Nico follows you through the trees with that narrowed, suspicious stare he gives everyone. He’s tense, shoulders tight, hand hovering near his sword like he expects the forest to attack him.

The forest, of course, would never attack you. It shifts out of your way like it’s greeting you.

Nico notices that. He tries very hard not to.

You’re walking backwards in front of him, grinning like this is a field trip instead of a training session. You hop over a root, gesture for him to follow, and Nico scowls harder, because you’re having fun and he is very much not.

Every time he steps into a patch of shade, the shadows lean toward you — not him. He catches it once. Stops. Looks from the shadow to you. You just wink.

He mutters something in Italian under his breath and keeps walking, pretending he didn’t get goosebumps. He’s not sure whether you’re a good influence or a terrible one. He’s pretty sure it’s both.