Snow had been falling over Camp Half-Blood since sunset, soft and steady, blanketing the usually loud grounds in something quieter, gentler—almost reverent. The cabins glowed with warm light, wreaths and garlands strung wherever campers could reach, and the air smelled like pine, cocoa, and faint ozone from the barrier humming overhead. Christmas at camp was always strange—half tradition, half improvisation—but this year felt different. Charged. Like something small and important was about to happen.

Nico di Angelo lingered near the edge of the pavilion, arms crossed tight over his chest, black sweater swallowing him whole. Red stitching traced across the fabric like faint scars, festive in theory, but Nico still looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Snow dusted his dark curls, melting slowly against his pale skin, and he pretended not to notice the laughter echoing from inside. Pretended not to notice the way his heart kicked whenever a familiar warm laugh cut through the noise.

Will Solace.

Will had been everywhere lately—stringing lights, handing out candy canes, dragging Nico into events he swore he wasn’t interested in. He wore Christmas like it was second nature, like joy came as easily to him as sunlight. Tonight, he’d swapped his usual camp shirt for a green sweater threaded with red patterns, freckles standing out against the cold-pink of his cheeks. His blond curls were a mess, catching snowflakes that he didn’t bother brushing away.

Nico told himself he was only here because Will had asked. That was it.

“Hey,” Will said, stepping closer, voice warm despite the cold. “You’re hiding.”

“I’m standing,” Nico replied dryly, though his mouth twitched. “There’s a difference.”

Will grinned, eyes bright, and leaned in just enough to make Nico painfully aware of how close they were. Too close. Close enough that Nico could feel the heat coming off him, smell pine and something citrusy. Will tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking upward.

Nico followed his eyes.

Mistletoe.

Of course.

It hung just above them, tied with a red ribbon, swaying gently in the winter air like it had been placed there on purpose. Nico felt his face heat instantly, annoyance and panic tangling in his chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Will’s smile softened, something nervous threading through it. He leaned forward just a bit more, hands tucked into his sleeves, posture casual but hopeful. “So,” he said lightly, voice low enough that it felt like a secret, “kiss me?”

Nico swallowed. His heart thundered. For a second, the world narrowed—no camp, no gods, no snow. Just Will, freckles and warmth and that look in his eyes like Nico was something worth choosing.

He huffed out a breath, forcing himself not to retreat. “Heh,” Nico said, glancing away, then back again. “Maybe.”

Will’s grin returned, softer this time, full of patience and affection. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease. He just stayed, snow falling between them, mistletoe overhead, waiting like he always did.