Will Solace And Nico’s Kiss

Will’s sword struck Nico’s hard enough to sting through the leather of his glove.

“Again,” Will said.

Nico’s dark eyes narrowed. “You just said that.”

“And you’re still leaving your left side open.”

“I’m not.”

The next clash rang across the meadow. Late sunlight spilled over the grass near the Big House, turning the tips gold and catching on the bronze of their blades. Around them, campers finished drills in noisy clusters, their voices mixing with the scrape of weapons and the distant creak of the climbing wall. Too many people. Too many eyes.

Will wanted Nico alone.

Not for long. Just long enough to find out whether the look Nico had given him before training meant what Will thought it meant.

Nico lunged. Will parried, stepped inside his guard, and caught his wrist. Their shoulders collided. Nico smelled like cold air and metal, with a trace of smoke from the arena’s torches clinging to his shirt.

“You’re distracted,” Nico murmured.

Will tightened his grip. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything that might get me killed.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Nico twisted free, but Will let him go before the movement could become a real struggle. Nico’s mouth tilted - not quite a smile, but close enough to make Will’s pulse trip.

Then Nico swept Will’s legs out from under him.

Will hit the grass with a breathless curse. Nico stood over him, sword angled toward his chest.

“Still distracted,” Nico said.

Will looked up at him. The sun caught in Nico’s hair, softening the sharp edges of his face. For one reckless second, Will forgot the watching campers. Forgot the swords. Forgot every reason this was a terrible idea.

He wanted to pull Nico down.

Instead, he said, “You’re enjoying this.”

Nico’s expression changed. The almost-smile disappeared, replaced by something guarded. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one standing over me.”

“I won.”

“You cheated.”

“I used your mistake.”

“That’s what cheating is when you’re pretty.”

The words escaped before Will could stop them.

Nico went still.

A shout rose near the archery range. Someone laughed. A sword clattered against a shield. The camp carried on, but Will felt as if the entire meadow had turned toward them.

Nico lowered his blade. “You should watch what you say.”

“Why?”

“Because people listen.”

Will pushed himself upright. “People already listen. They just pretend they don’t.”

Nico glanced toward the Big House. Chiron stood on the porch speaking with one of the senior campers. Mr. D’s voice drifted faintly from inside, complaining about something no one could hear. Beyond the porch, the boundary of the grounds shimmered in the heat, more felt than seen - a pressure beneath the skin, a reminder that Camp Half-Blood was never as private as it looked.

Nico sheathed his sword. “Training’s over.”

“Not for me.”

“You’re a healer. You can’t be injured by losing once.”

“I’m not injured.”

“Your pride is.”

Will rose, brushing grass from his jeans. “Wait by the tool shed after dinner.”

Nico’s gaze snapped back to him. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you said it like you were asking me to meet you in a dark alley.”

“I’m asking you to meet me somewhere people won’t stare.”

“That place doesn’t exist here.”

“Then give me five minutes somewhere people stare less.”

Nico’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Will did know. That was the problem.

He had spent weeks pretending the warmth between them was just exhaustion after patrols, just the strange intimacy of tending Nico’s cuts, just the way Nico sometimes lingered in the infirmary doorway after everyone else left. Pretending had become easier than admitting that every time Nico looked at him, Will wanted something he couldn’t name without making it real.

Now Nico was looking at him like Will had already made it real.

“Five minutes,” Will said. “That’s all.”

Nico’s eyes dropped to Will’s mouth.

The answer was there, brief and unmistakable.

Then Nico turned away. “After dinner.”

Will’s relief lasted three seconds.

A dry cough sounded from the edge of the meadow.

Will glanced over. A satyr stood beside the Big House garden, half-hidden behind a stand of strawberry plants. He looked young, though that meant little with satyrs, and he was staring at them with open curiosity. When Will met his eyes, the satyr immediately bent over a patch of weeds.

Too late.

Nico had seen him too.

“Five minutes,” Nico repeated, quieter now. “And if anyone follows us, I’m leaving.”

“Deal.”

Nico walked toward the cabins without looking back.

Will watched him go until the whistle for dinner broke the spell.

*

They met behind the Big House after sunset, where the meadow sloped toward the trees. The air smelled of crushed clover and woodsmoke from the dining pavilion. Lantern light glowed through the porch windows, and voices carried across the grounds in fragments.

Five minutes, Will reminded himself.

...