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Will Solace knew three things for certain.
One: He could brew the most potent nectar-and-ambrosia mix in Camp Half-Blood with his eyes closed.
Two: Chiron’s patience with his ever-growing stash of medical supplies was wearing thin.
And three: Nico di Angelo hated to be touched.
Or at least, that’s what Will had believed. For months. No—years.
It had started the first time they’d met properly, in the infirmary after the Battle of Camp Half-Blood. Will had reached out to inspect Nico’s wounds, and the son of Hades had flinched so hard you’d think he was about to be burned. Will had backed off, holding up his hands in apology.
“No touching. Got it,” he’d said, watching as Nico avoided his gaze, lips pressed into a thin line.
Since then, Will had made it a rule. No contact unless absolutely necessary. No casual brushes of the hand, no comforting pats on the shoulder. Definitely no hugs, even when Nico had shown up alive after disappearing for three weeks into the Underworld without telling anyone.
Will had assumed it was just a personal boundary, part of Nico’s past—gods knew he had enough of that weighing him down. So Will respected it.
But it didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to touch him. It didn’t mean he hadn’t dreamed of pulling Nico close, feeling his heartbeat, holding his cold hands until they warmed.
It didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt.
Summer came late that year. The sun scorched the Long Island Sound, the campers swam more than they trained, and Will Solace, for once, had a quiet infirmary. No injuries. No drachma calls. No panicked satyrs storming in with poison ivy rashes.
Which meant more time with Nico. Not that Nico particularly sought him out. But they had a kind of rhythm now—quiet evenings on the hilltop, talking in half-sentences. Nico didn’t need much; Will had learned how to read the silence.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Will leaned back against the cool grass, arms behind his head, eyes on the stars. Nico sat beside him, legs crossed, shadows curling lazily around his ankles like stray cats.
“You ever think about how stars are basically just giant balls of gas?” Will mused.
Nico hummed. “Everything beautiful is dangerous.”
Will tilted his head to look at him. “Are you calling me beautiful or dangerous?”
A pause. “Both.”
Will’s heart did a weird thing. “Wow, that was almost flirty. Are you okay?”
Nico gave him a sidelong glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched. That almost-smile that Will lived for.
Then a breeze swept through, and Nico shivered. It was subtle, but Will noticed. He always noticed.
“You cold?” Will asked.
“I’m fine.”
Will sat up. “You’re always fine. Except when you’re not.”
Nico rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Will reached into his bag and pulled out the hoodie he always carried. He held it out, careful to keep his distance.
“Here.”
“I don’t need—”
“Take the hoodie, Nico.”
A sigh. “You’re stubborn.”
“So are you.”
With an exaggerated motion, Nico took the hoodie. But instead of putting it on, he clutched it in his hands, thumbs brushing over the worn sleeves.
Will bit the inside of his cheek.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to do something. But the rules—they’d kept him from pushing. Nico didn’t like to be touched.
So why was he sitting so close tonight?
Why had his knee brushed Will’s earlier and not moved away?
Why did he look like he was waiting?
The truth came out on accident.
It was late. Nico had fallen asleep on the infirmary cot, exhausted after summoning too many ghosts for a training demo. Will sat beside him, a book in hand, keeping watch in case of shadow-induced fevers or undead nightmares.
Nico stirred, half-asleep. Then, without warning, he reached out—and curled his fingers around Will’s wrist.
Will froze.
Nico mumbled something in Italian, brows furrowed, but his grip didn’t loosen.
Will looked down at their joined hands. The contact was warm. Familiar. Desperate.
His heart thudded in his chest.
Very carefully, Will brushed his fingers over Nico’s.
The boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a breath and shifted slightly closer.
Like he wanted it.
The realization hit Will like a brick wall.
Nico wasn’t avoiding touch because he hated it.
He was starved for it.
The next morning, Will found Nico sitting on the infirmary porch with a cup of coffee and a blanket over his shoulders. He didn’t mention the hand-holding. Didn’t mention the way he’d curled into Will like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Will didn’t push. But he did sit closer than usual.
And Nico didn’t move away.
From there, it became a game of testing limits.
Will would casually brush their hands together as they walked. Nico didn’t recoil.
He’d lean their shoulders together on the bench during dinner. Nico would stiffen for a second, then relax.
One night, after a movie in Cabin Seven, Will rested his head lightly on Nico’s shoulder. Nico had gone still—then leaned his head back against Will’s.
Will didn’t dare speak.
He knew if he said anything, Nico would retreat back into the shadows.
So he waited. And slowly, Nico opened up.
He started seeking Will out first. Sitting closer on the hilltop. Letting his fingers linger on Will’s wrist. Falling asleep on Will’s shoulder during late nights in the infirmary.
And then, finally, one night, when a thunderstorm had rolled in and Nico had shown up at Will’s door soaked and shivering, everything changed.
Will blinked as he opened the door. “Nico?”
“I—I didn’t want to be alone.”
Will’s heart cracked.
“Come in.”
Nico stepped inside, dripping on the floor, and Will grabbed a towel without thinking.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m always freezing.”
Will smiled softly. “Yeah, but I like to think I’m helping a little.”
He moved to wrap the towel around Nico’s shoulders, hesitating for just a second—and this time, Nico didn’t just allow it. He leaned into it.
Leaned into Will.
Will held his breath.
Nico’s forehead touched his chest.
“Is this okay?” Will whispered.
“More than okay.”
So Will wrapped his arms around him, gentle and firm.
And Nico melted.
It was like watching ice thaw after years in darkness. Nico’s breath hitched. His arms came up slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—and then clutched at Will’s shirt like he’d fall apart if he let go.
Will didn’t say anything. He just held him tighter.
They stood like that for what felt like hours.
Finally, Nico spoke.
“I thought if I let people touch me, it would break something.”
Will pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
“But it didn’t.”
Nico nodded. “I was wrong.”
Will smiled. “You can touch me anytime you want.”
A faint blush rose in Nico’s cheeks. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll never let go.”
Will’s heart stuttered.
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to.”
From then on, it became a quiet kind of addiction.
Nico started initiating contact.
He’d sneak into Will’s bed at night, curling around him like a cat. His fingers would find Will’s under the table during meals. During patrols, he’d brush their shoulders together with deliberate ease.
Sometimes, Will would catch him looking—like he was marveling that he was allowed to do this. Like touch was a gift he didn’t believe he deserved.
Every time, Will made sure Nico knew otherwise.
He’d wrap his arms around him, press kisses to his knuckles, hold his waist while Nico complained half-heartedly.
“You’re so clingy,” Nico would mutter.
But his hands never let go.
One night, curled together under the stars, Nico whispered, “I used to think being touch-starved was just part of who I was. Like I’d gone too long without it to ever want it again.”
Will ran his fingers through Nico’s hair.
“But you were wrong.”
“I was wrong,” Nico agreed, curling closer. “Gods, Will… I love this.”
Will smiled, heart aching and full all at once.
“I know,” he said. “I love it too.”
Nico tilted his head up.
“I love you.”
Will’s breath caught.
He kissed him then—soft, slow, with every ounce of tenderness Nico had ever been denied. And he was so gentle, he was always so gentle.