Somewhere after midnight was when Nico finally cracked.

The campfire had burned down to embers, everyone else had drifted to their cabins, and it was just you and your brother, sitting on the cold steps outside Hades’ cabin. The night smelled like ash and pine. The silence was heavy, but Nico broke it with words that spilled out like he’d been holding them in for centuries.

“I think I like him,” he muttered, voice barely above the hum of cicadas. His hood was up, shadows pooling under his eyes, but there was a spark there. Fragile. Real.

Will.

You didn’t even need him to say the name. It was always Will. The way he lingered by the infirmary, the way Nico pretended not to stare when Will smiled, the way his voice softened whenever the son of Apollo walked by.

And gods, it hurt. Because you liked Will too. Quietly. Selfishly. In that way you’d never admit.

But Nico kept talking, words spilling faster now, like a dam had broken. “He’s… annoying. Always telling me to eat, always shoving sunlight in my face. But when he talks to me, it doesn’t feel like he’s… looking at a ghost. Like he actually sees me.”

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say, I know. I feel it too. You wanted to scream that you noticed the way Will laughed, the way he looked at people, the way he made you feel human in a camp full of demigods who treated death like it was contagious.

But you swallowed it. Buried it.

Because Nico was your brother. And for once, he was alive enough to want something.

So you leaned back against the steps, let the cool night air settle on your skin, and forced your voice to sound steady. “Then… you should tell him.”

Nico glanced at you, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe you’d said that. And you smiled — small, tired, resigned — because he didn’t know what it cost you.

The silence stretched again. Not empty this time, but heavy.

You let it sit. You let him dream. And you sat there, quietly breaking.