A/N: They're twelve, so forgive them for being dorks.
Nico throws all his weight into the swing; something he'd never do in a real fight because it'd leave him wide open for an attack. But this isn't a bloodthirsty monster he's facing, it's a wooden dummy, and Nico's sword slices deep into its side like its made of melted butter. There are similar cuts all over its lifeless limbs, and by the time Nico's finished, there'll probably be nothing left but a pile of splinters. Nico's still not sure if all his frustrations will be duked out by then.
Stupid. Percy. The glint of stygian iron makes an arc in the air and the metal lands with a dull thunk. Stupid. Smile. Stupid. Green eyes.
He's just too upbeat. And brave. And annoyingly friendly. Nico wishes the dummy was his crush as drives his sword smack dab in the middle of its flimsy head. The neck isn't made of anything stronger than plywood, and it gives way under the force, the head thumping on the grass and rolling a couple feet.
Nico growls, planting his shoe on its sharpie-drawn face. He could tear a fissure in the earth right now. Percy Jackson better count his hero's luck that he isn't anywhere near Camp Half-Blood, because Nico woke up this morning hating him more than usual
Instead of screams of the damned, Nico sheathes his sword with a sigh. There's a towel waiting for him on the bench, and he uses it to mop up his forehead and the sweat trickling down the nape of his neck. He wants a shower, but he'll have to wait until after sundown because campers always stare. He'd like to think it's because he's very attractive: all the other children of the Big Three are. From fearsome Thalia to beautiful Bianca, and Percy who's obviously, well...Nico just feels he's been short-changed in the looks department. The only reason anyone would give him a second glance is because of his dreadful aura.
That's when he sees it in his peripherals. A shape, most definitely humanoid.
Nico is off the bench in seconds, on his feet, fingers wrapped around his hilt. In theory, there are no monsters within the borders of the camp, but instinct has his blood thrumming, and Nico's never been able to completely throw caution to the wind. He squints at the the treeline.
He doesn't have to wait long, surprisingly. A boy steps out from behind a gnarled trunk and tries for a bashful smile. It doesn't work. Nico glares, hating nosy campers almost as much as he hates monsters.
"Did you get enough of a show?" Nico snarls.
"Sorry," the boy briefly glances down before meeting Nico's eyes. His sickeningly blonde hair reminds Nico of Apollo: unique in its bright quality, like it's straw-spun from gold. If that isn't enough to guess the boy's godly parent, then his sun-bronzed skin is a dead giveaway. "I was just-uh. Having a picnic in the woods.
Nico scoffs. Lame excuse, especially since he doesn't even have a basket. "I don't care what you were doing. Don't ever stalk me again, or you'll regret it."
"Do you have other stalkers?" the boy asks with a soft smile. The threat doesn't even make his throat bob. So either he's a moron, or has a death wish, Nico doesn't care to find out.
"Had. The others learned what's good for them, and they keep away." Nico slings the sweat-dampened towel over his shoulder. "If you want to ogle at freakish powers, go ask Percy Jackson."
"I wasn't waiting to see your powers, I just liked your sword-fighting."
The second it comes out of his mouth, the boy seems to realize what he's just admitted. And consequently, his cheeks color a sunrise crimson. Nico mirrors his blush, though it's probably not as pretty to look at. Nico's skin is deathly olive, and even the slightest flush of blood appears as starkly as red paint.
"You're really good at it," the boy adds, as if continuing the subject will somehow make it less embarrassing. "I've always sucked at fighting, even the bow and arrow. And that's what my dad's famous for."
"Parental blessings vary from person to person," Nico grumbles in a much lighter tone than before. He can't help being nicer, because this boy might be different. Or so he claims. But the thing is, he feels different too. He doesn't look scared of Nico, and he doesn't look like he wants to run as far away as he can. "What's your name?"
"Will," his eyes sparkle lake blue. "Solace."
Nico narrows his eyes, only because he's uncomfortable with being smiled at. He doesn't meet a lot of people. Not the normal way. This is the part, he guesses, where he's supposed to give his own name. "I'm-"
"Nico," Will interrupts him, nodding. "You're famous."
Great. So Will probably knows all about Nico's rocky history. He can imagine blockhead Percy sharing stories from the labyrinth like children's fairytales, where Nico is the backstabbing friend, or the plotting villain. They'd be accurate; he just doesn't want Will to know them. Well, too late and too bad.
Nico turns his back on the blinding sun and all of its rays, including Will. He begins the long trip back to the Hermes cabin, where he'll nap for a couple of hours and work up the strength to shadow travel. He's still pretty new at it.
"Where are you going?" Will calls after him.
Nico glares over his shoulder and finds Will has already taken a few steps forward. "Don't. Follow me."
Will halts, his expression thoughtful. "I'm sorry I was being a creep. I just want to get to know you better."
Nico closes his eyes. There's no point now. He knows Nico's past, knows everything from his rotting guts to his crooked personality, so how could they ever be friends?
"Just leave me alone," Nico says, the finality of his decision wearing through his voice. The darkest shadows appear when the sun's hottest and highest, when people like Will try to reach out to him. "We'll both be better off that way."
Next time Nico starts walking, Will doesn't stop him.
(And maybe just a little bit, Nico wishes he would try.)