool against Nico’s, two halves of something that shouldn’t have fit and somehow did anyway.
After a moment, Will nudged Nico’s plate slightly closer to him.
“Eat,” he said gently. “That’s also a doctor’s order.”
Nico rolled his eyes.
But he obeyed.
And that, more than anything, made the tight knot in Will’s chest loosen just a little.
Later that afternoon, the infirmary had settled into its rare, fragile quiet.
Sunlight filtered through the high windows in pale gold ribbons, catching on glass vials and polished metal trays. The usual chaos, groaning patients, shouted instructions, the constant rush of footsteps, had thinned to a soft hush. Someone snored faintly on a cot across the room.
Will sat on the edge of one of the beds, flipping through a clipboard more out of habit than necessity.
Nico occupied the space beside him, half in the chair, half slouched like gravity affected him differently than everyone else. Shadows lingered around his boots, thin as smoke.
After a moment, Will’s pen stilled.
He frowned.
“…Wait.”
Nico glanced sideways. “That’s never a good tone.”
Will lowered the clipboard slowly and turned toward him, suspicion narrowing his eyes just a fraction.
“So you truly have other doctors?” he asked, voice deceptively casual.
Nico went very still.
There was something about Will’s attention, warm and bright and painfully focused, that could feel more intense than any monster’s glare.
A faint shiver ran down Nico’s spine, and he straightened without meaning to.
“Of course not,” he said quickly, lifting his hands in surrender. “Mi sole, you’re my one and only.”
Will held his gaze another second, measuring, searching, before the tension snapped into a crooked grin.
“Better fucking be.”
Nico snorted. “Gods, you’re territorial.”
“I am responsible,” Will corrected primly. “There’s a difference.”
“You literally threatened me at lunch.”
“I raised my voice.”
“You used my full name.”
“That was medical emphasis.”
Nico tilted his head. “You sounded like my sister.”
Will winced. “Okay, that’s low.”
A small smirk tugged at Nico’s mouth, brief, but real.
Will bumped his shoulder lightly against Nico’s arm.
“You scare me when you overdo it,” he admitted, quieter now. “Shadow travel, no sleep, skipping meals, pick a bad habit, you’ve probably mastered it.”
Nico looked away, jaw tightening just slightly.
“I’m fine.”
Will didn’t argue immediately. He just reached out, two fingers brushing Nico’s wrist. Professional, practiced, checking his pulse.
Nico huffed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Your pulse is still a little fast,” Will murmured.
“I walked across camp.”
“You shadow-jumped across camp.”
“Details.”
Will finally looked up at him, expression soft but unyielding.
“You don’t have to prove you can survive everything alone anymore.”
The words settled between them, heavier than they sounded.
Nico’s sarcasm faltered.
For a moment, he looked younger, less like the son of Hades, more like the kid who had spent too many years bracing for the next loss.
“…I know,” he said, quieter.
Will’s shoulders eased.
“Good,” he replied gently.
A beat passed.
Then Nico added, dry as ever, “Still not promising I’ll stop doing reckless things.”
Will groaned. “Incredible. Truly inspiring. My boyfriend, everyone! Hero of the Underworld, menace to his own health.”
“That’s a strong title.”
“You earned it.”
Nico’s mouth twitched.
Silence settled again, comfortable this time.
After a moment, Nico nudged Will’s knee with his boot.
“…You’re still tired,” he said.
Will blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You get this crease,” Nico muttered, gesturing vaguely at Will’s forehead. “Right there. Means you haven’t actually rested.”
Will instinctively reached up to smooth it away. “Traitor. Don’t use my own observations against me.”
“You started it, Doctor.”
Will leaned back slightly, shoulder brushing Nico’s.
“Maybe,” he said, softer, “we both need to get a good night sleep for once.”
Nico didn’t answer right away.
But he didn’t move away either.
After a few seconds, he murmured, almost reluctant. “…You could stay in the Hades cabin tonight. If you want.”
Will’s cheeks warmed instantly.
“Oh,” he said, very intelligently.
Nico stared straight ahead, pretending intense interest in a rack of bandages.
“In case,” he added stiffly, “you have more nightmares.”
Will smiled, small, fond, a little helpless.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “In case I do.”
Their shoulders remained pressed together in the warm strip of afternoon light, sun and shadow, neither pulling away first.
Nico lay back against the pillows in the Hades cabin, one arm tucked behind his head. The room was cool, shadows drifting lazily along the ceiling like slow-moving clouds.
He looked… peaceful.
Not asleep, just resting, the way he only allowed himself to when he trusted the person beside him
Will watched Nico for a long moment, expression softening.
“Looking gorgeous there, Sunshine.” Will said, smiling softly. He sat near the edge of the bed, sunlight slipping through the doorway and catching in his hair, turning it almost painfully gold.
Nico’s mouth curved, faintly smug.
“Amore,” Nico said, voice low and warm, the Italian slipping out naturally, “you say things like that, but you never actually see what I see.”
Will tilted his head. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Nico’s gaze traced his face, freckles, the faint crease between his brows, the stubborn softness he carried even after everything.
“Through my eyes,” Nico murmured, quieter now, “even the brightest light is… nothing compared to you. Sei più caldo del sole.”
(You’re warmer than the sun.)
Will’s ears went pink almost instantly.
“Nico—”
“I mean it,” Nico added, softer still. “Your stupid hair, your freckles, the way you glow when you’re concentrating. È ridicolo.”
(It’s ridiculous.)
Will let out a flustered breath, shaking his head like he could physically dislodge the embarrassment.
“You are—” he muttered, fighting a smile, “—such an adorable piece of pancake pumpkin.”
Nico stared at him.
“…A what.”
“A pancake pumpkin,” Will repeated, defensively.
Nico snorted, the sound sharp and genuine.
“I leave the Underworld for this.”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it,” Nico corrected, still grinning.
Will crossed his arms. “Wow. After I just got compared to the literal sun.”
Nico tilted his head, eyes glinting.
“Sole della mia vita,” he said smoothly.
(Sun of my life.)
Will’s face went fully red this time.
“That’s not fair, you switched languages.”
“Strategic advantage.”
“Oh, we’re competing now?” Will shot back, straightening.
Nico smirked. “We were always competing.”
Will pointed at him dramatically. “Alright, fine. You— you pretty dramatic little shadow gremlin.”
Nico actually laughed. “Shadow gremlin?”
“Absolutely. Certified.”
“Please,” Nico scoffed. “You called me a pancake.”
“You are a pancake.”
“I will literally summon skeletons.”
“You wouldn’t,” Will said, grinning.
“…Not in the cabin,” Nico admitted.
Will leaned closer, eyes bright with mischief.
“You melodramatic crypt prince.”
Nico’s eyebrows shot up. “Crypt prince?”
“Too much?”
“Not enough,” Nico said, fighting another smile. “Try harder, Solace.”
Will gasped theatrically. “Wow. Okay. You— you— emotionally constipated bat.”
Nico choked on a laugh.
“Emotionally— what?”
“You heard me.”
Nico watched him, a smile of pure, quiet amusement settling across his face before he let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
“I thought we were complimenting each other.”
Will sighed, shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own nonsense had finally caught up to him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Panicked.”
Nico pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.
“Oh! But you’ve wounded me, cuore mio.”
The words landed far too gently for how much damage they did.
Will felt his heart stutter, actually stutter, heat rushing up his neck and across his cheeks. Still, he forced himself to keep the bit going, even as his composure cracked at the edges.
“Oh no,” he said, putting on a theatrical gasp.
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Nico in an exaggerated, overly careful hug.
“Don’t cry, my sweet, tragic, nocturnal prince,” he crooned. “I didn’t mean it, my tiny bat of eternal suffering.”
Nico wheezed.
Actually wheezed, shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to hold back a laugh.
“Tiny—?” he managed between breaths. “I literally outrank most ghosts.”
“Congratulations,” Will shot back smoothly, pulling away just enough to look at him. “You’re still my favorite son of darkness.”
Nico rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
“Favorite?” he echoed. “How many do you have?”
Will pretended to consider. “Well, there’s you, and then there’s—”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial softness.
“—you after you’ve slept more than three hours.”
Nico snorted. “That version of me doesn’t exist.”
“Oh, he does,” Will said, expression turning fond despite himself. “He’s less stabby.”
“I am not stabby.”
“You threatened to summon skeletons because I called you a pancake.”
“That was justified.”
Will laughed under his breath, then nudged Nico’s shoulder with his own.
“Alright,” he conceded. “Truce.”
Nico narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Temporary.”
“Temporary,” Will agreed.
A brief pause.
Then Will added, softer, but with that bright, easy confidence he slipped into when he forgot to be embarrassed.
“My shadowheart.”
Nico blinked.
“…You’re making those up now.”
“Nope,” Will said, grin slow and warm. “Just accurate.”
Nico looked away, but the faint color rising under his pale skin gave him away.
Recovering, he lifted his chin with mock arrogance.
“Please,” he said. “If we’re using titles—”
He reached out, catching lightly at the edge of Will’s sleeve.
“—luce mia. My light.”
Will’s breath hitched, subtle, but real.
“That’s—” He cleared his throat. “Okay, that one’s unfairly good.”
“I know,” Nico said, smug.
Will bumped their foreheads together without thinking, laughter still lingering in his voice.
“You’re impossible,” he murmured.
“And yet,” Nico replied, quieter now, “you’re still here.”
Will’s smile softened into something warmer, steadier.
“Yeah,” he said. “Kinda stuck with you, death boy.”
Nico huffed. “Romantic.”
Will’s eyes glinted.
“Alright then,” he said, voice low but playful. “My brave idiot who walks into Tartarus and somehow comes back.”
That one landed deeper than the others.
Nico’s expression faltered, just for a second, before he covered it with a crooked, almost shy smile.
“…You’re worse than me,” he muttered.
Will shrugged lightly.
“Only with you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just warm, threaded with the quiet certainty they’d fought too hard to earn.
After a moment, Nico nudged him with his elbow.
“…You can keep ‘shadowheart,’” he said, pretending indifference.
Will grinned.
“Good,” he replied. “But you’re stuck with ‘sunshine’ forever.”
Nico groaned softly. “Tragic.” But he didn’t let go of Will’s sleeve.
“Ah…? Don’t cry, my sweet baby little batcakes.” Will said, smiling.
“That’s not even— that’s not—”
Nico tried to keep a straight face.
Failed.
A laugh broke loose, sharp, startled, completely unguarded.
Will immediately started laughing too, shoulders shaking.
“Oh gods,” Nico wheezed, “I— I can’t—.”
“Jackpot!”
Nico shoved his shoulder lightly.
Will shoved back.
The movement shifted their balance, and the next second both of them tipped sideways.
There was a startled yelp, a tangle of limbs, and then—
thud.
They landed in an undignified heap on the floor beside the bed.
For half a second there was silence.
Then Nico started laughing again, louder this time, breathless, the sound echoing against the stone walls.
Will followed, helpless, forehead nearly bumping Nico’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.
“Gods,” Will managed between laughs, “That’s your fault.”
“You started it, amore.”
Will huffed another laugh at that, shaking his head.
They stayed there on the floor, tangled awkwardly, laughter slowly fading into quiet, shared warmth, the kind that only came when neither of them was bracing for the next disaster.
For once, there were no ghosts.
No nightmares.
Just the soft hush of the cabin, the echo of laughter, and the steady, impossible comfort of not being alone.
Will hesitated only a heartbeat.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss was small, barely more than a brush of lips, soft enough that it felt less like a decision and more like a quiet instinct.
Nico stilled for a second before melting into Wills touch.
Will pulled back just enough to see his face, a shy warmth settling into his expression. “I love your laughter,” he murmured.
The words were simple, but they carried that earnest, sun-bright sincerity Will never quite managed to hide.
Nico’s mouth twitched, caught between embarrassment and something softer.
“You’re weird,” he muttered, voice lacking any real bite.
“Yeah,” Will said easily.
He leaned in again, slower this time, not to his lips, but to the corner of Nico’s mouth, pressing a gentle kiss there, right where the ghost of a smile still lingered.
As if he were trying to keep it from disappearing.
Nico’s breath hitched, quiet, surprised.
“You—” Nico stopped, clearly recalibrating. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” Will said softly, a little smug now. “I’m a medical professional.”
“That is not—”
“Official treatment,” Will finished, fighting a grin. “Prescribed for chronic brooding.”
Nico let out a reluctant huff that turned into a quiet laugh, the kind that stayed low in his chest instead of escaping fully.
Will’s expression softened immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.
“There,” he whispered, almost to himself.
Nico eyed him. “You’re staring.”
“I told you,” Will said, voice warm, steady. “I like your smile.”
The shadows in the room seemed to settle rather than gather, as if even they had decided not to interrupt.
Nico looked away, but he didn’t hide the faint color rising to his cheeks.
“…Idiot,” he muttered.
Will only smiled, bright, unbothered, and stayed close enough that their shoulders still touched, like it was the most natural thing in the world.