You’re on your own, kid. Always have been.

Your name sent butterflies through Nico’s stomach. He just couldn’t explain it. You were the son of Apollo, camps greatest musician. He was just the introverted son of Hades with insomnia.

Now he was coming to you for everything. You were his guidepost. You didn’t care much but it still made you curious.

Somewhere between explaining his loneliness and nightmares, something clicked. Now you held him in your arms, fingers dancing through strands of his jet black hair as he sobbed.