Being the son of Hades meant Nico was used to ghosts barging in on him at awkward times. He wasn't nicknamed the Ghost Prince for nothing, after all. But still, every time another one showed up, he couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't have traded with Bianca. She could banish the restless dead instead of attracting them to her. Or he could have at least inherited Hazel's geokinesis. Either ability would have been preferable.

He never wished that as badly as when a ghost showed up in his own home. In his bathroom, to be exact. When he was showering.

To be fair to the ghosts, Nico was expecting him. He'd just moved in, and picked the apartment because the rent was impossibly low. It hadn't taken long to find out about a previous tenant's mysterious and gruesome death, one month before. Which, upon further inspection, had looked suspiciously supernatural. It had been part of the appeal of choosing this apartment, really.

But there was a difference between expecting a ghost and bumping into him—or, well, through him—on the way out of the shower. In surprise, Nico tripped and face-planted into the tiles. At least he hadn't knocked himself unconscious in the process, but his nose was bleeding when he stumbled back on his feet and groped for a towel. Holding it with one hand as the other tried to stop the bleeding was particularly awkward.

"Ow. Did no one teach you ghost etiquette? Melinoe will hear me." It was pure bluff—Nico would never come close to Melinoe if he could avoid it—but he liked to pretend he was closer to the gods as he really was when dealing with a new ghost.

It didn't seem to faze this one, though. "Sorry. Couldn't resist taking a peek."

Nico felt himself blush, which wouldn't help with his attempts at building a 'tough guy' façade. "Well, hope you've enjoyed it. Now, get out."

The ghost didn't move or fade, and only grinned at Nico, who looked him up and down, curious. He was in his early twenties, about the same age as Nico, maybe a year older or so. He was taller than Nico, one of those guys Nico would have complained about being 'freakishly tall' before he'd hit an unexpectedly late growth spurt a couple of years ago—and even now, the ghost still had a few inches on him. His body was all in lean, strong lines, and his skin was tanned, the kind that showed he spent a lot of time outside in the sun, and his hair would have been golden if he hadn't been the faded colors of a ghost—that was something Nico had learned to guess with experience, a ghost's real colors.

Speaking of colors, his clothes were too bright for Nico's taste, even faded as they were. He only wore a too-short yellow t-shit that didn't even reach down to his navel, with an inscription that read 'Daddy's favorite haiku', and azure blue—no, bright cyan—swimming trunks that hung low and loosely on his hips and reached almost to his knees.

The inscription in particular was what woke Nico's suspicion, but before he could voice them, the ghost spoke. "Like what you see?"

Nico scoffed. "I'm too blinded by the colors to notice anything else." Not entirely true, of course. "You have terrible fashion sense. And speaking of which, are you ever going to let me get dressed?" He was still awfully conscious of only having a towel held with one hand to cover himself.

"Sure. But we have to talk." He vanished before Nico could retort anything.

Their next encounter happened at night that day, while Nico was huddled up on his couch, mindlessly watching some awful talk show on TV to pass the time. Something that happened way too often of late, but that was the only way he'd found of getting his mind off the most upsetting parts of his job as a medium. Having to tell someone that their departed daughter only regretted not killing the rest of her family in the fire was not the easiest thing to live through, especially when he had to deal with their reaction all while sending the ghost on her way to the Underworld. But hey, that was a rare occurrence. All jobs had their ups and downs, Nico guessed.

In his daze, it took him a while to register the ghost sitting next to him, and he started when he did. It was the same boy who had shown up in his bathroom, and he seemed absorbed in the television program—but his smirk and the insistence with which he didn't look at Nico was enough to know it was just pretend.

"You could warn me when you're there," Nico said. Normally he was aware of ghosts around him as clearly as he was of his own limbs, but this one had eluded him both times. His pride would suffer from the admission, but he'd rather set boundaries as fast as possible. "What do you want?"

The ghost flashed a radiant smile and finally turned to Nico. "Has anyone told you you had terrible manners?"

"Says the guy who snuck up on me in the shower."

"Touché. Although it wasn't completely intentional. I died there, you see." His smile wavered at the word 'died', although the seriousness clashed with his clothes, the same from before. "Usually people introduce each other when they first meet."

"Usually, people freak out when they see a ghost and call an exorcist." Like Bianca, for instance. Or Nico, if Bianca was busy and she thought the ghost could be reasoned with. "As I said, what do you want?"

The ghost ignored his question. "I'm Will Solace. I used to live here until a month ago, when I died. Aren't you curious to find out how? Let's make a trade. You tell me why you're not freaked out by me, and I'll tell you."

Nico stared at him. "Don't pretend. You're like me. A demigod." With a pointed look at the shirt's inscription, he added, "Son of Apollo, if I were to guess. Or one of his groupie, maybe." He wasn't sure which option was worse.

Will's expression was one of surprise, though. "But… I know all of my half-siblings. You can't— and what do you mean, 'son of Apollo'? Is there—"

Nico mentally cursed the policy of isolationism some of the Olympians had opted for. "It never occurred to you some of your dad's relatives might be just as real and active as he was?" Nico hadn't met many demigods except for his own siblings, like most demigods, but at least his father had told him they were out there.

"I—thought about it. So—who's your…parent?"

"Hades."

"Yeesh. Okay, I get why ghosts don't scare you, then."

You have no idea was on the tip of Nico's tongue, but he wasn't interested enough in the guy to risk having to bring up the worst parts of his job. So, instead, he repeated, "What do you want, Will Solace?"

"I—don't know, actually. It's the first time someone asks me since I'm dead."

"You said we had to talk."

Will froze, and his gaze grew distant. "I— yeah, I did say that! It's not safe here, you should—"

"Leave?"

"No, I was just going to say 'be careful'."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I—can't."

Nico sighed. A month had passed already—of course some of Will's memories would be scrambled at this point. Lots of ghosts forgot about their own deaths as a coping mechanism, unless they were trying to avenge it. "Okay. Well, thanks for the warning, I guess." He'd thought his tone was unequivocal, but Will didn't seem to understand the underlying 'please leave'.

"You're welcome. So… do you really like this thing?" he asked, nodding at the television.

"No. But I do like my privacy."

Will turned to stare at him in surprise mixed with hurt, and dissolved into mist.