Last thing you expected to happen today was loosing the only person that truly understood you in a span of minutes.

When he was the one to find you in the middle of a clearing, when no one else had looked for you -or at least known you enough to find you-, you almost laughed to yourself. Like this all was just some kind of sick, cruel and distasteful joke.

But it wasn't. The ochre scent of blood still drowned your nostrils, and the red soaking your hands was still there when your gaze mamaged drift down.

You hadn't dared washing it off.

Not yet.

There was no corpse. No goodbye. Just a false step and the whole thing went to shit. And by the time you managed to get to the camp's entrance, your bleeding friend clutched into your chest like there was something left to be done, before they were yanked away and it was too late for plans or help.

Nico saw. Worse; he understood.

He understood so well, he knew you did not need petty comfort words. Just someone. Just to feel less alone, after the only person that made you feel like you weren't had ended up being, in fact, the reason of your loneliness. So he sat nearby, watching in quiet understanding.