A/N: Hey everyone, this is a fic for Bella's birthday! Everyone go check her out if you haven't already, her username is bellalou5 and she's absolutely amazing.

I sat down to write her a happy Percabeth fic and this angsty Solangelo fic came out of it so... I hope you all enjoy :) This is my first time writing Solangelo and I'm not entirely sure if I got it right, so let me know.

Title Credits to Passenger.

It's Nico's first night in the hospital that the panic attack happens.

He's in that stage in between consciousness and sleep, and all of a sudden the air starts to seep into his lungs like molten liquid. It feels heavy, crushing. The darkness is closing in on all sides, threatening to suffocate him, the room is getting smaller and smaller and he can't breathe anymore. His vision tunnels and he feels his pulse, erratic, in the tips of his fingers. The blinking blue light of the heart monitor seems a thousand miles away, but he stumbles toward it, each step forward seeming like three steps back.

He's almost there. He reaches out his hand and he can just make out the ghost of his fingers shrouded in blue light before his leg crashes into something and he hears glass shatter against the floor. The sound splits the air in two.

Nico screams even louder.

He drops to his knees, feeling the glass slice through his pants, and his legs sting. Blood flows warm and thick in the spaces between his knees and he presses his hands against the floor, bringing another round of pain as the shards pierce his palms.

Nico is the son of Hades. Nico lives among the dead, the shadows. And yet death has never felt as personal—as real—as now. He feels the burden of millions of souls crushing him, and he's screaming again.

Somewhere in the background, he hears footsteps rushing down the hall, but the ringing in his ears drones them out. His lungs burn for oxygen and every breath he takes increases the pain, rather than fixes it.

A hand smacks the light switch in the room and the immediate contrast blinds Nico, but the light brings air to his lungs. He gulps it greedily, replenishing his body, like each breath might be his last. The raging fire in his chest has faded into a slight burn. He looks down at his hands, at the glass surrounding him, at his own blood smeared across the floor.

He sees someone—an Apollo kid, he assumes—kick aside some of the bigger pieces of glass. One hand finds its way under Nico's arm and the other on his back, and he's lifted up. His legs wobble and he doubts he can stand on his own, so he doesn't look up at their faces. Shame brings a fresh round of burning.

They nearly carry him back into his hospital bed and he sits on the edge, looking down at his feet and sniffling.

He might be crying. He's not completely sure.

"—he's shaking a lot."

"His heart rate just exploded, come look at this—"

"I'm not sure what to do with—"

"—go get Will, he can help."

Nico suddenly feels nauseous. He doesn't want to be seen like this.

"No."

The movement in the room stops. Nico doesn't sound like himself; his voice is tired. Raw.

"Don't get Will."

The kids in the room shuffle nervously, the air is still thick, and Nico wonders if children of Hades partly feel the fear of others around them.

"Don't get Will."

"Nico, we don't know what's wrong and—"

"Don't get Will."

"He's just going to help you—"

"DON'T GET WILL." He screams it now, but he hears someone running down the hall and he just knows he's too late.

Nico still doesn't look up, but he hears his voice.

"Everyone get out."

"But Will, we can—"

"It's fine, I've got it."

Resentment courses through every cell in Nico's body. One day after making the decision to stay at Camp Half-Blood, he has to screw it up. He has to be the freak.

He's something that needs to be dealt with.

The others shuffle out and Will—Nico guesses—closes the door softly.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but Nico feels his gaze sweep the room. Will walks over to Nico so that he's standing in front of him on the edge of the bed, and Nico can see the doctor's boots next to his own two feet.

"What happened?"

The question is simple enough, but Nico wouldn't answer it even if he could. Because he doesn't know what happened and he has an even smaller desire to share it with Will.

Two hands press down on his shoulders, and Nico finally looks up.

Will's face is perhaps two feet from his, his jaw is clenched tightly and his hair limp against his face. His shoulders are broad and block out the rest of the room, making Nico feel even smaller. Yet, he holds Nico's gaze firmly, and Nico can also see—concern?

He's not sure.

"What happened?" he repeats again.

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me."

"I don't know," he insists.

"Do you feel sick?"

"Slightly."

Nico knows he's not sick—not the kind of sick Will is asking about. But he doesn't say anything, because Will fills in the blanks for him.

"Are you scared?"

His heart is heavy.

"No." It's weak and defensive, and maybe Will sees through it.

"Okay." Will gives Nico's shoulders a light squeeze, and then he lets go.

"Let's clean you up," Will says, putting a certain amount of enthusiasm into his tone that Nico thinks isn't really there. But at least he's trying. "You got pretty sliced up on the glass and stuff."

Will takes one of Nico's hands and brushes the remaining glass off of it. He then uses an antiseptic wipe and the sting against his fresh wounds makes Nico cringe, though the pain is minute compared to whatever that just was.

Will hums under his breath as he works, and to Nico's surprise it doesn't annoy him. At least, it's enough noise to prevent him from thinking about what just happened and what to say and how to act, so he's grateful.

His hands and knees are wrapped in gauze a few minutes later, and it's so pathetic that he nearly starts crying again. His lower lip juts out slightly and he presses the tears back behind his eyes.

"They say crying is healthy, you know," Will calls over his shoulder as he turns to write something down on his chart. Nico sees him scribbling aimlessly, and he thinks Will is just trying to give him some privacy.

"Good to know." He hopes his voice isn't as shaky as he hears it.

"Yeah."

"I guess that's all then, isn't it?"

Nico feels his heartbeat falter—he doesn't want Will to leave. He doesn't want to be surrounded by darkness again. He realizes then, that it's not necessarily the darkness that he fears. It's the absence of light.

But of course he wouldn't admit that. He would never admit anything to actually help himself, never verbalize how he feels, every night—like he's escaped death and darkness for so long that it's waiting for its turn to reclaim him. Like he's more part of the shadows than part of the light.

He wants to feel like he belongs. He wants what other people have.

"Yeah, you can go, I guess," he says, and it feels like he's stabbing a knife through his own gut. More than that, he feels betrayed by himself for saying exactly the thing that will end up hurting him.

Will turns to look at him again, and he seems like he's debating whether or not to say something.

"Just say it. Go ahead and tell me how I'm being stupid. How there are people here that care about me and how it's okay for me to be scared. I get it."

When Will answers, Nico is surprised that his voice comes out softer than he expected.

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to keep the lights on tonight?"

The question catches him off guard, and he considers briefly.

"Turn them off."

Will gives him one last glance, walks over to the door, and turns off the light. The blackness is immediate, it's surrounding, but it's not as solid as it was before.

Nico leans back against his pillows and breathes deeply. It's just air.

Will speaks again, his voice breaking the darkness.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. But you know I'll always lend an ear. No judgments. Just for when you're ready, you know. No matter what time of day."

Nico pauses to think. Maybe he doesn't want to talk tonight, but in the future? Maybe being open to others isn't something that comes naturally, but maybe it's something he can learn. And the smallest part of him thinks that maybe Will is the person who will help him through it.

"Okay."

"I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning. And if you need anything at all, you know where to find me."

"Okay."

"And Nico?"

"What Will?"

The silence is more profound before Will speaks up again.

"I think you're a hero. A real hero. But the only way you'll get better is if you start believing that for yourself."

Will opens the door and leaves the room.

The words remain though, and Nico's chest tightens as he remembers himself thinking the same thing a few years ago about a certain son of Poseidon. The fact that someone else—that Will—uses those exact words to describe him…

It may be dark now, but that sort of light— it stays with him all night long.