Nico DiAngelo hated morning.

Honestly, what was good about it this forsaken time of day? Was it always freezing cold? Why, yes it was. Was it always bright and glimmering, or that intensely frustrating half-light that caused him to trip over every stick or stone around camp? Bizarrely, yes. And did it take more energy than he could ever summon to drag himself from underneath the warm blankets and out of the nice, peaceful, quiet cabin? Of course it did. And that was just so much effort.

Sometimes he really wished he was a child of Hypnos.

And so, it was with great reluctance that he opened his eyes to a chilly November morning. Slightly more that reluctance, actually. A few of the gods would have been happy to blast him to smithereens if they'd heard the curses in his head.

Optimism was not a quality that the Italian boy possessed a lot of. But he still tried to make the transition from warmth and comfort to freezing air as easy as possible by reminding himself of the positives. Thoughts like; 'hey, at least you haven't been destroyed by Gaia!'

It wasn't helping much. Gaia didn't have to wake up, did she? In fact, she'd had a lot of people telling her to stay in bed. He'd be quite happy swapping lives with that stupid goddess if it meant he never had to get up again.

He was just about to pull the covers back up over his head when a flash of movement caught his eye. It was so unexpected it was enough to send him blot upright, wrath forgotten as he reached for his sword. Then his mind caught up with his reflexes and he hesitated.

The window to his cabin had no curtains (thanks to the stupid Stoll brothers and their ridiculous fireworks), so he was sheltered from the outside world by a thin piece of glass. Because of the foggy morning it was completely coated in condensation, providing a cloudy, abstract view of the camp outside. And the figure standing there.

Any other person and Nico would have been out there like a shot, brandishing his weapon and yelling at them to leave him alone. Or (more likely) he would have sent a zombie out to deal with them, and stayed in bed, safe and warm. But the mess of blond hair was so familiar his fingers slackened around his sword without a conscious thought, and a small grin made its way onto his face.

Slowly, the figure outside raised a hand and used the condensation to write a message on the window. Nico leant forward, frowning as he tried to make it out.

'Guess who?'

Nico pretended to groan, but it sounded fake even to his ears. He could hear the laughter from the boy outside.

Slowly, painstakingly, the next message was written. 'Get up, lazybones'

"No!" Nico called back. "And stop with that stupid nickname!"

"Never!" Came the reply, teasing woven into every word. "I won't, and you can't make me."

"Can't I?"

"Nope." A pause. "Lazybones."

"You're so immature!"

"And you're not?"

"No!" Nico closed his eyes, concentrated for the few moments it took to shadow travel outside, then flung his arms around Will in a bear hug. The blond boy jumped a foot in the air, but came down smiling.

Nico's eyes, normally dark and foreboding, almost sparkled as he stared at the boy in front of him. "You were saying?"

Will grinned again. "Lazybones."

And then he had to stop, because Nico's lips on his made it very hard to speak. Not that he really minded.