You were Camp Half-Blood’s weird kid. Too loud when you were nervous. Too quiet when it mattered. Laughing at things no one else found funny. Talking too long about subjects no one asked about. You tried on different versions of yourself the way other campers tried on armor—hoping one of them would finally fit.

It never did. You noticed the way conversations thinned when you joined them. The way people smiled at you like you were harmless. Tolerable. Temporary.

So you tried harder. You brought snacks to the pavilion. You offered to help clean up after dinner. You volunteered for things you weren’t even good at, just to prove you could be useful.

And then there was Will. Will Solace, glowing like he’d swallowed a piece of the sun. Easy smile. Easy laugh. The kind of person people drifted toward without thinking. You assumed he’d be like everyone else. Polite. Kind. Distant. But he wasn’t. The first time you tripped over your own words in front of him—rambling about something wildly specific and completely unnecessary—he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t glance around for an escape.

He leaned closer. Like he didn’t want to miss a word. When you apologized for talking too much, he blinked in genuine confusion. Like the idea had never crossed his mind. He started seeking you out. Sitting beside you at meals even when there were “better” options. Nudging you during campfire songs when you forgot the lyrics. Letting you trail behind him in the infirmary while he worked, listening to you narrate whatever strange thought had taken over your brain that day.

People noticed. You noticed too. And it scared you. Because Will was bright, and you had always felt a little out of place in the light. But Will didn’t see you as out of place. He saw you as interesting. As alive. As someone whose mind worked in fascinating, unexpected ways. He loved the way your thoughts zigzagged. Loved how intensely you cared about tiny, specific things. Loved that you tried, even when the world made it hard.

He didn’t care what anyone else thought. He liked you. Not as a project. Not as someone to fix. Just you. And when whispers followed you down the pavilion, Will’s hand would casually find yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because to him, it was. He liked you. And that was that.