night_daily

The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.

It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.

It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.

Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.

"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"

Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.

Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.

"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.

"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."

There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.

"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"

He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.

Why is he looking at you like that?

It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.

"You were saying?" He prods gently.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"

His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."

"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.

"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."

"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"

"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."

You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.

"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"

"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.

You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"

He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."

No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.

"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."

"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."

Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.

"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"

A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.

"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.

He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."

"Was the view bad then?" You prod.

"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.

Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.

"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."

The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.

"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.

He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."

Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.

"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.

"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.

Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."

"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"

Surprise colours your features.

Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.

Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.

He's— "Beautiful."

By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.

You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."

"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.

"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."

It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.

He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."

You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."

"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."

You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?

You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.

"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."

He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.

"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."

The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"

"Never."

He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"

"Who's finding who attractive?"

Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.

"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"

"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"

You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.

Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.

"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"

"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.

"Agreed." He mutters.

Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."

His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.

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your brain was running through a million thoughts as you continued to move and attack without thinking— pushing back with your shield, and then slashing through with your sword, turning and ducking. was this because of the hellhound scratch? why had you let it scratch you in the first place? why weren’t you paying more attention? 

you risked a look downwards for a second, and saw part of your armour broken off, and underneath, your orange camp shirt having 3 distinct tears through it,— claw marks, and your skin bright red underneath. 

you forced yourself to think straight, and continued to fight. you’d worry about yourself later, you had a battle to win. 

after you smashed your shield into a dracanae’s stomach, you swung your sword right through it’s middle and disintegrated it.

but you also simultaneously ended up using the very last of your energy.

you stumbled backwards, staggering, then you hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. you heard your armour and weapons clatter about you, and then everything felt... slow. blurry. 

your fingers trembled as you patted around feebly, trying—failing—to push yourself up. your head only fell backwards again. 

the shouts around you blurred into static, you heard a yell, louder than the rest, and then—

“no!” a shout, “no, no, no—"

percy.

he was kneeling beside you with his hands were on you in an instant— shaking, picking up your arms and turning your face gently to look if your head was injured, adjusting your armour, at one point— they just hovered over you, trembling, like he didn’t know what to do. 

his breathing was sharp and uneven. “perce—“ you started, but he wasn’t listening.

“you’re not— you, i can’t,” he stammered, “you can’t die on me.” 

you tried to laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. “i’m not dead yet.”

“don’t say that, gods, don’t say that." percy snapped, but it sounded more like a genuine plea. his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “where are you hurt?”

you blinked up at him, a little dazed, the soaring pain finally catching up to you. “it’s fine,” you deflected, “i’ll be fine."

“there is blood seeping through your shirt, you are not fine," he muttered, and looked at your torso one more time, this time, finding the wound. 

slowly and carefully, percy moved your shirt just enough to see the wound. his entire face fell, washing over with something dark, then he cursed under his breath. 

“how… how bad is it?” you mumbled. his eyes were panicked, and when he didn’t answer for a moment, you tried to lift your head and take a look for yourself, groaning in pain in the process. 

“don’t look at it.” percy said, his hand running over your hair, his words a comfort in the chaos all around. “it’ll only make you feel worse.” his voice was hoarse, worn out, but he still tried to comfort you and stay calm for your sake. 

you still felt dizzy, and through the blurriness of your vision you could still see faint figures slashing their swords and fighting. your head was throbbing. 

“i…” you chuckled weakly, your head lolling back on the ground. “nothing could make me feel worse right now.”

percy’s expression held no humour despite your laugh, his lips rolled inwards and his hands still trembling as they moved over your hair. 

suddenly he turned back and looked behind him. he yelled, “clarisse! get your cabin and the apollo kids, and bring up the attack! you know what to do!” his voice cut through the chaos, sharp, “i’m getting her out of here.”

“go do what you have to, jackson!” clarisse shouted, glancing back for a moment. “i don’t care. we’ll hold up fine.” you heard her grunt, disintegrating an empousa with her spear. 

you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open anymore, your head falling back on the ground, lolling to the side slightly. 

percy cursed frantically, and you heard him asking you to open your eyes, to please open your eyes, but all you could manage were mumbles and groans of, “i cant,” as you weakly shook your head. 

then, he suddenly whistled— a new york taxi cab whistle that was so loud and so familiar that it made you flutter your eyes open. 

a few heartbeats later, the sound of massive wings filled the air. 

you noticed the number of enemies were going down, all of them too preoccupied with the raging demigods to bat a second eye at the pegasus or even think about attacking.

blackjack landed in a flurry of dark feathers, his large eyes scanning the scene and locking onto percy.

he whinnied loudly, and percy shook his head from his kneeling position next to you. 

“i know. i know it’s bad, man!” he yelled frustratedly, running a hand through his hair roughly. “i’m sorry, i— just get us there. now.”

another neigh, and suddenly percy was standing up and then scooping you up, holding you close to his chest. 

“percy,” you croaked out, and his eyes were immediately on yours. “i— you can’t… you can’t just ditch the battle.” you mumbled, forcing the words out through your sore throat. 

percy’s hair was sweaty, his face grimy, his breathing heavy, his sea green eyes set determinedly, and you swore he had never looked so handsome. 

he let out a sharp laugh with absolutely no humour in it, “watch me.”

— 

you were leaning fully against percy as you flew on the pegasus’ back, one of his arms were wrapped around your waist, with his other hand gripping blackjacks rein. 

you were queasy, but you kept telling yourself to hold on, and that the ride would be over soon, but the throbbing in your head and side, the way your whole body seemed to overpower your rational thinking. 

all you wanted to do was close your eyes. 

"hey, hey, hey, you can stay awake, you got this, we’re almost there.” percy’s voice was tight, rough around the edges. "keep your eyes open. talk to me."

you managed out a weak huff, forcing your eyes open. "’bout what?"

"anything.” he begged, “how much you love flying with blackjack. how much you hate my reckless decision-making skills. just—just keep talking."

you tilted your head back, turning slightly and blinking up at him. your eyelids were unbelievably heavy. "reckless decision-making skills…” your eyes shut for a long second. “that… that needs work.”

percy let out a relieved, breathless laugh, “yeah?” he nodded fervently, “good. good. then stay awake and tell me how to work on it.” 

you wanted to make some comment, maybe roll your eyes a little, but your body was so tired.

percy’s face fell again, his eyes flickering all over your face in panic as his hand came up to brush your cheek. “don’t do that. don’t fade out on me."

"not fading," you muttered. "just... tired."

“you’ll sleep when we get you all fixed up, but not now. you can’t shut off now.” his thumb moved in circles against your cheek, gentle despite the panic still evident in his voice. "just—stay with me. please."

you sighed, eyes slipping shut for half a second before his voice brought you back.

his voice cracked, “please."

the desperation in his voice made your chest ache more than the wound did.

"okay," you whispered. "m’with you."

—

will solace was looking at your wound as you lay down, and you could hear percy pacing. 

his shoes scuffed against the floor, back and forth, back and forth, and you could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him in waves.

“percy,” will said, exasperated but patient. “you can go back to the battle. they need you.”

percy’s steps faltered, but he didn’t stop. when he spoke, his voice was fraying at the edges. “i don’t— i need—” he dragged a hand through his already-messy hair. “i need to know that she’s safe.”

“she will be,” will promised, his voice steady. “i can guarantee it, but in the meantime, you can go back.”

percy let out a breath, like he wanted to believe that, like he almost did, but something in him wouldn’t let go. “i’ll stay. i know the other campers can hold up on their own. they’re strong.” he ran his hands over his face, “and— and besides, the enemy was small by the time we left with blackjack. i’m staying.” 

you stood up to prove a point, which wasn’t the wisest decision, and you tried to walk towards percy. you managed 2 steps, but he was by your side in an instant.

his expression softened the second he took you in. “i can’t believe this is happening.” he shook his head, “i should’ve—”

“—percy,” you interjected, your voice weary, “there’s nothing you could’ve possibly done,” you rasped, the words taking more energy than they should have. “please. go.”

his jaw clenched. his eyes, stormy and sad, with his eyebrows furrowing up. “how can i go when you’re…” his voice crackled as his eyes travelled over you, “when you look like this?”

you huffed a weak laugh, “gee, thanks.”

but his expression didn’t waver, and your laugh faded. “percy,” you said, but he simply shook his head. 

will cut through the silence of your staring match, and you tore your gaze to him. “it looks like a hellhound scratch, but it’s somehow poisoned. it’ll heal in less than an hour, 2 at max.”

you turned back to percy, who was still watching you like you might disappear if he so much as blinked. “percy. see? it’ll be fine... i’ll be fine. will knows what he’s doing, so go.”

he swallowed hard, hesitating for a second longer before exhaling sharply. “i’m coming back to you.”

you nodded, taking hold of his hand. “i’ll be here.”

something flickered in his eyes at that—doubt, maybe, or something close to it. 

his eyes held yours, and you knew that he wouldn’t leave if you stayed looking at each other like that for even a moment longer. “perce… you have to.”  you whispered.

percy nodded weakly, and hand brushed against your cheek, warm and grounding. 

his other hand came to cup your face, then he leaned down, pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead.

and after that, he was gone.

—

less than an hour later, like will said, you were feeling all better. you talked with will when he wasn’t busy with another camper, and he asked how nico was doing, if he was hurt. 

“last i saw, he was perfectly fine.” you told him earnestly, “besides, if he was hurt, he’d be here right now.” 

will shook his head with a chuckle, “he’s so stubborn, he wouldn’t come if he had broken all his limbs.” 

“will,” you deadpanned, then let out a laugh, “you’re here; he would come for a paper cut.”

it felt nice to laugh, and the conversation was fun, but your attention wasn’t fully there, because your mind kept wandering back to one thing— one person: percy. 

another half hour later, you were sitting all alone as will went to go heal other hurt campers.

you dwelled in your loneliness and your thoughts for a little while, but suddenly, percy burst through the doors. 

his breathing was heavy and ragged and his head turned as he scanned the room, finally coming to a halt when he spotted you. 

you were sitting up against the pillows. the moment you locked eyes, he let out a long exhale, and he stood frozen for a moment.

you immediately stood up, your heartbeat in your ears.

you barely had time to react before he was at your side, pressing a hand against your cheek, then your shoulder, then his eyes were raking all over you like he was checking for himself that you were still there, still okay.

his dark brows were all scrunched up with worry, but it all faded the second he met your gaze. “you’re…”

“yeah. i know.” you murmured, lips quirking up at the corners as you tilted your head to the side coyly. “i told you i’d be fine.”

his lips flickered into a smile at that. 

percy looked down at his hands, which were awkwardly hovering above your waist, like he didn’t know if it was alright to hug you— incase you were still hurt. 

your heart warmed at that thought, at his thoughtfulness.

he brought his gaze back up to you and you rolled your eyes playfully, which made a sheepish grin grow on his face.  

you flung your arms around his neck fiercely, and immediately, percy sighed as his arms just as fiercely wrapped around your middle, pulling you close. 

his hand was grasping at your shirt like he was clinging onto the fact that you were really there.

you stayed like that for a moment, and you felt his erratic heartbeat in his chest. you didn’t realise how fast yours was beating as well, until pressed a kiss to your hair, then another, then another, and muttered, “never doing that again.”

your heartbeat went even faster, and you grinned even though he couldn’t see it. “what, me getting attacked by a hellhound?” you chuckled, “i don’t plan on it.”

“no, me,” he pulled back from the hug, just enough to meet your eyes. his eyes  were fixed on yours, “leaving you.”

you realised you didn’t feel your heartbeat didn’t pick up this time, because if anything, you were more relaxed with him than you were with anything else in the entire world. 

you rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, your arms still wrapped around his neck. “you’re dramatic.”

he smiled at you— a real genuine smile and not one of his smirks, and you knew a part of him was relieved you were back in your usual banter. 

a hand came up to brush a hair out of your face. his eyes scanned all over your face, fixed on your lips for a moment, then flickered to your eyes and asked a silent question.

you answered by leaning in and kissing him. your hands slid down from around his arms, down to his chest, and he kissed you slow and gentle, like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were here, safe, with him. like he had to make sure you knew, too.

when he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his forehead once again resting against yours.

his lips twitched, and then he kissed you again— simply savouring in the fact that he could.

Five months after the quest, Luke Castellan was no longer the same boy who had left.

Everyone could see it. The scar across his face was the most obvious proof, thin and pale now, but still sharp enough to catch the light when he turned his head. But it wasn’t the scar that made people step out of his way. It was the temper that came with it. The way his patience frayed faster, the way his eyes hardened like he was constantly bracing for something to go wrong.

You saw all of it.

And you stayed.

The arena was quieter than usual, the afternoon sun beating down on the sand as you rolled your shoulders and tightened your grip on your sword. Sparring with Luke used to be fun, teasing, laughter woven between clashing blades. Now, it felt like walking a thin line, one wrong step away from something neither of you wanted to name.

Luke stood across from you, scar catching the light as he flexed his fingers around his weapon. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense, like he’d been wound too tight for too long.

“You ready?” he asked.

You nodded, offering a small smile meant to ground him. Meant to remind him that this was just training. That it was you.

The signal was given, and steel met steel.

At first, it was familiar. Predictable. You moved together like you always had, bodies in sync, instincts honed from months of fighting side by side. But slowly, the rhythm shifted. Luke’s strikes grew heavier, faster, each parry ringing louder than the last. You caught the flash of something in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

Anger. Frustration. Fear.

“Luke,” you warned softly between blows.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pressed forward, forcing you back step by step, like he was fighting something that wasn’t there, like he was trying to outrun the memories of the quest, the pain, the scar that still burned some nights.

Then it happened.

A sharp slash cut through the air.

For half a second, everything was silent, too silent, before a warm drop splattered onto the dirt between her boots. Then another. And another. The drops blurred together, turning into a steady gush, red and terrifying as it spilled freely down her face and onto the ground.

She tried to scream.

She wanted to scream.

But the sound lodged in her throat, choking her, refusing to come out. Her knees gave out beneath her, and she collapsed forward, catching herself just before her face hit the ground. Her hands flew up instinctively, fingers shaking as they pressed against her cheek.

Pain exploded through her skull.

When she pulled her hand away, it came back soaked in blood.

The cut ran from the top of her right cheekbone down to her jaw, long, jagged, and horrifyingly familiar. Almost identical to Luke’s scar. Blood poured from it uncontrollably, slipping through her fingers no matter how hard she tried to press it closed.

Her vision swam.

Then she heard it, boots hitting the ground, frantic and uneven.

“Fuck—”

Luke was there in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of her. His face drained of all color as his eyes locked onto the blood, onto the wound he had caused. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground as he grabbed her wrists, trying to stop her shaking hands.

“Oh fuck. Shit, baby, I’m so, so, so sorry,” he choked, voice breaking. “Gods, I didn’t mean to, fuck, I lost control, I—”

His hands trembled as he pressed a piece of fabric against her cheek, trying to stem the bleeding. Panic flashed raw and unfiltered across his face, guilt twisting his features into something almost unrecognizable.

“Please, look at me,” he begged softly, forehead pressing against hers. “I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

And for the first time since the blade had struck, the sound finally tore free from her throat, not a scream, but a broken, shaking sob as the pain and shock crashed down all at once.

—-

The infirmary smelled like nectar, ambrosia, and clean linen, too calm for what had just happened.

She lay stiffly on one of the cots, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling while the world pulsed in and out around her. Every heartbeat sent a fresh throb of pain through her cheek, sharp and insistent, like the wound was reminding her it was still there.

Cold fingers brushed her skin.

She flinched.

“Easy,” An Apollo kid murmured gently, voice low and practiced. “You’re safe. Don’t touch it.”

A cool cloth pressed against her face, followed by the sting of ambrosia. The pain dulled almost immediately, but not enough to erase the ache, or the memory of the blade cutting too close.

Someone was pacing.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

She didn’t have to look to know it was Luke.

“I should’ve been watching my angle,” he said hoarsely, words tumbling out too fast. “I knew I was off. I knew it and I still swung. Gods, I’m such a fucking idiot—”

“Luke,” the Apollo kid warned sharply.

He stopped pacing, but only barely. His hands were knotted in his hair, knuckles white like he was holding himself together by force alone. His eyes never left her face, even as the medic stitched the wound with careful, practiced movements.

She sucked in a breath as the needle tugged at her skin.

Luke flinched harder than she did.

“I’m here,” he said immediately, voice cracking. He moved closer, dropping to his knees beside the cot. “I’m right here. Look at me, please.”

Her gaze slid to him.

His face was wrecked. Guilt carved deep lines into his expression, and his scar, that same scar, seemed to burn brighter under the infirmary lights, like some cruel mirror of what now marked her face.

The medic leaned back after a moment. “It’ll scar,” she said honestly. “But it’ll heal clean. You’re lucky.”

Lucky.

Luke let out a shaky breath that sounded more like a sob. “I did this to you,” he whispered. “You trusted me.”

She swallowed, throat tight. “I still do.”

The words hit him harder than any blade could have.

His hand hovered near hers, uncertain, like he was afraid even touching her might hurt her again. When she turned her palm up in silent invitation, his fingers curled around hers instantly, grip desperate and grounding.

“I swear,” he said quietly, fiercely, “this never happens again. I don’t care what it costs me. I won’t ever lose control like that with you.”

The medic cleared her throat. “She needs rest. And you—” she pointed at Luke “,need to stop beating yourself up in my infirmary.”

Luke nodded mutely, eyes never leaving her.

As the lights dimmed and the pain finally settled into a distant ache, she closed her eyes, Luke’s hand still wrapped tightly around hers, knowing that whatever mark the blade had left on her face, it had carved something deeper into both of them.

Something that would never quite heal the same way again.

—

The infirmary felt too still the next morning.

The kind of quiet that made her thoughts echo louder than they should.

She sat on the edge of the cot, bare feet pressed to the cool wooden floor, sunlight spilling across the white sheets behind her. The ache in her cheek had settled into something dull but persistent, a reminder she couldn’t escape even if she tried. Every so often, her gaze flicked toward the small bronze mirror on the wall before she forced herself to look away again.

She should be angry.

Anyone else would be. A blade had slipped. Blood had spilled. A scar would stay. Anger would be cleaner than this hollow ache in her chest.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve.

And yet, her mind drifted backward instead.

She could almost feel the worn stone steps outside the Hermes cabin beneath her, the evening air still warm as the sky bled orange and pink over camp. She’d been fighting with the straps of her armor, fingers clumsy and irritated, when a familiar voice had cut in behind her.

“Need help?”

Luke had dropped down beside her, easy and unhurried, their shoulders brushing as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands had moved with practiced care, loosening and tightening straps while he talked her through it, never rushing, never making her feel stupid for struggling.

“You fight everything back,” he’d said once, fond and amused. “That’s not a bad thing.”

When she’d flinched at a bruise on her arm, his touch had softened instantly, like he’d noticed without her saying a word. “You’re allowed to be gentle with yourself,” he’d murmured, so quietly it felt like a secret meant only for her.

She’d remembered how safe that moment felt. How steady he’d been.

The memory shifted before she could hold onto it.

Rain poured down in sheets, turning the training grounds to mud beneath her boots. She’d slipped hard, pain flashing bright and sharp through her side as the breath left her lungs. Before she could even process it, Luke was there, dropping to his knees in the mud beside her.

“Don’t move,” he’d said, panic threading his voice as his hands hovered uselessly over her, afraid to touch the wrong place. He’d shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders without hesitation, the warmth grounding her despite the cold rain.

“Why do you always do that?” she’d asked weakly.

He’d gone quiet, eyes fixed on the storm. “Someone has to,” he’d finally said. Then softer, almost like he hadn’t meant for her to hear it. “And I don’t mind when it’s you.”

That Luke would’ve never let a blade come anywhere near her.

The present came rushing back as the infirmary door creaked open.

Her heart stuttered.

Footsteps crossed the wooden floor slowly, uncertainly. She looked up to find Luke standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he didn’t trust them. His eyes flicked to her cheek immediately before darting away, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” she replied.

He stepped inside, stopping a few feet away, like there was a line he didn’t deserve to cross. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped, guilt carved deep into his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I already said it, but I had to say it again. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

She studied him for a long moment, then stood, ignoring the dull protest in her cheek.

“It’s okay,” she said gently.

His head snapped up. “No. It’s not.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I forgive you.”

The words seemed to knock the air from his lungs.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered.

“I know.” She offered a small, careful smile. “But I want to.”

Her fingers hovered near her face before dropping again. “Besides,” she added quietly, “I guess we kind of match now.”

A broken laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it. He dragged a hand down his face, eyes shining. “That’s not funny.”

“It is,” she said. “A little.”

He stepped closer, careful, reverent. His gaze lingered on her cheek, raw with guilt.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said.

She reached for his wrist, grounding him. “You’re still you,” she said. “Even if things changed.”

His fingers curled around hers, gentle like he was afraid she might break.

“I’ll do better,” he promised.

“I know,” she replied.

And standing there together, scars mirroring scars, she realized she wasn’t forgiving him because it hadn’t hurt.

She was forgiving him because she remembered who he’d been and who he was still trying to be.

Taglist: @myday-molly81 @formula1-motogpfan @rainyforest777 @not55named

percy walks beside me, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is. he keeps glancing out at the water like it might jump him.

the waves roll in. pause. stop just short of my toes. then pull back again; obedient, careful.

“that’s weird,” percy comments.

i look down, then shrug. “you’re literally the son of poseidon. i think weird comes with the territory.”

i’m joking. i can tell because i smile. i expect him to smile too—his crooked, uncertain one, the one that always looks like it arrived half a second late. he doesn’t. instead, his brow furrows, eyes darkening as he watches the water retreat again.

“yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds tight. distracted. “guess so.”

we keep walking. i try not to think about the way the water only moves when i move. how it mirrors my steps like it’s waiting for permission.

that evening, i tell myself it was all a coincidence.

camp is full of them—strange things, unexplainable moments that fade if you don’t stare at them too hard. i eat dinner, listen to the chatter echoing through the pavilion, let the smell of burnt bread and strawberries ground me. percy sits across from me, quieter than usual, eyes flicking toward the horizon like he’s listening for something no one else can hear.

by the time i crawl into my bunk, the image of the obedient waves has dulled around the edges. i decide not to name it. not to wonder.

the next morning, the lake is calm again. too calm. when i kneel at the dock to rinse sand from my hands, the water settles the moment my reflection breaks its surface, smoothing itself like it’s been waiting.

i pull back, heart ticking a little faster than it should.

i don’t say anything.

it keeps happening after that.

little things. easy to ignore, if i try.

when i sit on the dock with my feet dangling over the edge, the lake smooths until it’s glassy, reflecting the sky so clearly it looks fake. when i laugh—really laugh, the kind that shakes my chest—the breeze picks up, cool and gentle, lifting my hair off my neck like a hand.

percy notices before anyone else does. he’s always been good at noticing; monsters, lies, shifts in the air right before something goes wrong.

he starts hovering. not in an obvious way. just close enough to feel, far enough to pretend he’s not.

he walks a half-step ahead of me now. when we sit together, there’s space where there wasn’t before. his hands stay clasped tight in his lap, knuckles pale, like he’s afraid to move them too suddenly.

“you okay?” i ask one afternoon as we’re heading back from training. the sun is high, heat pressing down on my shoulders, my shirt sticking to my spine.

he blinks at me, like i caught him somewhere far away. “what? yeah. yeah, i’m fine.”

he smiles then. quick. wrong.

i don’t push it. i tell myself i’m imagining things. i tell myself he’s just tired.

except the days keep stacking up like that—small moments i don’t know what to do with. percy forgetting to wait for me outside the arena. percy choosing the edge of the table instead of the seat beside mine. percy watching the water like it’s a clock he doesn’t trust.

when i catch his eye, he always looks guilty. like he’s been caught thinking about something he doesn’t want to explain.

once, during training, i trip—nothing serious, just a clumsy misstep—but the air shifts so suddenly it makes my ears ring. the lake sloshes hard against its banks. percy swears, breath hitching, and for a second i swear he looks more afraid than i am.

after that, he keeps his distance on purpose.

not enough for anyone else to notice. just enough that i do.

but the quiet starts to itch.

i try to drown it out. i throw myself into training the next day, let the clatter of weapons and shouted instructions fill the space where my thoughts keep circling back to him. percy’s there, of course—always somewhere in my peripheral vision—but he feels slightly out of reach, like we’re standing on opposite sides of a thin pane of glass.

we exchange easy words. familiar ones. nothing heavy enough to justify the weight sitting in my chest.

by evening, i’m exhausted in that hollow way that doesn’t actually fix anything. camp settles into its usual rhythms—firelight, laughter, the smell of smoke drifting between cabins—but none of it quite lands.

when clarisse snaps at me during dinner, it shouldn’t matter. i’ve heard worse. i know how to let things slide.

still, i find myself down by the shoreline alone, arms wrapped around my middle, staring out at the dark water.

i don’t hear percy approach. i just feel him—like the air changes when he’s near.

“hey,” he says softly. “you disappeared.”

i shrug, eyes still on the lake. “needed air.”

the water ripples. not violently, but uneasily. like it’s restless.

percy freezes.

i see it out of the corner of my eye—the way his shoulders lock, the way his breath stutters. he looks at the water, then at me, then back again, panic flashing across his face before he can hide it.

“what?” i ask. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he says too quickly. “i just—are you mad?”

i shake my head. “no. just… annoyed.”

the water surges closer, colder now, licking at the sand with more force.

percy swears under his breath.

i turn fully toward him. “percy. you’re freaking me out.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. runs a hand through his hair, blonde curls sticking up messily afterward. “i think we should head back,” he says. “it’s getting late.”

“since when do you care about curfew?”

his jaw tightens. “since now.”

i don’t argue, but the walk back is tense. the air feels charged, heavy, like a storm that doesn’t know whether it wants to break.

that night, i wake with salt on my lips.

i sit up in bed, heart racing, pressing my fingers to my mouth like i’ll find seawater there. the cabin is quiet, moonlight spilling through the window.

i haven’t been swimming.

the ocean shouldn’t be anywhere near me.

and yet.

the next day, percy avoids me.

not completely. just enough to hurt.

when i finally corner him outside the dining pavilion, i don’t bother easing into it.

“did i do something wrong?”

he looks stricken. “what? no. no, you didn’t do anything.”

“then why are you acting like i’m radioactive?”

he laughs weakly. “i’m not.”

“you are,” i insist. “you won’t look at me. you won’t sit next to me. you barely talk to me anymore.”

his eyes flick around us, like he’s checking for witnesses. then he exhales, long and shaky.

“come with me,” he says.

we walk down to the shoreline again, though i can tell he hates it. every step closer to the water makes him more tense, like he’s bracing for impact.

we stop where the sand meets the lake.

the water is calm. waiting.

percy turns to me, hands shaking just slightly.

“i didn’t want you to find out like this,” he says.

“find out what?”

he swallows. “the ocean… it’s not reacting to me.”

my heart stutters. “what do you mean?”

he gestures helplessly between us. “it’s reacting to you. or—through me. i don’t know. but it only does this when you’re around. when you’re calm. when you’re not.”

my chest feels tight. “that doesn’t make any sense.”

“i know,” he says, voice cracking. “i know it doesn’t.”

he looks at the water, then back at me, eyes bright with something dangerously close to tears.

“poseidon noticed,” he admits quietly. “not me. you.”

my stomach drops.

“he sent a sign,” percy continues. “nothing dramatic. just… acknowledgment. like he was saying, ‘i see this.’”

“see what?” i whisper.

percy’s gaze softens, unbearably so. “how much you matter to me.”

the water stills completely. the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

i step closer to him without thinking. “percy—”

“that’s what scares me,” he says quickly. “not the gods hurting you. but them knowing. knowing where my heart is. knowing exactly how to get to me.”

his voice drops. “i didn’t want to make you a target.”

the realization settles over me slowly, heavy and warm and terrifying.

the ocean isn’t listening because i’m powerful.

it’s listening because i’m loved.

i reach for his hand. he flinches instinctively, then lets me take it.

the water laps gently at the shore, softer now.

“you don’t get to decide this alone,” i say. “you don’t get to decide what’s worth the risk for me.”

his fingers curl around mine. “i just wanted to keep you safe.”

i squeeze his hand. “from what? loving you?”

he laughs weakly, a tear slipping free despite his best effort to blink it away. “you make it sound so simple.”

“it is,” i say. “hard and scary but simple.”

we stand there together, the lake calm and quiet at our feet.

percy leans his forehead against mine, breathing me in like he needs the reminder that i’m real.

“i don’t want to stop,” he murmurs. “even if the gods know.”

“good,” i whisper. “because i don’t want you to.”

the water doesn’t surge. it doesn’t roar.

it stays still.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the ponytail incident

It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail.

Shouldn't everyone know that?

Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.

So he doesn't see anything wrong with standing behind her after she calls for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.

"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.

"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, like there's no more explanation needed.

Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn't know if he wants to, "You do realize you're in love, right?"

But Percy isn't even listening, his eyes already fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the necklace and hairtie

Yes, it's completely and totally normal if she wears a necklace with her best friend's initial around her neck.

It isn't even that noticeable— just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.

Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her while they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.

Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' on your necklace?"

She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."

"How is that—" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."

She's tired of questioning it.

Meanwhile, Percy carries a hair tie on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.

People don't notice at first, it's a simple black hair tie, nothing to question.

But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.

Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.

"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.

"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.

This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.

"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.

"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the kiss on the cheek

And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.

Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.

So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted, "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss?

Percy kind of freezes. His eyes follow her as she walks away, looking like a kicked puppy.

He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.

Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like a child that got his candy stolen."

"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.

Piper looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head. "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"

"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.

Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else— there she is, rushing to the table to take her usual seat beside Percy.

"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and, like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.

And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.

"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the picture on the wallet

Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."

"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.

"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.

"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"

Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."

He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the picture of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin and a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"

"I— uh— do you just carry it on your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise.

"Well, yeah? She gave it to me ages ago." And he turns to pay, like he doesn't understand why they're so surprised about it.

Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already distracted. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ pink lilies and cherry-minted lip balms

Friends get each other flowers, right? At least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while grocery shopping with his mom.

It's not his fault that he finds a bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.

When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet, she smiles knowingly.

"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.

"Oh?" He looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they just remind me of y/n, so I might aswell get them for her."

Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.

Except sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"

Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries on the checkout belt. "Yep, just make sure to get the one that tastes like cherry-mint, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid, it's her favorite."

"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"

Silence.

Percy stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.

"I guessed." he replies simply.

Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve.

So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.

And it's totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.

"Perseus, you are unbelievable."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the date

Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried about his best friend going on a date, but worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.

Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers—roses, seriously? and ask her out.

But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to get her favorite flowers.

That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.

That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he can't be bothered with training or joining his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. And by the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.

It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door. And before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.

Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.

No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.

"Hey, how did—" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.

"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."

Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."

"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."

He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.

"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.

"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night, barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."

Percy's hands stop on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"

She shifts slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."

"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists.

She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"

They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.

After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"

His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe—"

Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.

Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.

And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the kiss

The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.

Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.

"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.

"Who knows? It could be years, they—" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.

Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.

He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."

"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she runs off to go find her spear.