We stayed like that for a while. Him in my arms, hands clasped around my neck like if he let go, I'd disappear.
His grip was tight—not desperate, not suffocating, just anchoring. As if I was the only thing tethering him to the ground. As if without me, he might float off into the void, nothing holding him here anymore. His body was trembling ever so slightly, breaths shallow and erratic against my collarbone. I could feel the flutter of his heartbeat where our chests pressed together—fast, fragile. Like a hummingbird too tired to keep flying but too afraid to land.
The bathroom door was still open, and I didn't want anyone to walk in. Nico was at his most vulnerable right now, raw and cracked open, and the last thing I wanted was for anyone to see him like this—like he'd let something spill out that couldn't be put back.
I shifted carefully, scooting forward on the cold tile floor to reach the door and push it with my foot. It clicked shut with a soft finality, and when I looked back, Nico's eyes were on me—those sad, dark eyes that always seemed too old for his face. His nose was runny, his eyes red-rimmed and watery, his bottom lip trembling like he was still trying to hold it together, even now. And gods, he still looked so young. Like a kid who never got to grow up properly. Like someone who had never been allowed to just fall apart in front of someone safe.
He looked into my eyes for one second longer—just long enough for me to see how much he hated being seen like this—before sliding out of my grip. I felt the absence of him instantly, like stepping out into the cold. I could almost hear the walls slam back up around him, brick by brick, the second he let go of me.
He rubbed his eyes aggressively, like he could scrub away the tears or erase the whole moment from both of our memories.
"Sorry," he whispered. "About that."
He stood up. Or tried to. I could tell he was still dizzy—the way his knees buckled slightly, the way his hand shot out to grip the sink just to stay upright.
"Hey, Neeks, don't apologise," I said, standing with him. He had to tilt his head to look up at me, and it nearly undid me—the way he looked so small, even when he was trying to be strong. Even when he was pretending none of this mattered.
He turned to the mirror, staring at himself. His reflection was a mess—cheeks blotchy, skin pale, eyes hollow. He looked like he didn't even recognize himself. Like he hated what he saw. He kept wiping his face with the sleeves of the hoodie he was wearing—my hoodie—but he wasn't just wiping away tears anymore. It was like he was trying to scrub his whole face off. As if he could wipe away every trace of weakness, every emotion, every part of himself he didn't think he deserved to show.
"I'm so sorry, Will," he said suddenly, his voice cracking around the words. "I'm sorry for being such a burden and a problem and I'm sorry you have to act like you want to be my friend to get me to do stuff, and I'm sorry about all the things wrong with me and I'm sorry I'm too stupid to not be able to eat and I'm so—"
"Neeks," I said gently, cutting him off and placing a hand on his shoulder.
His eyes darted up to mine, wide and fearful, like he was bracing for me to tell him he was right. That he was too much. That I was only here because I had to be.
"Don't be sorry for needing help," I said. My voice cracked around the words. I couldn't help it. "That's what I'm here for. And I ain't pretending to want to be your friend—I want to. I do. And you're not stupid. Nothing about you is stupid."
My voice was getting louder. I didn't mean to raise it—I wasn't mad, not even close—but I felt like I was trying to convince him of something impossible. Something no one had ever told him before. And he didn't look like he believed me.
He flinched slightly at the volume, shoulders curling in, glancing anxiously toward the door as if someone might overhear this private unraveling.
"Will," he said softly, "can we go back to the room?"
It cut straight through me. How quiet his voice was. How ashamed. It stopped me from saying all the things I was holding back—how I thought he was brilliant, and brave, and the strongest person I'd ever met. How I thought the world didn't deserve him, not when it had done nothing but try to break him.
I just nodded instead. Quiet. Small.
I opened the door and let him walk out first.
Back in the room, the toast was still lying on the bed like a dead thing. Nico took one look at it and I could see him flinch. His throat worked like he was trying not to gag.
"I'll get rid of that," I said quickly, grabbing the tray and tipping it into the bin.
Behind me, I heard him take a breath. It was shaky—like his lungs didn't know how to hold air anymore.
He sat down on the bed, the frame groaning under his weight. He didn't speak. Just stared at the wall like it was a thousand miles away. Like he wasn't really here anymore.
His eyes were hollow. Blank. Done.
He turned to me slowly, blinking like he wasn't even sure he was awake.
"Sorry," he murmured again.
I dropped down onto the bed beside him with a sigh.
"Stop. Saying. Sorry," I said. "I'm here to help. The whole point of you coming here was to heal. Not to constantly be apologising for things that ain't your fault."
I paused. Watched his shoulders tense again. Watched him try to curl into himself. Like he was trying to vanish.
"I know you've been through a lot, Nico—"
"How could you know what I've been through?" he snapped. His voice was sharper than I'd heard it in days.
There it was again. That wall. That defensive bite. That fear underneath it all that if I got too close, I'd see the truth and run.
"I know I don't know," I said gently. "But if you could just tell me, I might be able to help you better."
"You can't help me!" he shouted. "Will, I'm broken, okay? I can't be fixed. I'm not one of your projects to be fixed. And you especially can't help me if you don't know what I've been through!"
He stopped. His voice trembled.
"My whole life," he said, quieter now, "I've had people telling me they understand what I've been through—but they don't. They don't even have an ounce of understanding. If they had been through the same things as me, they wouldn't believe themselves fixable either."
He sounded like he was falling apart. Like the words had clawed their way up from somewhere deep and ugly inside him and now that they were out, he didn't know how to take them back.
The silence that followed was heavy. The window was open, but the world was silent. No birds. No campers. Just this aching stillness.
Tears were pooling in his eyes. His hands were shaking in his lap.
"Neeks," I whispered.
"No, Will." He shook his head. "Just leave it. Just leave me alone."
He looked down at his hands like he didn't recognize them. Like they belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn't worth saving.
I stared at him. The boy I loved more than anything. The boy who didn't believe he was worth being loved back.
I stood up slowly.
"If that's how you want it to be... if you're already giving up on yourself that easily... you can have it," I said. It sounded horrible. I heard the cold in my voice as I said it, and it made me want to take it back. I didn't mean it—not really. But the part of me that was hurting said it anyway.
"I'll be back later to rewrap your bandages," I added. My voice had gone quiet again. Defeated.
I turned to the door.
I looked back once.
He hadn't moved.
His head was still bowed.
I didn't know if I'd just undone everything. If I'd lost him for good. If the wall he kept up between us had finally grown too tall for me to climb.
I hoped—I prayed—that I hadn't ruined what little bit of friendship we had by saying that.
I entered the main room of the infirmary. My eyes were still glassy from what had just happened before. It was my fault. If I had somehow gotten him in earlier, his physical and mental health might've been better. He didn't like physical touch and what had I gone and done? Hugged him, touched his shoulder multiple times.
Sure, he didn't seem uncomfortable in the moment, but I worried he was too nervous or felt sorry rejecting my hug.
I felt horrible knowing it was all my fault. Like I'd cracked something fragile. Like I'd taken this ghost of a boy—this shattered thing who'd just barely started letting me in—and broken whatever trust he was building just by trying too hard.
If I could just understand him better... If I had someone to ask about him. But there was no one. Because from what I had heard, he had no friends.
Sure, Percy knew a lot about him, but I knew Nico didn't exactly like Percy. And neither did I.
So, I would have to make him comfortable enough to tell me himself.
Kayla was sat at the front desk with a roll of bandages wrapped around her wrist, she kept wrapping and unwrapping it until she spotted me.
"Hey, Will!" She frowned, noticing my glossy eyes. "Will, what happened?" she asked softly, patting the seat next to her.
I sat down slowly, spinning around on the chair slightly. It was one of those spinny chairs that if you spin around too much you almost throw up.
"I think I ruined everything." I said. She raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting me to continue.
I stared at my knees. They were bouncing. Everything in me was tight—chest, throat, lungs. It felt like something was shoving its hands into my ribs and pulling.
"Nico. I gave him some food yesterday, since he's so underweight and everything and—" My leg was shaking. Kayla put a hand on my knee. A grounding touch. I clutched the edge of the desk, just to stop myself from falling apart.
"And I left after I had gotten him to take a few bites, so I thought he was fine. But today I did the same thing, but I didn't leave, and uh..." I paused, voice dropping. "He kind of threw up. And I think the same thing happened yesterday, and that's why I found him in the bathroom."
I swallowed. Talking about these things was always hard for me, even as someone who dealt with problems like this daily. But this wasn't some patient. This was Nico. This was him.
Kayla squeezed my knee, though she still looked confused.
"How did that ruin everything?" she asked gently.
I took a deep breath, but it caught in my throat like it didn't want to come out. My eyes burned again.
"Well, when he threw up, he was sobbing and he just looked so broken and sad, so I opened my arms out for a hug—I gave him the option, of course—since he hates physical touch, but he did. He hugged me back. But when he pulled away he just got up, and his reaction was like he regretted it. And then we got back to his room, and I told him that I understood he was upset and he said I couldn't even begin to understand what he had been through, and that I should just give up on him, which obviously I'm not going to do."
I was blinking fast now, but it didn't stop the tears. They'd been waiting. They'd been crawling up my throat ever since I saw him like that—trembling, hurting, apologizing for existing.
"And I just think I've ruined everything. Like I'm sure we were starting to become friends, but—" The tears that were brimming in my eyes finally dropped. They dropped like a river.
I felt stupid. Crying in front of Kayla. But it was like something inside me had snapped. I was tired of pretending I was okay just because I was the one who always had to be.
"Will, come here." Kayla said, opening her arms.
I immediately hugged her back. I let myself fold in, let myself crumble for a second. She stroked my hair, whispering that it would be fine. That I hadn't ruined anything. That he'd understand, eventually. But it didn't feel like it.
I didn't feel like I could fix this.
"Ahem?"
I looked up to see where the noise was coming from. Of course I recognised it, and of course, it was the one person who was going to try and fix me with his jokes. Not what I needed right now.
"You guys okay orrr?" Austin said, raising his eyebrows.
I looked up at Kayla, who was mouthing the words 'Not the time, Austin' with the same terrifying mom look she gave me whenever I didn't sleep for three days.
"Okayyyy, should I leave, or nah? Because if you're crying over your little boyfriend, then I wanna watch, but if it's something serious I feel as though I should be included in giving some moral support."
He pointed finger guns toward the door.
"He's not my boyfriend!" I shouted.
"You wish he was," Austin mumbled.
I pointed accusingly at him. "That's not the point!" I shrieked.
Austin waved his pointy finger in a tut-tut motion and imitated my accent.
"No no no, no shoutin' in ma infirmary."
I rolled my eyes.
"I don't even sound like that! And don't use my own rules against me."
He rolled his eyes and walked over to the front desk, sitting on the counter. I couldn't be bothered to tell him that sitting on things that weren't chairs or beds was also banned in my infirmary—too many wasted cleaning wipes—because I knew he'd just make fun of me later on. Or worse, use it against me.
"Seriously Will, are you actually crying over that moldy corpse bo—"
"HE'S NOT MOLDY, AUSTIN! ONE MORE RUDE WORD THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH ABOUT HIM, AND YOU WILL BE SENT OUT OF THE INFIRMARY BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO CRASH THE FUCK OUT!!!" I shrieked again, dragging my hands down my face.
Austin blinked, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Whatever. If you're seriously crying over Nico, I believe I deserve to know why." He said.
I rolled my eyes before explaining.
I told him everything. Well—not everything. Not the part where Nico had looked so afraid he couldn't even speak. Not the part where I wanted to grab his wrists and beg him not to say he was broken.
But I told Austin the rest.
I watched the smugness melt off his face slowly as I spoke. My voice cracked in places. I paused a few times just to breathe. I told him how Nico had looked at me after the hug like I'd done something wrong, like I'd broken him. Told him how every time I tried to say the right thing, I made it worse. That every day I tried to help him, I just seemed to remind Nico why he didn't want help in the first place.
And Austin listened. Really listened, for once.
"I just wanted to help," I said finally, my voice barely audible now. "But what if I made everything worse?"
And for once, Austin didn't joke. He didn't smirk. He just reached out and handed me a tissue.
"Will," he said, voice quieter than I'd ever heard it, "maybe he doesn't think you ruined anything. Maybe he just doesn't know how to let people in yet."
I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice.
But I hoped—I really hoped—Austin was right.
AN-
I wonder whether doctors are allowed to swear in infirmaries.
Enjoyy pookie bears😘😘😘