Bitter on the Tongue
Will had never hated summer before. He was Apollo's son, after all—summer coursed through his veins like sunlight itself. Long days bathed in golden light, music carried on the wind, everything blooming in rhythm with his heartbeat. For years, it had felt like home. But this summer? This summer was different. The heat felt oppressive, like it was weighing him down, suffocating him in ways he couldn't quite explain. The familiar hum of the camp had become a constant buzz in his ears, the air thick with something that wasn't quite right.

The infirmary had been quieter than usual, a welcome break after the chaotic battles that had ravaged the camp earlier. Will should've been grateful for the peace, the chance to catch up on sleep, or at least to take a walk by the lake like any normal camper. But instead, he found himself here, on the porch of the Apollo cabin, a glass of lemonade clutched in his hand like a lifeline. The knot in his chest was too tight to ignore, a mass of thoughts too tangled to unravel.

He was trying to convince himself that the lemonade, made from his mother's recipe, would help clear his mind. Fresh-squeezed lemons, a splash of water, a sprinkle of sugar to taste—his mom's voice echoed in his memory as if she were standing beside him, leaning over with a knowing smile. But this time, Will had skipped the sugar. The result was a drink that was harsh and biting. Each sip felt like punishment, the sharpness of it almost punishing his tongue, making his teeth ache with the rawness of it. It burned in a way that mirrored the thoughts swirling inside him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to set it down.

The porch creaked beneath him as he shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, though he knew it wouldn't help. The glass was cold against his fingers, but it did nothing to ease the heat in his chest. The breeze picked up, ruffling the curls on his forehead, but the wind didn't cool him—just stirred up more dust. Will let out a long sigh, hoping that somehow, the breeze might carry his restlessness away. But it didn't.

"You're a glutton for punishment," came a voice from behind him, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Will didn't need to turn to know who it was. He knew the sound of Nico's footsteps too well. The faint shuffle of boots on wood, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his weight. The shadows seemed to shift around Nico like they had a life of their own, always settling differently when he was near, like the very light of day bent to accommodate him.

Will tilted his head back, his gaze following Nico's shadowed form as he appeared from the cabin's door. Nico held one of his ever-present books, the pages fluttering in the wind as though they too were trying to escape the weight of the world.

"Don't you have a crypt to haunt?" Will muttered, his words light, but there was an edge to them, a bite he couldn't quite shake.

Nico smirked faintly, his expression still enough to send a shiver down Will's spine. He dropped onto the steps beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. His presence was oddly grounding, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. "And miss the spectacle of you grimacing at your own drink? Never," Nico replied, his voice low, just a shade of amusement under the surface.

Will swirled the lemonade in his glass, watching the pulp drift like fragments of his thoughts, each bit suspended in the liquid like a silent cry for help. The bitterness crawled on his tongue as he took another sip, a sharp reminder of everything that felt wrong in his life. "It's not that bad," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Nico, but the words felt hollow. They didn't hold the weight of truth.

"You're a terrible liar," Nico said, his tone dry as ever, but with a hint of concern buried beneath the sarcasm.

Will huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn't reach his eyes. Nico had this way of cutting through all his defenses, stripping him of his pretense. It was like peeling away the layers of a disguise Will didn't even know he was wearing. Nico always saw through him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of camp swirled around them—the distant laughter of campers by the lake, the sharp, rhythmic thud of arrows meeting their targets at the archery range. Will used to find those noises soothing, a comforting hum of life continuing in the background. Now, they felt foreign, like the noise belonged to someone else. He felt untethered, adrift in a world he no longer recognized.

"You've been... off," Nico said finally, his voice softer than usual, cutting through the quiet like a thread of steel.

Will didn't immediately answer. Instead, he stared at the glass in his hands, the sunlight glinting off the liquid, catching the pulp like gold dust. There was something about it that felt so painfully still, like he could see himself reflected in it but couldn't quite make out the image. He wasn't sure who he was anymore.

"I'm fine," he said, the words coming too quickly, too loudly, as if saying it would make it true. But it felt wrong, hollow. He wasn't fine. He hadn't been fine for a long time.

Nico didn't buy it, of course. He never did. His gaze was sharp, perceptive, unwavering. "Try again," he said, his voice firm, unwilling to let Will hide behind half-truths.

Will exhaled slowly, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him. He could feel the familiar weight in his chest—the tightness that came with expectations, with responsibility. It was too much sometimes, too overwhelming. He let his eyes drop to the glass, tracing the condensation forming on the sides. It mirrored the sweat on his skin, the feeling of drowning under the pressure.

"It's just—everything," he finally muttered. His voice cracked in places he hadn't expected. "The infirmary, the battles, the endless demands. Everyone looks at me like I'm supposed to have all the answers. Like I'm supposed to fix everything, heal every wound, solve every problem. And I try, Nico, I really do. But sometimes... sometimes I don't think I'm enough." The words slipped out before he could stop them, each one a confession, raw and unpolished. His voice trembled, and he felt his chest tighten even more.

There was a heavy silence after that, the kind that stretched and wrapped around him, suffocating him. Will held his breath, waiting for the usual response. A quip, an attempt to brush it off, maybe even a sarcastic remark. But instead, Nico surprised him.

"You are enough," Nico said quietly, his voice steady like a hand on Will's shoulder. It was simple, almost too simple, but there was something in it—something that felt like truth. "You're not perfect. No one is. But no one expects you to be perfect. And if they do, screw them."

Will blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of Nico's words. He'd expected anything but this—expected to be told to suck it up or pull it together. But instead, Nico had given him something that Will hadn't realized he needed: permission to be imperfect. Permission to be human.

"I can't just—" Will began, but Nico cut him off.

"It's not easy," Nico admitted, his eyes dark and heavy with the weight of his own struggles. "It never is. But you don't have to carry all of this alone, you know. You have me. And the others. Even if we're all a little... dysfunctional."

Will's breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel so alone. There was something in Nico's words that settled deep within him, like a pebble dropped in a pond, creating ripples that spread through his chest. Nico had been through hell—literally—and yet here he was, steady in a way Will hadn't realized he needed.

"Thanks," Will murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but they carried more weight than anything he had said in days.

Nico shrugged, his ears turning pink, a rare flush creeping up his neck. "Don't mention it," he said, his voice a little rough. "Seriously. Ever."

Will managed a small smile—faint, but genuine. He set the glass of lemonade down, the tartness of it still lingering in his mouth, but for the first time in days, it didn't feel so overwhelming. He leaned back on his hands, feeling the warmth of the sun spread across his face, the heat not so suffocating anymore.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly, his voice steadier now. "Maybe I don't have to do this alone."

"Of course I'm right," Nico replied, his tone light but his gaze unwavering, like a steady flame in the darkness.

Will chuckled, the sound surprising him, but it was welcome—like a breath of fresh air after holding his breath too long. "You know, my mom always said lemonade tasted better with sugar," he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Maybe I should've listened."

"Maybe you should," Nico said with a smirk. "But don't expect me to drink it if you do."

Will nudged Nico's shoulder with his own, the gesture wordless but full of meaning. A small thank you, a connection he hadn't realized he needed. The bitterness on his tongue, both from the drink and from the weight of the summer, didn't feel so overwhelming anymore.

Summer still stretched ahead of them, long and uncertain, but for the first time in ages, Will didn't feel quite so alone in it. The sun still burned, the wind still cut through the air, but with Nico beside him, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so hard to bear.