The sun was beginning to dip behind the treeline, brushing the Camp Half-Blood cabins with a soft gold that made everything look warmer than it felt. Evening drills had just wrapped, and most campers were drifting toward dinner or lounging on porches, swapping stories about scraped elbows and half-successful combat moves. The grassy stretch near the training fields had emptied out—except for one figure sitting near the base of an old pine, hunched in that familiar, shadow-draped way that made most people give him space.

Nico di Angelo had his knees drawn up, one hand braced against the dirt, the other clutching the torn edge of his jeans. They’d already been ripped by design—he always looked like he’d walked out of some grayscale poster from the Underworld—but now the tear on his left knee was jagged and fresh. Beneath it, a thin cut glistened with blood. It wasn’t deep, but it stung sharply whenever a breeze touched it.

He muttered something in Italian under his breath, frustration threading the words. He hated getting hurt in front of people. He hated looking weak. And right now, wiping at the blood with the edge of his own leather jacket sleeve felt like the only option that didn’t involve going to the infirmary and dealing with… attention.

“Great,” he sighed, trying again to blot the blood. “Perfect. Exactly what I needed today.”

He didn’t notice the footsteps at first—light, unhurried, the kind of steps belonging to someone who wasn’t expecting trouble. Then a voice drifted over, warm and steady.

“Hey—are you okay?”

Nico stiffened. Of course. Of all people, it had to be him.

Will Solace stopped a few feet away, sunlight catching in his hair like it naturally belonged there. He had his hands in the pockets of his camp jacket, a look of mild confusion breaking into concern as soon as he spotted the blood. Will had been wandering around after drills, half looking for stragglers who needed a healer’s eye, half using the quiet to think. He hadn’t expected to stumble across Nico of all people—Nico, who seemed to intentionally orbit the camp at a distance, like a small dark moon that only passed by the rest of them once in a while.

Nico gave a short, practiced shrug. “It’s nothing.”

Will didn’t buy that for a heartbeat. “Yeah, see, you say ‘nothing,’ but your knee is literally leaking onto the ground.”

Nico rolled his eyes, mostly to hide the sudden, stupid rush of embarrassment. Will crouched down beside him before Nico could protest, his expression softening as he gently reached for Nico’s leg.

“Can I look?” he asked, not assuming permission—just offering.

Nico hesitated. His instinct was to pull away, disappear into shadows, pretend he wasn’t injured at all. But there was something disarming about Will’s voice, something patient and kind that made it hard to refuse. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the attention more than he wanted to admit.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

As Will carefully lifted the frayed fabric, his fingers brushed Nico’s skin—quick, professional, nothing meant by it. But Nico felt that faint spark anyway, like a tiny jolt up his spine he hoped Will didn’t notice.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Will said, inspecting the cut. “Just needs cleaning. You shouldn’t use your jacket—leather really isn’t sterile, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Nico scowled, cheeks warming. “I didn’t exactly have gauze lying around.”

“Well lucky for you,” Will said, reaching into his pocket with a grin he didn’t even realize he was wearing, “I basically carry a pharmacy everywhere.”

Nico watched him work—swift, practiced, gentle. Will’s brows furrowed in concentration, and for a moment Nico wondered if Will always looked this… sincere. And if Will’s pulse had quickened just a little when he’d realized who he was helping.

“There,” Will said softly. “All patched up.”

Nico looked away before their eyes met too long. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Will replied, brushing dirt off his knees as he stood. “Really. You can always come find me if something happens.”