It just had to be a dream.

A very good dream but a dream nonetheless.

For what other reason would a fictional character...

...greet her in the morning.

Character From ß Percy Jackson

...xXx...

Sunlight peeked through the gap between the curtains, creating a striped pattern on the floor and bed. She shifted slightly as the sun continued to move higher into the sky, slowly pushing its pockets of light until they crossed her face. She opened her eyes slightly but shut them once the light blinded her. She moved closer to the warmth in her bed, her arms wrapping around the object with a light groan. He couldn't hold back the sudden chuckle that tickled her collarbone and it only took her a second for her eyes to snap open, focusing on him. She squeaked and pulled back slightly. 

"Good morning," the male greeted, smiling hesitantly up at her; the expression felt foreign on his face and he hoped he didn't look too threatening or odd. She was a few inches taller than he was, dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a tanktop. Unlike his paleness, she was lightly tanned and her long hair fanned out over her shoulder while her eyes were a soft, comforting brown. 

"Morning," she returned softly, speaking as though he intruded upon her bed daily. She hesitated but finally spoke. "Do I...know you?"

"I know you, but I don't know you," he admitted carefully. "You followed me on my journey, right? We were watching you."

"Journey?" she repeated, blinking slowly. "I was following you?"

"Let's start from the beginning. I'm Nico di Angelo, son of Hades," he introduced simply, sizing up her reaction. "I'm from the Rick Riordan series you've been reading." 

-oOo-

It had taken her a while - a few days really - to accept that he was not lying and that she shouldn't call the police on him. He was 15, a whole year after what had happened in The Blood of Olympus, but he had been forbidden from telling her what had happened since; she wanted the next book to remain a surprise. 

The bigger surprise had been why he had magically...popped out - in lack of better terms - out of the book: she had wished it and so it became. She had questioned him like a machine gun: Because of her? What? She had a power? She was an 18-year-old who couldn't even properly do a sit-up, how could she have a power? Why? When? Who made this possible?

But he hadn't been able to answer anything. He only knew about his own story and that she had been the one to drag him out...and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to return; strangely, he didn't want to try that hard either.

During those few days, he had slowly gotten used to her and living with her. He had walked on eggshells most of the time, asked for permission for everything, and never complained, expecting her to decline and throw him out onto the streets. But like how she accepted he had come to life from the pages of a book, he also grew used to living with her though he stayed indoors most of the time. 

Coming from the pages of the book, he had retained all of his powers though on a smaller scale and he still needed to eat, but only a small amount. Otherwise, he was almost like any other child his age except for his suspicion that her world hid demigods and monsters somewhere. 

"Reading your own stories?" she noted, peering over his shoulder. He moved to the side slightly, glancing at her from his peripheral vision. Her hair was wet from a shower and she dried it absentmindedly, not caring how unfeminine the movement was.

"Yeah. I was thinking it might somehow take me home," he admitted, placing a bookmark inside and closing it. "Is it time to sleep?"

"After you take a shower," she reminded, handing him a towel and a set of clothes; he wore hand-me-downs and he had explicitly thanked the gods that she loved jeans and shirts more than skirts and blouses more than once. He gave her a quick smile and placed the book down before darting into the bathroom. He stripped down and stepped in, allowing the warm water to pour over him and soak his head.  

-oOo-

The bed squeaked under his additional weight and her breath caught. He froze.

"Nico?" she called softly, earning a pause from the intruder. He reached over her, hand beside her head.

"Did I wake you?" he asked carefully, climbing over her and getting into the covers. The duo had soon discovered that he had terrible nightmares that he had been able to escape when he slept beside her and so it had become a ritual. 

"It's fine," she mumbled, her arms automatically coming up to hold him close. He never complained and though he wasn't likely to admit it aloud, he loved how she was unafraid to touch him so lovingly. "Why'd you sleep closer to the wall? Do you feel safer?"

"It's your left side," he answered, yawning. He leaned on her collarbone, ear pressed to her chest. 

"My left side?" she replied, slightly confused. "What's wrong with my right side?"

"Your heartbeat...it says you're alive," he muttered, one arm holding onto hers and the other down by his side. 

"You're alive too," she reminded softly. One hand pushed the bangs out of his eyes and he dared a quick look upward to see her eyes fixed on him with compassion. 

"Good night," he whispered, pulling his eyes away from hers and listening to her heartbeat as he fell asleep; neither he nor she missed how he didn't reply to her statement.

-oOo-

For the almost-month that he had lived with her, there was one thing he could never fully understand: what she was doing on that monstrosity of a laptop every day. He understood that she wasn't a halfblood - no monsters to worry about at the least - but her dexterity and focus with the machine always surprised and captivated him. 

He glanced over her shoulder again, catching a glance at the screen - covered with words that made little sense and screens of various colors. 

"Curious Nico?" she asked, turning to him and smiling. He shrunk back slightly, eyes darting to the window. "Stop looking to the window like you're trying to escape."

She reached over, grabbing his wrist and pulling him beside her. He moved obediently and she moved to the side, making room for him on the couch. She leaned against him, their arms and shoulder touching as she placed the laptop on his lap.

He froze.

"Nico?" she called, confused.

"This is a bad idea," he pointed out, his lips. "Technology and I-"

"I know. I read your story remember?" she reminded, giving him an empathetic look. "Even if it's a little bit, maybe it'll help you feel more comfortable in the current era ok?"

"And the monsters?" he questioned, glancing to the window again. She chuckled.

"As far as I'm sure, they don't exist. If they do, I'll trust in you to protect me," she teased, turning his attention back onto the screen. "Now if you look here..."

-oOo-

He glanced over his shoulder with paranoia, semi-pleased when he saw no monsters but not her either. Speak of the devil; or in his version, angel.

"Have you accepted that there are no monsters in my world yet?" she teased, coming into the bedroom with two mugs in hand. 

"A little," he allowed, carefully watching as she took a seat beside him and handed him a cup. The scent of chocolate and something else - cinnamon? - lingered in the air; bracing himself, he took a cautious sip and allowed the hot liquid to burn his tongue with flavor. Gingerbread. That was the taste. 

A chuckle interrupted his thoughts and he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - to catch upon hers, watching the mirth fly around in her eyes. 

"It's a family recipe," she informed, taking a gulp of her own mug. "I'll write it down for you so that you can make it on the other side."

He paused. 

When had he stopped wanting to return home - or his story - so badly? When did his confusion from leaving his world disappear? When would he, in Camp Half-Blood or Jupiter, find time to drink something like this again?

"That would be nice," he finally settled on, giving her a small smile. She returned the expression with understanding eyes and put down both of their mugs before she reached over, embracing him just as the onslaught of tears began.

-oOo- 

He opened his eyes, the same room he had lived in for the past month surrounding him. And suddenly he knew. He shook her shoulder, feeling slightly panicked. 

"Nico? What's the matter?" she asked, rubbing her eye and looking to him.

"I just...Today is my last day," he answered carefully. Immdiately, her full and undividied attention turned to him. 

"What? Isn't that too short notice?" she complained, worry in her eyes. "How do you know?"

"I just...know," he stated lamely, aware of how unrealistic it sounded - but then again, his whole situation was odd. 

"Then we'll make today worthwhile," she declared, sitting up next to him. "What do you want to do today?"

"...I just want to spend the day with you," he admitted, smiling carefully. "And maybe learn the family recipe?"

She didn't hesitate or glance away.

"Whatever you want Nico."

And she smiled softly, as if knowing how hard it was on him.

-oOo-

They spent the last day like any other - reading back-to-back, laughing at unrealistic TV shows, and sharing dinners with animated conversation. 

She taught him the recipe, tucking a slip of paper into his pocket with a copy of the portions just in case. 

He showed her one last disarming trick that would stop any person using a pocket knife, aware that he couldn't protect her anymore.

And they fell asleep, his head pressed against to her shoulder with her heartbeat in his ear.

-oOo-

When he awoke, he had the strangest feeling of warmth. There was an obscure but sweet scent in his mouth and he blinked up at the sun. 

He sat up, hearing paper crinkle from his pocket and pulling it out. 

It was a recipe for hot chocolate.

He had a flash of something - a faint smile, a warm and gentle touch, a steady heartbeat. 

But it was just as quickly gone and he couldn't place it; he tucked the paper back into his pocket anyways, deciding that at the very least the recipe was harmless. 

In fact, he could almost taste gingerbread although he couldn't tell from where.