The decision to leave Camp Half-Blood for the afternoon felt strangely monumental, even though it really shouldn’t have.

They weren’t sneaking out. Chiron knew. Mr. D barely cared. It was just a few hours in the city—New York, loud and alive and very much not camp. Still, as Will and Nico walked down Half-Blood Hill together, it felt like crossing an invisible line.

Nico kept his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jacket, eyes fixed on the path ahead. He’d been to Manhattan before—plenty of times, actually—but always for quests, emergencies, or survival. Never for something like this. Never for something that felt… light.

Will, on the other hand, looked like he was trying very hard not to grin himself into oblivion.

“So,” he said casually, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “New York City. First official date-date. No monsters planned. I promise.”

Nico snorted. “You say that like you control the monsters.”

“Hey, statistically speaking, we’ve gone almost two whole weeks without an incident,” Will replied. “That’s basically a miracle.”

They reached the bus stop in silence after that, the comfortable kind—though Nico’s heart was beating a little too fast for comfort. As they boarded and found seats near the back, the city began to slide into view through the window. Buildings rose higher, traffic thickened, and the air seemed to hum with motion.

Nico shifted slightly, aware of how close Will’s arm was to his own.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, almost accidentally, Will’s pinky brushed Nico’s.

Both of them froze.

Nico’s breath caught, his instinct screaming at him to pull away—to retreat into shadows, into distance—but he didn’t. Instead, slowly, deliberately, he curled his pinky around Will’s.

Will glanced down, then over at Nico, blue eyes soft and a little stunned. He didn’t say anything. He just tightened the smallest bit, like he was anchoring them both to the moment.

They stayed like that the entire ride.

Will took him to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“I figured,” Will said as they climbed the steps, sunlight gleaming off the massive columns, “it’s big enough that no one will bother us, and there’s… history. Which you like. Even when you pretend you don’t.”

Nico huffed. “I don’t pretend.”

Inside, the cool air wrapped around them, quiet and reverent. They wandered through ancient exhibits first—Greek pottery, Roman statues, faded mosaics that Nico recognized in a way that made his chest ache. Will listened intently as Nico pointed out details most people missed, eyes lighting up when Nico forgot himself enough to ramble.

“You know,” Will said at one point, stopping in front of a cracked marble statue of a god missing half his face, “I love this version of you.”

Nico frowned. “What version?”

“The one who forgets to be closed off,” Will said gently.

Nico looked away, ears warming, but he didn’t deny it.

After the museum, they grabbed pizza from a small place Will swore Percy had once declared “acceptable,” which apparently meant high praise. They sat on the edge of a fountain in a nearby park, sharing slices, shoulders pressed together.