Will POV
Will only realized what he had said after he said it, which, in the long run, might've been a mistake. Three days in the infirmary. He might as well have a death wish. His train of thought was cut short when an oily mop of black hair whipped around Will watched his Italian friend stroll back to Cabin 13, almost sauntering. It took all of his willpower to take in a shallow, shuddering breath and walk two steps into his cabin.
By the time he'd flopped down on his bunk his thoughts had already drifted back to black Converse, Stygian iron, and that oh-so-subtle Italian accent that made Will's heart race.
Nico. Nico di Angelo.
Will sighed, and let his mind drift.
Nico POV
Nico never though he'd hear those words. Only later would he realize he would never tire of them, no matter how cliché they were. Even though he was only 14 (more like 84 if you wanted to get technical, but never mind) he could hear the flirty tone his sunshiny friend had used when he said Doctor's orders. It was quite obvious, really. And it was also why Nico stood frozen in place for what seemed like an hour, but it was probably only less than a minute. Eventually he had the sense to give Will a thumbs-up and turn away. He did try to conceal his happiness, but he could tell it showed in his walk. At least the shaggy black bangs that lined his pale face hid the bright red tint that began working its way up to the tips of his ears.