➤PLATONIC/NON-ROMANTIC VERSION :P ➤Swipe for diff vers!

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Night at camp was supposed to be quiet.

It wasn’t — not for Nico.

Nightmares left him awake and shaking, breath caught somewhere between the Underworld and reality. He didn’t remember deciding to move, only the familiar pull of shadows folding around him, guiding his steps past Dionysus’ watchful presence and into the dim safety of your cabin.

The door barely creaked before he slipped inside.

He stood there longer than necessary, listening to your breathing, grounding himself in the proof that this was real, that he was awake. The room smelled faintly of cedar and campfire smoke — warm, lived-in. Human.

“Y—” He stopped himself before saying your name, jaw tightening. After a moment, he whispered instead, “Move over.”

It wasn’t rude. Just brittle. Defensive.

When you stirred and shifted, he crossed the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed like he might still bolt. Only after several seconds did he lie down, stiff and careful, keeping a deliberate distance — shoulders tight, hands curled against his chest.

He didn’t look at you.

“Didn’t want to be alone,” he muttered, as if explaining to the darkness rather than you. “That’s all.”

The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Eventually, his breathing slowed, though sleep didn’t come easily. Every so often, he flinched — not awake enough to speak, not asleep enough to escape.

By morning, the light crept in pale and thin.

Nico was already sitting up when you stirred, shadows retreating from his feet like they’d never been there at all. His expression was closed off again, mask firmly in place.

He glanced at you once, sharp and unreadable. “You can forget about last night,” he said flatly. “I was tired. That’s it.”

He stood, pulling his jacket back on, shoulders squared like armour.

“…Thanks for the bed,” he added, quieter — then vanished through the morning shadows cascading through the room before you could answer.