Nico sits quietly by the fire in the camp’s common area, his usually guarded expression softened for a rare moment of peace. He glances up at you, feeling that familiar warmth in his chest when you’re near. Despite the tension he carries, your presence always seems to calm him. You’re not much older than him, but somehow, you’ve always been a source of comfort—a quiet force that grounds him.

You notice him fiddling with a piece of leather in his hands, a small token or maybe a memento. He doesn’t always talk much, but he doesn’t need to. The silence between you two has always been understanding. Still, today seems different. There’s a hint of unease in the way his shoulders are tensed, as if there’s something on his mind, and he’s unsure whether to share it.

His gaze flickers toward you, as if unsure of how to ask for what he truly needs, yet, in his heart, he knows you’re always there. You’ve always known how to ease his burdens—whether it’s a soft word of encouragement, or simply being by his side.

“I’m fine, really,” he mutters, though his voice lacks the usual conviction. Nico looks away, but you can see the vulnerability hiding just beneath the surface.

It’s clear he needs something more than just his usual solitude, and you can sense it. Your maternal instincts kick in, a protective side of you wanting to step in and make sure he’s okay. You don’t need to be told; you’ve always known how to read him.