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Will doesn’t realize he’s doing it at first.
That’s the problem.
It starts small: just habit, really. Years of patching up scraped knees, broken arms, ambrosia overdoses, and “I swear it’s not that bad” injuries will do that to a person. His hands move before his brain catches up.
A brush of fingers against a wrist.
A quick press to a forehead.
Two fingers resting just below someone’s jaw.
Pulse. Temperature. Breathing.
It’s automatic.
“Morning, Will!”
“Morning- hey- hold on.”
The kid freezes mid-step, halfway to the Apollo table.
Will squints at them. Tilts his head.
“…come here.”
“I- uh- why?”
“Because,” Will says, already reaching out, “you look like you’re about to pass out during the oatmeal portion of your day.”
“I’m fine!”
Will grabs their wrist anyway.
The kid, young, maybe eleven, definitely a child of Apollo, tries to subtly pull away.
Will narrows his eyes.
“…oh. Oh, hey. Wait a minute- stop right there.”
The entire table goes quiet.
The kid gulps. “What?”
“You’re burning up.”
“I am not!”
“You absolutely are,” Will says, now fully in medic mode. “How long have you had a fever?”
“No fever! Totally normal! I just- uh- glow. It’s an Apollo thing.”
Will deadpans. “You are not glowing. You are sweating.”
“…it’s a performance sweat.”
“You’re eating toast.”
“I have a performance later!”
Will’s expression softens for half a second, just long enough to show he gets it.
Then he points toward the infirmary.
“Nope. Bed. Now.”
“But-!”
“Nope.”
“…I practiced for weeks-”
“And you’ll practice again when you’re not contagious,” Will says, already steering them away. “Come on.”
The kid groans dramatically as they’re escorted out.
From the Hades table, Nico watches the entire thing unfold.
“…you do that a lot,” he says when Will comes back.
Will blinks. “Do what?”
Nico gestures vaguely. “That.”
“…be charming and heroic?”
“Be weird and invasive.”
Will grins. “It’s called medical vigilance.”
“It’s called you grabbed that kid like a raccoon checking for snacks.”
Will gasps. “I do NOT-”
Nico raises an eyebrow.
“…okay, maybe a little.”
It becomes a thing.
Campers learn.
If Will Solace touches your wrist for more than two seconds, you’re doomed.
If he squints at you? Even worse.
If he says “huh” in that thoughtful voice?
Just start walking to the infirmary yourself. Save everyone the time.
“Will,” someone says one afternoon, “you checked me three times today.”
“Yeah,” Will replies, not looking up from bandaging someone’s arm, “and?”
“…I just sneezed.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“…once.”
Will finally looks up. “You sneezed once, and then tried to hide behind a tree when you saw me.”
“That’s not suspicious!”
“That’s extremely suspicious.”
The funniest part, though, is Nico.
Because Nico…
Nico is used to it.
At first, he hated it.
The casual touches. The way Will would just, reach for him without asking, fingers brushing his wrist, his neck, his forehead.
It felt…too much. Too close.
But Will never made it a big deal.
Never reacted unless there was actually something wrong.
Most of the time, it was just:
A quick check.
A small hum.
And then Will moving on.
Like it was as normal as breathing.
Eventually, Nico stops noticing.
Or- no.
He notices.
He just doesn’t mind…most of the time.
They’re sitting together by the lake one evening when it happens.
Will’s talking about something, probably archery, or bandaging techniques, or some horrifyingly cheerful story about a broken bone, and Nico’s only half-listening.
Because Will’s hand has found his wrist.
Two fingers, light pressure.
Counting.
Nico doesn’t even look up.
“…your heart rate’s slower today,” Will says absently.
Nico shrugs. “I’m sitting.”
“Yeah, but even for sitting.”
“…is that bad?”
“No,” Will says, smiling. “Just different.”
His thumb brushes over Nico’s pulse once more, then he lets go.
And that’s it.
Conversation resumes.
Like nothing happened.
It becomes their thing.
Will checks.
Nico lets him.
No questions asked.
Which is why
The first time Nico pulls away,
Will notices immediately.
They’re in Cabin 13, late.
It’s quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones.
Nico’s half-asleep, curled against Will, shadows pooling lazily in the corners of the room.
Will hums softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along Nico’s arm.
Then-
Muscle memory.
His hand shifts.
Finds Nico’s wrist.
Presses gently.
Nico moves.
It’s subtle.
Barely anything.
But it’s enough.
Will’s hand misses Nico’s by an inch
Will pauses.
“…Nico.”
“Yeah?” Nico says, a little too quickly.
Will tries again, reaching for his wrist.
Nico shifts again. Just out of reach.
Will stills.
Slowly lifts his head.
“…Nico.”
“…yes?”
“…give me your hand.”
“No.”
“…Nico.”
“I’m fine.”
“You never say no.”
“I just did.”
Will sits up.
Nico groans softly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.
“Don’t make it a thing,” he mutters.
“Too late. It’s already a thing.”
Nico sighs.
“…it’s nothing.”
Will stares at him.
Then, very deliberately, places a hand on Nico’s forehead.
Nico tries to dodge.
Fails.
“…oh, you absolute liar,” Will says.
Nico winces.
“It’s not that bad-”
“You have a fever.”
“Barely!”
“You’re burning.”
“I run cold, it’s- uh- relative-”
“Nico.”
Nico pouts.
Actually pouts.
“…I didn’t want to go to the infirmary.”
Will softens immediately, but only a little.
“That is not how this works.”
“I’m fine,” Nico insists. “I just- need some sleep.”
“You need medical attention.”
“I need YOU to not drag me across camp at midnight.”
Will hesitates.
That’s…fair.
He sighs.
“…fine. Temporary compromise.”
Nico perks up slightly. “Yeah?”
Will gestures to the bed.
“Infirmary rules. Applied here.”
“…what does that mean.”
“It means,” Will says, already shifting into full medic mode, “you are staying right here, drinking water, and letting me monitor you.”
Nico groans. “That sounds worse.”
“It IS worse,” Will says cheerfully. “Now give me your wrist.”
Nico reluctantly holds out his hand.
Will takes it immediately.
Two fingers press gently.
Counting.
Steady.
Warm.
Too warm.
“…you should’ve told me earlier,” Will murmurs.
Nico looks away.
“…didn’t want to make it a big deal.”
Will glances up.
“It’s always a big deal with you.”
“…wow.”
“I mean that in a concerned and affectionate way.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Will squeezes his hand lightly.
“…you don’t have to hide stuff from me.”
Nico’s quiet for a moment.
“…I know.”
A beat.
“…I just don’t like it.”
“Being sick?”
“Being…taken care of.”
Will smiles a little.
“Too bad.”
Nico huffs.
“…rude.”
“Accurate.”
They settle back down eventually.
Nico tucked against him again.
A glass of water on the nightstand.
Will’s hand resting lightly over Nico’s wrist.
Not counting anymore.
Just there.
Nico sighs, eyes half-closed.
“…you’re not gonna stop doing that, are you.”
“Nope.”
“…even when I’m fine?”
“Especially when you’re fine.”
Nico pauses.
Then…just barely…leans into him.
“…okay.”
And after that,
Nico never pulls away again.
Unless something’s wrong.
Which, unfortunately for him,
Means Will always knows.