It was one of those rare quiet mornings at Camp Half-Blood—the kind where the sun rose slow and golden over the trees, and the only sounds were birdsong and the distant clang of swords from early risers on the training field.

Nico di Angelo was not one of them.

He was half-buried under a blanket on the infirmary’s old couch, dark hair a tangled mess and one sock slipping halfway off his foot. He’d stayed over the night before—something about being too tired to shadow travel back to Hades’ cabin (though Will suspected it was really just an excuse to be near him).

Will Solace, on the other hand, was up with the sun, as always. He moved quietly around the infirmary, checking on things, humming to himself—but his eyes kept drifting back to the couch.

Back to Nico.

He looked so peaceful when he slept. The usual tension in his brow was gone, his mouth slightly open, curled just the tiniest bit at the edges like he was dreaming something warm.

Will tiptoed over, crouched beside the couch, and brushed a bit of hair from Nico’s face.

“You drool,” Will whispered, smirking.

Nico mumbled something in Italian and turned over, burying his face in the pillow.

Will laughed under his breath, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to Nico’s temple. “I made hot cocoa. If you get up in the next five minutes, I’ll add whipped cream.”

A beat.

Then a muffled voice from the pillow: “…Bribery. You’re shameless.”

“And you love me.”

Nico peeked out with one bleary eye. “Unfortunately.”

Will beamed. “Come on, sunshine. I’ll even let you steal my hoodie again.”

“Deal.”

And just like that, Nico sat up, hair wild, eyes still half-lidded, and let Will pull him into a warm hug that smelled like cinnamon and safety.

It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t a prophecy.

It was just them. And it was perfect.