The sky over Camp Half-Blood had turned the color of bruised steel.

Nico could feel it before he saw it—the tremor in the earth, the wrongness in the air. Roman war cries echoed from the treeline as Camp Jupiter’s legion stormed the hill, banners snapping, shields raised. Arrows arced through the sky like a dark flock of birds.

Chaos exploded.

Nico stood near the edge of the battlefield, shadows writhing at his feet, the pull of the Underworld humming in his veins. Instinct screamed at him to move—to vanish into the dark, to flank from behind, to become the weapon everyone feared.

But then a hand caught his wrist.

“Stay,” Will said.

Nico turned. Will’s golden hair was already streaked with dirt, blue eyes sharp and focused. He had his bow slung across his back, but he wasn’t looking toward the enemy. He was looking at Nico.

“We need you alive,” Will said firmly. “Not running yourself into the ground.”

Nico bristled. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” Will shot back. “That’s not the point.”

A Roman spear struck the ground a few feet away. Will didn’t flinch.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said, quieter now. “Not today.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them—battle raging around them, but Will’s hand still warm around Nico’s wrist.

Nico hesitated.

Then he nodded once.

They fought—but strategically. Nico used his powers sparingly, raising skeletal hands to disarm attackers, slipping through shadows only when necessary. Will stayed close, covering him, pulling injured campers back when they fell.

And then it was over.

The Romans retreated. Smoke drifted. The camp smelled of ash and blood and exhausted victory.

The infirmary overflowed.

Will was in his element immediately—directing Apollo campers, binding wounds, issuing orders with calm authority that made even older campers listen. Nico lingered near the entrance at first, unsure where he fit.

Then he saw Will falter.

Just slightly. A sway. A tightness around the eyes.

Without thinking, Nico stepped forward.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

Will blinked at him, surprised—but nodded. “Pressure there,” he said, guiding Nico’s hands over a gash in a camper’s side. “Steady. Don’t let up.”

Nico obeyed.

Hour after hour, he stayed.

He fetched supplies. He steadied patients. When someone’s breathing grew thin, Nico felt it—the faint brush of death—and quietly pushed back, anchoring them just long enough for Will to work. He didn’t boast about it. He didn’t even explain. He just stayed.

At some point, their hands brushed over a roll of gauze.

Will glanced up. Their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between them—gratitude, relief, understanding.

When the last patient was stabilized and the infirmary finally quieted, the sun was rising.

Will sank onto a stool, exhausted.

Nico hovered for a second before stepping closer. “You did good,” he said awkwardly.

Will huffed a tired laugh. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nico shrugged, but the words settled warm in his chest.

From then on, something shifted.

They sat together more. Walked side by side. Fought back-to-back. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t announced. It just… grew.

Weeks later, the camp gathered by the lake for a rare evening of peace. Lanterns floated on the water. Campers laughed, music drifting through the warm night air.

Nico stood at the edge of it all, hands shoved in his pockets.

Will found him easily.

“Planning your dramatic brooding exit?” Will teased.

Nico rolled his eyes—but didn’t look away this time.

“I was actually,” Nico began, then faltered. Gods, this was harder than facing an army.

Will tilted his head. “What?”

Nico swallowed.

“Would you…” He paused, forcing himself to hold Will’s gaze. “Would you go out with me?”

Not in the shadows. Not in secret. Here. In the open. With lantern light and witnesses and the whole world watching.

Will blinked.

Then he smiled—slow and bright and utterly certain.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I would.”