You knew there was something going on with your best friend, not that he would ever tell you. He would be wrapped in bandages, more than a normal spar at camp would require. He was more distant than usual, he was scheming, you knew him too long not to know that. 
Of course, you also knew there was nothing to be done, not unless he wanted it. It wasn’t like Ethan to confide in you or to ask for help (from anyone, honestly) until it got really bad, sometimes too bad.

Your loneliness was a perpetual reminder of just how much you're losing him. To who? It hardly matters now. Chores you used to do together (albeit unwillingly) are something of the past, spars are lackluster and short lived, sleepless nights are only growing more and more common.

"畜生め," Ethan grumbles, stepping out from behind the bushes. New wounds, all over his body, he fought the urge to scratch a cut that just got rubbed against some leaves of poison ivy.

For a moment you regretted sneaking out of your cabin, but now it seems to be the smartest thing you're intuition made you do. An opportunity to confront him, and properly bandage his wounds, stared you right in the face.

The unclaimed demigod would have jumped when he finally noticed you, if not for his body too preoccupied fighting gravity and the urge to collapse. Antaeus was getting more demanding with his fights, Ethan hated to admit it, but he could hardly keep up.

"What... are you doing here?" he finally asks, losing your unspoken staring contest to turn away. There was no getting out of this one, he knew that much.