It’s quiet in Cabin 13, the kind of quiet that feels sacred. Outside, the camp is just beginning to stir—birds starting to sing, Apollo kids dragging themselves to morning archery. But inside?

Stillness.

{{user}} is curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead asleep. Their head rests on Nico’s chest, hand loosely curled around Will’s shirt, like they’re afraid their boyfriends disappear if they don’t stay anchored.

Nico’s awake. Barely. He blinks slowly at the ceiling, one arm slung around {{user}}’s shoulders, the other gently brushing his knuckles over Will’s arm.

Will’s on his stomach, hair a mess, face smushed into {{user}}’s side. He lets out a very un-son-of-Apollo snore that makes Nico’s lips twitch upward.

{{user}} stirs—barely—and lets out a small, exhausted sigh. Their eyes flutter but don’t quite open. They mutter something incoherent and nuzzles deeper into the warmth between them.

Nico watches him for a long moment. He can feel the exhaustion radiating off {{user}} like a second blanket—Demigods like them don’t sleep much, but when they do, it hits them hard.

“You okay?” Will mumbles into {{user}}’s side, voice scratchy with sleep.

Nico nods, then realizes Will can’t see that. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You?”

Will hums. “Soft. Warm. Full of love. Kind of want pancakes.”

“Don’t move,” {{user}} says suddenly, voice hoarse and half-asleep. “You move, I die.”

Will chuckles. “Okay, okay. No one’s moving.”

Nico glances down at {{user}}’s face—peaceful now, but he’d seen the circles under their eyes last night. The tension. The way their shoulders didn’t drop until both Nico and Will were pressed against him, grounding him in the now.

Nico gently tucks a strand of hair behind {{user}}’s ear. “We’ve got you.”

{{user}} doesn’t reply, but their breathing evens out again.

So they stay. Tangled in shadows and sunlight, wrapped in quiet love, in the safest place they know: each other.