rat's quantum dump

it was your one and only job for the ministry; for sister imperator; the siblings of sin. find a place and time for the wishes and duties of each member—papas included—and lucifer willing, you have done your service. of course, you pledge yourself to a number of other volunteered activities when you see fit, but your sole provision was calendaring and organization.

it shouldn't be such a hard task, and some days came easier than others. but with the promise of a new tour for papa, beltane festivities, and the introduction of many new siblings, your work was piling on top of itself quickly, and the weight was becoming too much to carry alone. it also didn't help that you would do it alone and shut down any consideration from fellow siblings. if you couldn't take on matters so simple, then what right did you have to sit at black mass and worship every day, asking for good health and love? what worth could you promise the reigning lord below? you were no more deserving than a sewer rat feeding off crumbs from city streets.

your mind stutters as a rap comes from the front door of your small apartment, connected to the rest of the ministry in a back alley of ones similar to yours. its quiet. you wait for another knock, unsure if you had only imagined it. if it were your roommate, she would have come inside. it was too late now for visitors. very few ever strayed to you this close to midnight.

to your surprise, the knock comes again. it's a little louder this time, more insistent, and you discard the multitude of papers under the crook of your arm to a small coffee table sitting across from the couch. whoever it was would come face-to-face with your mild irritation, and finding time to apologize later would only be another chore on your plate for you to squeeze into your schedule.

again, surprise overtakes you as you're met with a familiar face. copia stands at the foot of your door with a friendly smile. it is the last person you're expecting to see—especially so late—but not an unwelcome presence. he's still dressed in his papa makeup, but his robes are tucked neatly under his arms and he wears a black button-up and a matching set of plain black pants. his greying hair is smoothed back, and you drink in the sight while a sense of comfort washes over you.

your relationship with copia was difficult to explain. it had been nurtured and cared for over the years as friends, and had sustained itself into his papacy. for a while, you were prone to believe he would have dropped you after his promotion, but he proved those suspicions wrong. the years you'd spent laughing and working hand-in-hand with him as his previous role as cardinal were not easily tossed aside, but instead relished. the remainder of leftover time copia had after piles of paperwork and rehearsal was sparse, yet he often found himself entangled in personal lunches with you by his own request. sometimes he would offer a walk around the chapel or a chat in primo's garden, and you happily accepted every time.

even so, you had trouble believing everything. you coordinated many of his outings, including his tours and meetings with various a-tier celebrities. part of you was inclined to think he was only making an effort to keep himself on your good side and help raise spirits, as any papa was supposed to. the boundary between copia and papa was always shifting, and you were beginning to see him mainly as the clergy's papa instead of the copia you grew to know and care for.

you knew well enough where your sulky thoughts originated from. even now, seeing him in person with his silly smile draws out an unwarranted longing from deep inside of you. you could only admit it under the covers of your bed, alone amongst the dark, that copia evoked a strong feeling of attraction from you. love seemed too delicate and estranged, but it resided somewhere between there and peace. you know he could never feel the same, and perhaps that brought out unpleasant worries that left you restless in his absence. you were hardly worth any effort as a sibling of sin, and even less so a friend of copia; of the papa. it would only be in dreams you dare act upon your desires.

reality comes back to you once more as copia clears his throat, smile faltering as he examines your disposition. he can practically hear the thunder of your heart, and your eyes fail to hide the exhaustion you feel. when he says your name, you know you've been caught. copia won't let you suffer, even if you feel its just.

"eh," copia starts, his voice particularly rough tonight. "may i come in? if that's okay with your roommate. . ." he peers past you and into the dimly lit rooms, looking for her presence.

"she's not here," you tell him, a little embarrassed. she's not here tonight and it is your fault, but copia doesn't need to know. the less of a burden you can be, the better.

you shuffle to the side and give him room to enter, propping the door open for him. copia thanks you with a nod, and you shut the door behind him. he stands there for a moment, breathing in the different scents of vanilla you've burnt, and then hobbles over to the couch. you follow him instinctively and sit down beside him.

"every day you settle in more and more," he says, conversationally. you can't remember the last time he visited your apartment. perhaps a few weeks ago, if you recall correctly. more changes had been made since you first moved in months ago, and admittedly, you feel more at home here than you ever had before. time brought the accumulation of clutter, and with that some sense of belonging, like you had a place here—a memory here, written into the pieces of life around you.

"it's a little messy," you comment, shyly. "there's been so much to do. i've been so busy lately."

"capisco. you are bad at hiding it," he remarks, and you shrink into the pillows a little more. copia gazes down at you, his lips setting into a thin line. "you are sleeping still?"

you nod. "i am. i don't think i would be managing at all if i weren't getting at least a little bit of sleep."

copia still isn't satisfied, and he prods at you again. "so, you are, ugh. . . overworking yourself still." he says it as a statement rather than a question, and you can't bring yourself to answer. you could lie and tell him you've only been busy because of the nearing festivities, but you know better than anyone else how easily he would see through you like a sheet of glass. your lack of response only works him up, and he sighs. "we talked about this."

it was a brief conversation had over pasta during one of your lunch outings. you promised him to take more breaks after he noticed how swollen your eyebags had become. he was so adamant, you felt the only way to appease him was to say yes and promise to be better. you had almost entirely forgotten about it.

"i—" immediately the words get lost on your tongue. there's nothing for you to say that will excuse your ignorance. copia knows this, and soon he's leaning closer, using the pad of his thumb to smoothe over your eyebags. they're still swollen and puffy.

"sii gentile con te stessa," copia tsks. his hand, although gloved, is warm as it brushes against your cheek, and you hope its dark enough to cover the heat spreading across your face. "be kind to yourself. if i have to, eh, use my papa authority to make you. . . i will."

you raise an eyebrow at him.

"you don't think so?" he questions, fixing his hands to rest against his lap. your eyes flit over his figure, sitting lazily against the couch in his semi-formal clothes, and you let out a long sigh.

"i didn't say that."

a smile brandishes his features, raising dimples in its wake. your heart stutters. "then we are peachy, hmm?" he chirps. you feel a hand against your shoulder, and he's patting it softly, making contact with you once more. the tension broiling in your body succumbs to his touch and you relax.

"okay," you say finally, allowing yourself to smile with him. he seems content with this and turns his attention to one of the loose papers atop the coffee table. curiosity getting the best of him, he reaches over and picks it up without you being able to deny him.

after a few moments of silence, copia's eyebrows have furrowed and his smile is replaced with pursed lips. "sister is forcing you to plan out my entire tour . . ?" he asks in disbelief, as if the idea is too baffling to comprehend. you know not to be offended by his question, but it stings a little anyway.

"she trusts me, i guess," you answer back. you're a little unsure of what to tell him because it's not like you know why she picked you of all the siblings, but you hope your response is satisfactory enough. copia waves a hand at you, dismissively.

"no, no. that is not what i meant," he huffs, placing the paper back into the pile. you swallow thickly and avert your gaze elsewhere, unable to meet his stare. "are you doing this alone?"

"copia," you say, lowering your voice. a frown settles into your features and you shake your head. "it doesn't matter. i can do this on my own just fine. i need to."

the look on copia's face is enough to make you groan, frustrated that he's poking in all the wrong places. there was no reason for him to be here in the first place, infiltrating your mind and telling you how to live your life. you could hardly understand why he put so much effort into you, after all.

but then, you do catch his gaze and all your grievances falter. there's a flicker of your copia beneath the papa get-up, sitting there patiently, awkwardly awaiting for you to say something to him—anything at all—and your walls begin to crumble. he was irresistible in many ways, and there were a mixture of feelings you had yet to address about how easily he loosened the restrictions you'd set up for yourself. all it took was the disheartened look in his eyes, his downcast smile, and you are suppressing a quivering lip, trying not to spill your insecurities like a tidal wave.

eventually, you do. copia takes your hand in his, still gloved, and squeezes it, quietly saying, "cara, it is only me, eh? lousy old copia. . ." the pet name gives you a rush of adrenaline, a sweet sugary feeling, but the tenderness in how he touches you, and the softness in the way he speaks to you tugs and tugs at your heart until you break.

copia gasps seeing the tears slowly well up and slide down your cheeks. he had seen you cry on occasion, but it had been a long time. his duties as papa (and the ones he had kept from his days as cardinal) really were time-consuming. he knew you were always so stressed, but never had he imagined it would be this bad.

you watch as he plucks his gloves from his hands and casts them aside so that he may caress your cheek gently and feel his skin on yours. he hopes it will ground you, and he is right. you lean into his touch as if you have been starved of it for years. your warm tears melt against his fingers, slipping past and reddening your cheeks.

"i'm sorry," you winced, wiping fruitlessly at your face. "i don't know why i'm crying."

you do know, but everything is so overwhelming that the words cannot find you. your mind is muddled with so many things that nothing makes sense, and it is why you press closer to him now. copia lets you, outstretching his arms around you to pull you in. your head settles against his chest and you bury your face into him, the choked sound of sobs muffled against his dampening shirt.

his embrace is warm and reassuring, a rationalizing presence amongst the chaos of your mind. he shushes you, one of his hands finding your head to stroke through your hair, tenaciously, while he whispers affirmations and praise only for your ears to hear. your shaken body slowly calms, and your cries simmer out shortly after. part of you wishes to part from copia if only to save yourself from the shame, but you are too far gone now. the urge to linger in his tight grasp is stronger than ever.

after the storm has passed, and copia has willed you back to your senses, you notice his ashy fragrance mixed with his usual cologne. you breathe in deep, briefly closing your eyes in hopes of savoring the moment, and open them as you exhale slowly.

“there you are, cara mia,” he coos, his hands coming down to massage circles into your back. you could fall asleep like this, tangled in copia’s arms. but you blink away the thought, suddenly aware of how he’s cradling you so dearly. cara mia. warmth flutters across your ribcage, and tears prickle up on your lashes again. you try to focus on how he holds you, but it only brings up more worries, and you’re letting go, dragging yourself out of his arms and into the biting cold. copia is reluctant to let you, and it takes immense effort not to crawl back.

“tell me, per favore,” he begs, still reaching out for you, lingering by your side. “what is it that. . . what are you bothered by?” when you don’t answer, he pushes again. “i will not judge you. this you know, yes?”

you reluctantly nod.

“okie dokie. then, let us be honest.” he grabs your hand, and this time you don’t pull away, letting him intertwine his fingers between yours. he licks his lips and starts again. “why are you so upset? you are scaring me, you know.”

your eyes widen, briefly, and guilt seeps through. perhaps you weren’t doing him any favors by withholding everything. copia was a genuine man above all else. he had never once been dishonest with you, and if he truly cared as much as he let on, maybe it was your turn to let him in a little, to soothe whatever ache you were giving him.

copia can see the cogs working in your mind. he gently squeezes your hand once. twice.

“why are you here right now?” you ask him. your voice is so soft he’s not sure he hears you at first. the way you sound so weak, so feeble, all he wants to do is bring you back into his arms. but you stray further from him on the couch and he lets you, shoulders deflating.

“ma che dici?” his italian speaks for him, since he fears the words will bite at you and scare you away. his whole chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, eyes still fixed on you as if he’s afraid he’ll look away and you’ll disappear. “i, ugh, do not understand. . . i am here to see you, yes.”

“but why?”

you’re fighting the crave to let yourself fall back against him again when his face saddens as he realizes the intent behind your question. the confidence he once had is gone and he, too, stutters over his words, loosely carding a hand through his hair. “well—eh, because you—you mean a great deal to me, cara. ugh, it is. . . we are friends, no?”

you look up, furiously blinking in an attempt to hold back the tears. they do not stop, and copia cannot keep his hands to himself any longer. since you have only gone further from him, he moves forward, cornering you on the couch until he can scoop you into his arms again. the feeling hits you immediately, intoxicating you, and you’re pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck while he rests his chin atop your head. the sensation of his hands tracing along your shoulders and back is enough to lull the tears, and your hammering heart begins to calm.

“you think i do not care about you?” he says your name and its the most heavenly sound, so gentle and sweet, you can feel the heat pooling in your gut. “è questo vero?” he murmurs.

you find the strength to respond, and your voice does not waver now. “i thought i might be burdening you. or now that you’re papa, that maybe. . .” your voice trails off, but the message was spoken clearly. copia hums disapprovingly, moving his chin to look down at you. one of his hands come to your face and he lifts your chin with his thumb. you cannot help but look into his eyes, beautiful and inviting as they look back unto you.

“dolcezza,” he murmurs, and he calls you it with such heart that you feel stupid for ever questioning your relationship with him. his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks and ridding you of any leftover tears. he looks so handsome, cradling your face and cooing reassurances to you. warmth crawls back into your cheeks, and you bring your hand up to hold one of his. “did you know that you are my favorite person? hmm?”

you shake your head and your lips curl up enough for a smile to peek through. copia returns the expression with one of his own and he nods, too. “i have to see you from time to time. . . or else the weight of the world would be too much for me to, ugh, bear.” he sniffs, his fingers still caressing your face. “you help make it better.”

with every word, copia draws out the longing from inside you, and with every touch he alights a fire that burns tenfold the passion you feel for him. he renders you breathless, lost in the way he holds you like a treasure he cannot lose. you find yourself growing drunk off of his smell, and your heart fires again like a drum in your ears, but this time it’s not because you are afraid. you press your hands against his chest. you can feel the roar of his own heart thundering back at you. you would have never imagined that beneath his boldface he would be just as nervous as you.

copia’s eyes soften as he gazes down at you, asking you, urging you. at first you don’t understand what it is he wants, but it only lasts so long before you recognize what he’s asking for. your eyes widen and you answer him with a soft nod, so soft he almost does not see it at all. but he does. he lifts your chin higher and leans forward, closing the gap between you.

his lips are chapped with heavily-done makeup, almost mushy as they press against your own. its not the feeling you were expecting, but it drives you hungry still. you can feel his breath against yours, the sliver of tongue that peaks through his lips, and one of his hands travels down to firmly grasp your waist. he groans when you push against him, and you cannot help but let a breathy sigh slip through in turn.

when copia finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against your own, panting heavily. one of his hands still cups your cheek and he resumes massaging your skin. you’re still hot and pent-up, so whatever feelings of disgrace or frustration were brewing would not be seen for a long time.

copia’s makeup is completely ruined around his lips, and you can make out subtle mixtures of white and black on your face. you smile and huff out a laugh. copia looks at you and, feeling much more fulfilled than before, he smiles, too.

“may i tell you something, cara mia?” he asks, his voice light. it’s significantly different from the roughness it had when he first said hello, as if all he needed was your touch to make things right. you pull your head away only to nod. “tu sei perfetto per me,” he tells you, breathlessly. “no other woman. . . eh, really no one at all. . . could take you from me. not sister, not papa, nessuno. mia bella ragazza."

my beautiful girl. you wriggle under his hands, unable to sustain your composure with his sweet talk.

"you understand?" you nod again, a little more vehemently than you meant to. copia's hands squeeze your waist, one of them dipping just below the hem of your shirt. it catches you off-guard. you still and blink a couple times, feverishly, but then you settle into the rhythm of things again and urge him to continue. "then, bella mia, do you promise?"

"promise?" you repeat, unsure. his fingers brush against the skin of your tummy and you emit a quiet gasp.

"promise me you will not think such silly things again," he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. "i only want you, cara mia. you see, eh?"

you do not understand how you got here, but you know it is all you have ever dreamed of. perhaps another day, you would struggle grasping what this meant for your future and other insecurities left unseen.

for now, you soak in his delicate touch and savor the taste of his ruined lips. you were right where you wanted to be.

you pick yourself up and let out a great yawn, loosening your once-tense muscles as you stretch wide and large. a shudder runs through your body, and a long sigh follows suit. you're surprised to find that you did sleep—and sleep well—after last night's mess, with ron taking up a considerably large portion of your bed.

you tsk away the thought, drawing the curtains around your bed again so you may have the privacy of freely changing into the school's uniform. it was a rather difficult task to attempt from the chambers of your bed, but it beat standing in a cramped bathroom stall with a toilet to your behind and the stench of sewer to your left and right.

the thought of last night nags at you again, prodding you as if there's more to think about. you shoo it away, for you thought all you could already and there was nothing more to do. it was a silly night, but it was over.

your eyes catch on a fallen 'defense against the dark arts' textbook. endeavors from last night remind you that you still had two chapters to read, and you were royally screwed for class today. slumping over, you snatch the book up and rest your forehead against the leather casing.

you were soon to your feet and hobbling out into the corridors of hogwarts. long ebony arches stretched above you, similar to the overhead ceilings in your dormitory. they remind you of a ribcage, and you're a little uneased by the thought.

again, there's a pestering that returns to you. even as you walk through winding corridors and a flurry of students hurrying to their daily activities; and as you head towards the doors of the great hall, you're reminded of last night's pig breakfast. the affair in its whole is beginning to tire you, yet for some reason unbeknownst to you, it is more significant than the growing rumble in your stomach.

a flash of ginger crosses your peripheral, and all the memories flood back to you. it transfixes you in place, just as the foreboding doors of the great hall come into view.

what was it he had said?

if he told you, what exactly?

he never went on with it, did he?

all his talk of protection and other means of your friendship, the way he spoke so fervently yet apprehensively. . . it could be the only reason for the unsettling weight sitting upon your shoulders.

your eyes flit to the carved wooden double doors. they had been propped open so students could run in for a quick breakfast, then flee to class. your stomach growled low, and your eyebrows sunk into a crease. hunger was a beast, but you were overcome with anxiety as you imagined who could be inside. staring face-to-face with confrontation, would it be worth it?

the great hall is chorusing with laughter and rounds of chatter when you step inside. candles float overhead, their snouts whisking from side to side. a soft foggy dew settles just above them, though no water droplets make their way down. the ceiling is somewhere far above them, but the dew creates an atmosphere so grand it shields you from ever seeing it.

you fiddle with the hem of your robes and glance around for ron's familiar bob of red hair. students gather themselves and pass you, and you have to shuffle every few seconds to see past their pointy black hats.

when you spot him, you notice he isn't alone. a boy with round glasses and tattered dark hair sits beside him. it's harry, and you're somewhat eased by his appearance. perhaps the anxiety would boil over into serenity.

"hey," you say once you're close enough for them to hear. the spot on the bench opposite of the two is free, so you sling your legs around and plop down.

"morning," says harry. ron hums to himself, sipping on a cup of grape juice.

placed pretty before you is a row of eggs, toast, beans, and a variety of fruits to start your day. you pluck some eggs onto the empty plate before you.

"hey, have you heard what people 've been saying about snape?" ron asks, looking between the two of you as he wipes his hand across his mouth.

harry scoops up a mouthful of beans. "not slightly."

"heard he wants to take back defense against the dark arts," ron says.

"oh, that's rubbish," you say, lightly poking at the eggs on your plate with a fork. you stare into the mesh of yellow fluff, unable to manage direct eye-contact with either of them.

"not at all!" ron retorts. "he's taught it—what—twice, now?"

harry grimaces at the thought. "more than that."

ron dips his head in agreement and goes for a chunk of blueberries. "he's daft if he thinks he's fit for more than potions." you're a little thrown off by the casual conversation, and it only adds fuel to your predicament.

"as if you know any better. you would've rather jumped off a bloody cliff than handle the spiders last night," you tease, though it's more of an attempt to change course of the conversation to your benefit. "

"don't remind him," harry sighs. "i've been dealing with the aftermath ever since he came in screaming wildly this morning—"

"—i was not screaming—"

"—like a chicken with it's head cut off."

ron throws him a side jab, and harry takes it full force with a giggle. harry grins wide at him, and eventually ron falls victim to a small smile. "shove off."

"yeah, you first." harry shovels a forkful of beans into his mouth, then clears his plate of food. "woke me right up. neville was scared stiff."

ron only shrugs. "neville's scared of everything."

"not so much spiders," harry adds cockily, then stands up and tucks a couple books under the crook of his arm, all the while yawning. "i gotta go. professor wants me there early to practice some sort of warding charm."

"i'll bet," ron snorts.

harry rolls his eyes and gives him a harsh pat on the shoulder. "see you in a few." then he looks to you and nods. "good seeing you."

"yeah, you too."

the conversation dwindles when harry leaves, and neither of you plan on speaking. ron digs back into his food, and you finally muster up the courage to eat a small portion of the eggs on your plate. you can tell by the dying chatter around you that you're running out of time to address the matter at hand, but confrontation of this sort is always the scariest, especially when you weigh the risks of losing a dear friend.

you curse under your breath, and ron lifts his head to look at you properly now. you straighten out and clear your throat, evading eye-contact like a guilty convict. "last night. . ." you start, slow to find the words.

"if this is about my mom's cooking," he huffs, shaking his head, "i'll revoke my side of the trade." he raises his eyebrows, adding to the severity of his message. "i will do it, and i know how much you like it."

"no—no, not at all!" you fight the urge to look up at him. "i heard what you were saying," you tell him, "in the bed, when you thought i was asleep."

the words ron had planned to say die on his tongue. you prattle on.

"i'm terribly sorry i didn't say anything," you wince. "i know it's horrible of me, but i couldn't help it. well, it's rather that i didn't know what to say. i mean, i don't know what you were trying to say but—but, uh, i guess what i'm trying to say is that while i appreciated your kind words, i want to know what you were withholding from me."

you finally bring yourself to look up at him, feigning a horribly awkward smile. ron's gaze is lowered, but he still manages to meet your own stare. his giddy demeanor has softened, but you're unsure of what it means. he's dropped his fork to his plate, and his hair falls undone across his face. for a moment, fear flashes across his features; but you doubt yourself, and it fixes back to a composed cool.

"that? that was—it was—i said," he stammers, fingers curling into a fist as he struggles to work out a complete sentence. "i was rehearsing!" he chuckles aloud. "rehearsing for a play that harry and hermione have been working up. just hadn't told you about it yet."

suspicion accosts you as soon as the words part from his lips. "ron," you warn, your tone tame and heeding. heat flourishes across his cheeks, coloring them a rosy red. his ears aren't left out and they, too, warm up. "i'm not foolish."

"i know," murmurs out a now heavily-embarrased ron.

"so?"

"why do you want to know?"

your jaw ticks, and you realize there's no way to go about this conversation without revealing a couple devastating secrets. and ron, in all his stubbornness, wouldn't give in easy.

ron looks like he wants to be swallowed up by the table before you finally decide to answer. "i suppose i was hoping to hear something in specific."

his eyes glimmer faintly. "what do you mean?"

you breathe deep and swallow thick, forcing the words to crawl out of your throat. "you said you wished to protect me, and with the way you were holding me, i thought. . ." you frown and blink hard, hoping to blink away the tremble in your voice and the gushiness of your nerves. ". . . you fancied me."

you don't dare gander at him, eyes flitting elsewhere, but you pray he'll say anything to keep you from drowning in a suffocating silence.

ron raps on the table with the pads of his fingers. at first, it's too quiet for you to hear past the train wreck of your thoughts. but, the sound grows nearer and louder, and eventually you take a glimpse in its direction.

from his hand up to his face, you notice that ron isn't nearly as afraid as before. rather, he looks pleased. seeing as he has your attention, he turns his hand around so his palm lies facing the floating candles above. his fingers make a grabbing motion, curling into a fist once, then twice. reluctantly, you take his hand. your lip quivers.

"it's too late to disagree, right?"

you blink. "what?"

ron smiles soft. "you're not wrong." his face is still flooded a rosy red, but he seems comforted, now.

"you. . . fancy me?" you almost scoff at him. he squeezes your hand.

"and have."

the fleeting discovery of his true emotion refills you with confidence, and you shake your head furiously. "oh, you are a git!"

"hey!"

"was last night all a rouse to get close to me?" you accuse. mirth plays beneath any irritation.

"not slightly! those things were seriously on my bed!" ron exclaims. laughter brews up and out of your chest, and ron breaks into a toothy grin. your grasp on his hand firms. he bats his eyes curiously at you. "you think i'm fit, then?"

your eyes glaze over him. while you absolutely adore him, you can't help but stifle a giggle and quip, "don't ruin the mood, you prick."

"but you do?"

you scrunch your nose up and sigh out a dreary, "i suppose i do find you peculiarly charming."

ron practically melts across the table, and a similar blush flourishes across your cheeks, which are beginning to hurt from smiling so big.

"you're heaven."

a booming voice causes the two of you to separate at once, retracting your hands and shooting to your feet.

"late, and double-y late! ten points from the both of you, including detention for the week!" snape snips ron behind his ear as he passes by. "go on your way, and don't dawdle."

you bow your head and scoop your textbook into your hands. a simple glance around shows an empty great hall. caught in the heat of the moment, neither of you realized how much time had passed.

nonetheless, ron sends you a mischievous look, and you crumble into a fit of giggles.

there's a soft knocking that averts your attention from the ink-splattered pages. you blink and glance at the door opposite of your bed that leads to the common rooms. who could it be so late? any one of your dorm mates would have slipped in without question.

the knocking comes again. you peer across your shoulder at your sleep-consumed dorm mate. she barely stutters, burrowing her head deeper into her pillow.

a little frustrated by the distraction—yet, curious—you press a bookmark into the nook of the page you had been skimming and toss the textbook to the side. the blanket, which you had only seconds ago fixed to rest against your legs, is pushed off into a ball in the corner of your bed. you pick yourself up from the warmth of your sheets and grimace when the wind's frost attacks your skin.

whoever it was better have a good reason for your late night grievances.

creaking the door open, you're a little surprised to see one of your dorm mates staring back at you. at first, she's cheery you've answered her calling. but her smile quickly falters, and she awkwardly shuffles to the side, gesturing for you to step into the hall. you're taken-aback by her peculiar demeanor, but you follow suit and join her in the hall, closing the door behind you.

"you're being dodgy," you say, brows furrowing inward as you try to get a read on her expression. anxiety creeps into your gut.

"it's nothing. well, no. it's something, of course, hah—" she stammers, rocking subtly from her toes to her heels. "don't be mad, or preferably not at me. augh, blimey."

you inhale deep and fold your arms across your chest. "maggie. . ."

the heed in your voice strips her of her defenses, and maggie blabbers aloud, "it's ron! he's being an arse, and i tried to get him to leave but he wouldn't listen! something about spiders, i dunno," she tells you, rather exasperated about it all. she nods her heard towards the stairs. the anxiety in your gut evolves into more frustration.

you pinch at the bridge your nose and curb the oncoming scoff. "maggie," you sigh, "ron's ridiculous, but i was afraid you'd say the world was ending." she blinks ingenuously at you. "though i must say i appreciate the concern."

"oh!" maggie shrugs her shoulders loosely and smiles cheekily. "anytime," she beams proudly. maggie hums and reaches for the door to your shared dormitory, excusing herself before disappearing behind the wooden tile.

you glance at the stairs, and all the frustration seeps from you when you hear ron's hearty laughter resound from somewhere below, out of sight. the ginger had been a thorn in your side since your first year, though you supposed it was a rather ticklish thorn than a painful one. if it weren't for harry and hermione constantly whisking him away, you feared he'd never leave your side.

you'd rather bite your tongue than complain, by any means.

ron's already looking your way as you clamber down the stairs. his grin widens in seeing you, but his fidgety stature gives way to true intentions. something's wrong, and there he is, standing amid your housemates, eyes fixed on yours as if hoping you'll find a solution to his issues once more.

"you're downright pesky, you know that?" you chirp rather lightheartedly compared to your previous grumpiness. ron tuts, but his grin never falters.

"proper pesky, i am," he responds cheerfully.

you clear your throat, arms still crossed over your chest. ron stands just a few centimeters taller than you. his ginger hair rests messy, feathering off to the sides.

"spiders," you mention, "maggie tells me. what are you doing here so late? and why spiders?"

ron repulses as the word 'spider' leaves your lips. his grin thins out, and his fidgeting grows more noticeable. his fear of spiders has never been more apparent than now. "i almost forgot," he whimpers. "they took over my bed."

"the spiders?"

ron's hands shoot to your shoulders, planting you down as he nods furiously. "they're mad! mad, i tell you. took my bed and gave me no mercy." to ron's dismay, your face twists into a mixture of confusion and amusement. "i can't go back. you have to believe me," he whines.

your mind drifts to the school curfew. considering ron's predicament, getting caught out past curfew would mean a week's worth of cleaning the women's prefect bathroom. . . on the other hand, shooing him off would bring out an avoidant, upset ron that you would pay a great bounty of coin not to deal with.

your eyes flit up to meet his. "err, okay. what do you need, then?"

ron's hands fall from your shoulders, instead finding their place at the lower helm of his shirt. he begins to fidget again, and his eyes travel off. "i was hoping you could tell me. . ?" he answers apprehensively.

you roll your eyes and decide to take the reigns. "fine. vamos."

"what? what does that mean?"

"it means hurry up, you git."

"no. no, i am not going back in there," ron huffs, taking a step away from his dormitory's door. you loll your head back and groan. ron doesn't budge.

sneaking over had been easier than you thought. the twins were more than willing to give you easy entrance without sharing a word, so long as they could pester the two of you about your close proximities another day without much refute.

"oh, hush. you're being dramatic," you quip. ron lets up his arguing when fred and george open the door from inside the dormitory, their faces lit up.

"all good," george confirms. "we made sure everyone was out like a light." he slips past the doorway, jabbing ron on his way out.

"a rather good job we did, too. not a single peep," adds fred cheekily, passing through after george. you try not to focus on the mischievous glint in his eyes, and instead peer into the room.

"don't be naughty, you two!" the twins sing as they shuffle down the stairs.

"buggers, aren't they?" ron scoffs.

you have no intentions of responding. your body stiffens up as you take in the sight of ron's bed. surprisingly, he had not been exaggerating in the slightest. from the tops of his wooden board to the burly bottom, it was covered in half-done webs and scuttling black pecks.

ron takes an interest in your silence and says, "you see it, don't you?"

you sure did. and it wasn't even the worst of his spider complication. the rest of the lot lay asleep in bed without a single trace of an arachnid seizure. it looked to be a planned ambush on poor ron.

"this has got to be a prank," you muttered, wasting little time closing the door and inching away from the room. "who did you piss off now?"

"nobody! i swear it!"

you eye him cautiously. "not even hermione?"

he shakes his head. "she wouldn't stoop this low."

"maybe."

ron lets out a wimpy sigh and reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. "i've got nothing. how will i ever sleep tonight?" your eyes drag across the floor, eventually snagging on the stairs. if you could sneak off and escape without his observation, perhaps ron would spend the whole night complaining himself to sleep in the hallway here. . .

you shrug your shoulders, still inching towards the stairs. the wooden banister is not far out of reach now. "there's always the couch in the common room."

"no, not there," ron whines. "and besides, people are weird about that couch. i couldn't even nap there if i had wanted to!"

your fingers brush against the cool wood. you pretend not to hear his refusal and repeat, "the couuuuch," in a much more hushed tone.

"i told you, it's—oi! where are you going?"

your body instinctively tenses and halts under his gaze. if only you had taken a couple more steps. . .

you purse your lips, tutting as you spin on your heel to meet eye-to-eye with ron. "to bed! i was proper busy before you nosied your way into my business."

ron raises his eyebrows and, feigning offense, retorts, "right, 'cause i'm such a nuisance to you and your beauty sleep."

"i'm well aware, yes," you chuckle, though it was full of sarcasm. "look here, i'm already growing another pimple because of your due stress unto me and the spiders! no wonder they took your bed," you scoff, "they deserve it more than you do."

ron's jaw ticks, but it's mere fool's play. "of course, this is my fault and not the bloody spiders."

"it's certainly not mine! my bed is spider-free," you tell him.

you wish to retract the statement as soon as the words escape past your lips. ron's eyes are already widening, and the curling of his lips tells you that you're in it deep now.

"your bed is spider-free."

"no." you wave your hands wildly. "no, stop there."

"and it's not a couch."

"you're right. and i should be off now," you huff, "to my nice bed that is currently ron-free, as well."

"what's the trouble?" he asks. "it's only one night!"

you ponder a moment, then chirp, "i have cooties!"

laughter bubbles up and out of ron's chest. "that's hogwash and you know it better than i do," he grins. "no cooties nor spiders."

"worth a shot." for the first time tonight, you're the one wincing as it dawns on you that you will never worm your way out of this. you cast your eyes longingly at the spiral staircase.

"alright, fine," you mutter solemnly. "i'll sneak you in."

"yes!—"

"—but you owe me food cooked by your mum," you cut him off. "warm, hand-cooked food the next time you visit home."

ron's eyes bug a little, but he's quick to brush it off. "whatever. 's not that good."

"my stomach's already rumbling just thinking of it."

"oh, shove off."

"like you'd want that."

you draw the curtains around your bed, remembering to shush ron once more for good measure. he scowls at you, and you're quick to remind him of whose bed he's in, already so eager to roll him off the bed. ron sinks back into your mattress, his side pressed against your own as he claims his half of the bed.

you try to settle down on your half of the bed. it's a twin, and it's barely wide enough to fit the both of you. it was awkward, and the last time the two of you shared a bed must have been during your second year. ron's grown bulkier over the years, and you're afraid you might have to latch your arm around his just to keep from falling over the edge.

though it's something you would do, in all earnestly.

after years of coming to know and understand ron, you began to figure out yourself and where you stood in curating a close friendship with the redhead; and out of the many things unraveling about yourself, the biggest issue may have been the one involving an undying attraction for him.

he'd always been proper fit, and there was something about your constant bickering with him that you fancied most, seeing as he could take a couple hits without absolutely wounding his ego. but besides the silly things, there were other appealing traits that you adored him for. he truly did care to check up on you, whether ill or under some distress, and he proved to be a loyal friend beyond most you knew in your time at hogwarts. he has a lovely family, all of who share a familial trait of witty remarks, and a big heart, which tends to get the best of him at times.

tonight was one of those times, it seems.

there's a poking at your side that brings your attention back to the bed where ron lay beside you. you turn your head in his direction, offering a whispered, "what?" in response.

"what if i've got to tinkle?" there's an unmistaken mirth hidden in his tone as he asks, as if the answer isn't obvious enough.

you cringe, wrinkling the bridge of your nose up and furrowing your brows all at once. "ugh, you're disgusting."

"it's a serious question!" he manages to shout through a whisper.

"you best wait, then."

ron hums to himself and shifts again, pressing his elbow deep into the mattress to lift himself up. the candle's have been out for long enough that the smoke has shed away. ron's figure is dark against the moon's lingering light.

a flutter brushes by your ribs and you swallow thick. the gushy excitement of being so close is unavoidable, but you were hoping to tire out before the spark seared into a flame. it's as if a feather were tickling your insides, sending heat radiating throughout your body like wildfire.

ron groans quietly, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. he still looms overhead beside you, and it takes all your effort to place your sights elsewhere. growing frustrated with the rapidly intensifying beat of your heart, you turn to the opposite side of ron and shut your eyes tight.

it's quiet for a few moments more before ron relaxes back into the mattress. although you can no longer see him, you can hear each breath he takes; the soft rise and fall of his chest; the quiet grumbles and groans as he drifts into sleep. you grit your teeth and clutch at the blankets, the thrum of your heart undeniably loud, now. you fear you may never catch a wink of sleep.

ron shifts again. you blink. warmth engulfs a portion of your upper body. beneath the blanket, ron's arm snakes around your waist. a breathy gasp escapes the parting of your lips as he drags you closer to him, pressing your body against his.

you freeze, fingers still tangled in the blankets. you're on the verge of trembling, too afraid to move or breathe. ron breathes long and slow, and you wonder if he's even awake.

the bulb of his nose tickles the back of your neck, and his breath is hot against your skin. the sensation is overstimulating, yet your body burns to feel more.

gradually, you allow yourself the pleasure of breathing when the fear of your disposition wears off. each inhale is slow and every exhale is shaky. but you're learning to relax against his touch, and you feel yourself succumbing to his comfort.

"hey." ron's voice breaks through the silence, no more than a whisper. you realize he's been awake the whole time, and your stomach winds itself into a knot. you swallow thick and, unsure of what to say, decide to keep quiet. ron hasn't given up, and his low rasp rings through again. "you awake?"

your eyes flicker up to the curtains surrounding the bed and keeping ron out of sight. you nestle beneath the blankets, giving ron his answer. "barely," is all you manage. silence engulfs the room, and the tension in your muscles never waver. amidst the splitting anticipation for whatever was unfolding between the two of you, you find some serenity in the way he holds you so gingerly. to know that somewhere above all the innocuous banter, he held space for you, was soothing alone.

you feel the weight shift beside you, yet ron's arm never leaves your waist. "sorry," he sighs. whether it was an apology for drawing you from your slumber or for invading your space for the night, you decide it's best not to drag the two of you into a tussle this late.

"g'night, ron." you shut your eyes, though sleepiness is far from whisking you away. you were exhilarated off of the basis of sharing a bed with ron, and everything else was extra baggage that made sleep a more arduous endeavor.

the minutes pass and sleep has yet to make an appearance. your mind circles, wondering ron's intentions and analyzing all your previous moments together for some sign or answer to your questions. perhaps you were too dense to see, but the shared interactions felt as if nothing more than an amiable bumping of shoulders. nonetheless, the last thing you wished to do was shrug this off as a friendly gesture.

you assumed ron had fallen asleep minutes ago, but he proves otherwise when he speaks. he's slow to start, and his voice is quieter than it's been all night.

"i came to this realization the other day. it's proper dumb, the way it happened." ron pauses, and you wonder if he's checking if you're truly asleep. you still, allowing your chest to rise and fall gradually. it feels wrong, but you don't stop yourself from pretending to be unconscious. satisfied with your state of being, he murmurs, "but, i've been thinking and. . . with everything harry, hermione, and i have gone through. . ." he trails off, wincing. you frown.

"i think of you, and if i could keep you safe. i couldn't even keep you from bloody spiders," ron grumbles, firming his arm's grip around your waist. "well. . . it's rather difficult to say. merlin, i'm a coward." he huffs to himself, pressing his forehead against the back of your head. his fingers tickle your stomach above the thin cloth layer of your pajamas.

your breathing stutters, and you pray ron doesn't notice.

regardless, he prattles on. "blimey, i can't help but imagine what you'd say if i told you. you might call me a git, and i may never talk with you again." he stifles a gravely chuckle. a jitteriness pools deep in your gut. you nibble anxiously on your lower lip. "c'mon, ron. you're being daft," he tells himself.

he shuffles in bed, and you feel the weight of his arm slink away. your body instinctively recoils, and the fluttering in your chest empties. your face twists sourly as you realize he's turned his back to you. instead of a fire, the once lively flame dwindles into an overwhelming yearn for the return of his hold on you. the lack of his warmth—of his oxygen tickling the nape of your neck and his body pressed against yours—renders you helpless to the brisk night air once again.

you met luke the same as most campers did: barely sixteen, littered with scrapes and bruises, and disoriented from the trip to camp, chiron welcomed you to cabin eleven, the cabin of hermes; a shelter for travelers—and for a time, that's what you were.

camp counselor luke is what you had referred to him as, though you eventually found out he was your age. the news came as a shock to you—luke hardly acted his age, a little rougher around the edges than the other kids. then again, you supposed it made sense he had claimed the position of 'camp counselor' so young. for someone who fought his way to camp halfblood, could throw a sword around like it was clay for him to mold as he wished, and had half the wit of the goddess athena, you'd say he deserved far more than just 'camp counselor'. but luke never thought it to be a big deal, so you refrained from ever bringing it up.

luke had been assigned a quest only a year ago by his father, hermes. up to that point, he'd been wishing every day for one—hoping to prove himself and do some good, as every demigod was made out to do. but weeks before he went, in case he never returned, he gifted you his heart. a pinky promise of sorts: to love you until he returned, and them some, if you would let him.

you would have been a fool to say no.

"hey," luke says, his eyes finding yours. a hand creeps toward your waist, and luke's tugging you closer. "you're feeling brave tonight, aren't you?" he chuckles, and it's like music to your ears.

you assume he's referring to how late you were out. you rarely ever went out after curfew, having been chewed out by chiron and mr. d far too many times for your own liking. but tonight was special. it was luke's birthday, so may the gods above forgive you for craving a little one-on-one time.

"what?" you laugh, squeezing his shoulder. "i can't get a little brave every now and then?"

"well, if you're doing it for me, then go right ahead," he hums, his voice brimming with amusement. "how'd you guess i'd be going to the lake?"

you lean a little more weight on luke, tilting your head up to pretend you were deep in thought. "hmm, i wonder. . ."

"you're such a tease," says luke, rolling his eyes.

". . .tall, lean blond. . . out past curfew. . . could it be i saw him from a mile away?" you shake your head and sigh, "no, no. definitely not." you pull away from luke's warmth, loosely shrugging your shoulders as you instead walk beside him. "i'm stumped, too. sorry, dude."

"really?" he asks, then adds a sly, "sounds like you got it figured out to me."

"oh, maybe. i'm feeling a little tricky tonight."

hearty laughter resounds from the boy, and he bumps shoulders with you. "'course you are."

the trees begin to clear, and the dirt path you'd been following widens into a grove. in the middle sits a lake, calm underneath the moon's gaze. the reflection of a wooden pier appears to your left, but luke sharply steers to the right and you follow in turn.

he stops where the sand meets the grass and plops down. the grass here is still mushed from previous days full of shared secrets and laughter.

"on a scale of 'my dog died' to 'i never have to worry about monsters again and can live a normal life', how would you rate your birthday?" you ask him.

luke snorts. his knee touches yours, and though its barely noticeable, your heart swells. "that's a pretty lengthy scale," he decides. "maybe, err. . ."

the pale scar lining his eye twitches while he mulls over your question, and you're quick to catch it. that only happens when he's apprehensive about a thought, and its usually never good. whatever his next thought was disappears when you speak up again.

"you okay?" you prod. your hand finds his hand and you ease your fingers between his, intertwining them tight.

luke gives you this look, like he's annoyed, but it fades into something more somber. and he's sighing, shaking his head like it'd be meaningless to talk about it. but you're pushing at him again, and he can't help but give in to your pleading eyes and gentle touch, allowing his head to fall onto your shoulders. he buries his face against your arm.

"it was a good birthday," he mumbles into your shirt. his voice is muffled, but you don't have much trouble understanding him, anyway. "people were great. i had fun."

"but. . ?"

luke bites his tongue, still reluctant to bother you with his sullen thoughts. you're momentarily thrown off. stoic luke was seldom seen so vulnerable, even in your arms.

you wonder what could be so terrible he feels he cannot say aloud to you.

"luke," you murmur, bringing a hand up to comb through his messy locks. his head shifts against your shirt, and blue eyes peek through the sandy blond. his eyes glimmer unnervingly against the dark night. you blink away the shiver rippling down your spine.

"mmh?"

"whatever it is, i'm all ears," you tell him. "if it's your mom again, or one of the counselors, or if you feel—i don't know—crazy, i don't mind. you know me." luke's eyes burrow back behind your shirt.

the quiet chirping of violin bugs leaves you dissatisfied, so you repeat once more, "you know me, luke."

it's quiet still. this time, you travel down a different, lighter route. "what about your birthday wish?" a smile creeps its way onto your face. "what was on your mind when you blew out the candles?"

"a thing or two," luke's voice is stifled by your shirt again. you're close to rolling your eyes, but you refrain. the smile slips from your lips once more.

"okay, then. hit me."

luke gathers himself, lifting his head from where it had been laying on your chest and clearing his throat. "there's so much more to life," he says finally. "don't you think?"

something in your mind eases from a loud rattle to a quiet hum, but you're too focused on his question to notice.

it's a little blunt at a glance, but it settles quickly. you expected nothing short, seeing how reluctant he was to share. regardless, you're curious to see where his question goes.

"i do think there's more to life. we see it all the time around camp," you state obviously. luke's grip on your hand tightens, and he turns to face you. he doesn't meet your eyes yet, fixating on the sand beneath your legs.

"no, not this place." he almost chuckles. "i don't mean this place. or gods, or monsters, or mortals—immortals—none of it." his grip loosens again, and this time his eyes take yours in a longing kind of gaze. "outside of that, do you think there's more?"

you stiffen. this question has more depth to it, and its one you've long ignored because beyond luke, camp would always be everything you had. it was the only refugee for you. surviving sixteen years outside of camp was nearly impossible and, to top it all off, you had been given a duty: you swore to protect the camp and the demigods for as long as you were alive.

what more was there to think of?

sensing your ambiguity, luke quips, "think of it! we could go to a real beach and—and have a picnic, or find our own home and live together, just the two of us. and who knows from there? we wouldn't have to live in fear, chained to camp. we could explore the world!" he pauses, then finishes with, "you and i, together."

"that's a lot to think about, luke. we're never free of danger—"

he jumps to cut you off. "but that's the thing, we could be. i'm strong. you're strong, too! you're my strong girl. we could figure it out," he rambles on. "i want a life with you; away from gods, from camp and pesky camp kids. don't you?"

you soften the tension in your shoulders and allow your jaw to slacken. your eyes pass over luke, and you inhale his smoke-y scent. seeing him so excited has you melting back into his arms, snaking your arms back around him and engulfing him in an embrace. for his sake, you quell whatever frustrations his questions arose. you refuse to argue with him on his birthday.

"i'll sleep on it," you tell him, nose tucked into the crook of his neck. luke lets a relieved sigh escape the parting of his lips as you press a gentle kiss onto his bare skin. you move slowly, planting one after the other along his neck to the side of his jawline. you breathe slow and quiet, making your way to his lips.

luke shudders, and within seconds his hands find their place against the nape of your neck and the soft of your cheek. your eyes flutter close as his lips greet yours, ravenous in the way his teeth scrape lightly against your bottom lip. the rough hand against your neck pushes you closer. your hand reaches up to tangle in his sandy locks. luke emits a hungry groan.

"that was my wish," luke tells you in between kisses. you're a little lost amid his warmth and the way he tastes, but you manage a nod. "for you—for you to at least think about it."

you pull away from his lips and lean forward, crawling atop him at a selfishly painful pace. "i will," you say through ragged pants. "any other requests?"

it's not as if you were stalking her and found out, nor did you have any means to tell her you knew the truth. it was in your job description to make sure you held tabs on people and their whereabouts—nothing more. you could say being a part-time waitress, part-time masked-superhero-black-ops-agent had its perks.

the word "superhero" always left a bad taste on your tongue. one could argue that killing bad people and locking criminals up was superb work, but god forbid you ever found yourself alone with a beer in hand late at night; killing and superhero are words that aren't supposed to complement each other.

today, you were working the morning shift at fennel fields. normally, to squeeze in room for your new side hustle, you took the later shifts.

that was until last night, when your mission fell overboard. you and your team resolved everything—besides a half of a missing pinky toe—but it had been butchered from the beginning. despite some gunfire, an explosion, and a boy far too young to be a bodyguard taken hostage, you had been left fairly untouched. a quick shower did well to get rid of any dirt and leftover reside from the wood chips that had smacked you stark in the face during the explosion. you had a couple bruises along your knees and several cuts on your hands, but it was nothing a few band-aids and a pair of skin-colored tights couldn't hide.

since you could always use the extra cash, you offered to steal your friend's morning shift. she gratefully handed it over.

which brings you to fennel fields at exactly eleven o' clock, an hour after opening. lunch rush has yet to hear the quiet murmur settling in their stomachs, giving you time for idle-chatter with the few customers scattered around while business is slow.

"fetch me another loaf of garlic bread when ya' head back next!" comes from a man dressed in a loose tee and jeans too skinny for his build. he's sitting across from what looks to be his wife, short and round, easing a glass of coke to her lips. they're stained with a lipstick so red her skin seems ghostly.

"coming right up, sir," you say, sending a friendly smile his way. he doesn't seem pleased by your response, but he grunts and turns back to his meal.

you make your way through rows of red booths, all huddled between wooden half-walls that separate each party from the next. the tiled floors look extravagant against the plain walls, and an artificial smell of soap lingers in the air. it's not sweet, but it's decent for a family gathering. the customers never complain, so neither do you.

"don't worry about the garlic bread! i've got it covered!" says a familiar voice, too far out of your peripheral vision for you to match a face to. but you don't have to see him to know who it is. "and by covered, i mean hot-and-ready to be served by yours truly."

oh, adrian.

you turn to meet the sound of his voice. adrian is hustling over to the table with a large grin plastered on his face. being a busboy, he's technically not allowed to serve any food. ever. but the lack of customers means there isn't much for him to do. you could ask him to wipe the tables down. . . but you worry he'll wipe the paint right off if you don't catch him in time.

you find yourself a seat towards the back, next to one of many large windows placed along the outside wall. it's not a booth, but a table with four chairs still tucked in from closing shift last night—now three, seeing as you pulled one out for your leisure.

"well, okay, i know what you're going to say. i need to find something to do, but—" there's a soft scraping of metal against the floor, and adrian's plopped into the chair across from you. "—the internet says a daily dose of friendly conversation is healthy and necessary for the everyday human."

"good morning to you, too, adrian," you greet. he smiles wide at you, and you return it with a softer one. there's a crinkle in his eyes when he looks at you, and the sun shines a little brighter on his side of the table. his curls pop out from beneath his red 'fennel fields' hat, and his glasses are sat a little crooked against the bridge of his nose. you lean across the table to fix them.

adrian chase has been a friend to you for as long as you'd been working at fennel fields. he was a bubbly guy; always happy to hear about your day, indulge in restaurant gossip, or quiz you on his favorite animal facts. it was cute. seriously cute. he was always clung to your hip during quiet hours, yapping so much you half-expected his face to turn blue.

matter of fact, it was starting to get to you. it started with your hands growing clammy, then the sound of a rhythmic thump in your ears whenever he smiled at you. and now, even, you find yourself giggling at little things he does that aren't intended to be funny. you were sick with a case of romance—you were crushing on this man like a little girl. it was almost embarrassing for someone who killed people for a living.

almost.

the fact that you had no clue what he did in his free time also intrigued you. you had tried to keep your own tabs on him, tracing his steps back to his house one night. but he never left home. all you ever found out was that he lives with his mom, which sounds terrible, but he says he takes care of her. you believe him.

such a chatterbox, and yet so mysterious. you often wondered how one did it.

adrian blinks hard when you fix his glasses, like he's surprised by the movement, but there's a lack of resistance. "oh—did they look weird? i couldn't tell because they're on my face and i can't see them. maybe they should make glasses with mirrors on them! seems, if i may, very inconsiderate to the people paying to see," he prattles on. you swear there's a dash of admiration that crosses his features, but you don't think much about it. "thank you, by the way. this is why you are my second best friend, ever."

a laugh bubbles in your chest as you reply with an easy, "no problem, dude."

you're glad to see his face, but there's an obnoxious nag in your brain. you do not recall adrian being today's schedule. you work closing shifts with him. so why is he working now. . ?

you don't have time to find an answer because adrian's talking again, and you can't help but listen.

"soo, how are you? i can't believe you're working this morning. i mean, i can believe it. you're a hard-working woman," he says, clearing his throat. "like female spiders. they usually do all the work, webbing and what-not. it's so fucking cool!"

"are you comparing me to a female spider?" you giggle, cocking your head to the side and feigning offense.

adrian blinks, then chuckles awkwardly as he tries to find stable ground. "well, yes—no? no, yes. yes, i did. but it's totally a compliment. male spiders are only useful for baby-making."

your soft smile grows into something more intimate and warm. "i'm kidding, adrian," you tell him. "female spiders are badass, and i know i'm badass. so i appreciate it."

his smile grows to his cheeks, and a couple dimples find their place. your heart squeezes at the sight, drinking him in beneath the filtered sunlight. "oh, okay. i was really hoping you weren't mad. i would have had to make the hard decision of whether you or spiders are more important. i think spiders come close second, but just barely. so you would have won, regardless," he explains, and you're giggling again like he just cracked the world's funniest joke.

"what?" he asks, unaware of why you're laughing. though he doesn't understand it, you can see it makes him happy. you shake your head.

"nothing." you clear your throat to move on, circling back to his original question. "i'm okay. a little tired, but morning shifts don't get hectic for another hour-ish."

"you didn't get enough sleep?" you loosely shrug, and adrian narrows his eyes at you. "not cool. sleep is so important—"

"—i know, i know," you cut him off, "but so is money."

his brows furrow, but he can't argue with you so he huffs and quips, "ugh, right. money."

"so," you hum, resting your hands together in the middle of your lap, "how are you? i see you're working a morning shift today."

his eyes want to deflect, but instead adrian rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck and sucks in whatever degrading thought is running through his mind. "i had a busy night with my mom," he murmurs. "i couldn't catch my shift last night. big boss man told me to come in today."

you expect him to continue on a little longer, but he stops completely at the end of the sentence. it catches you off-guard, but you don't want to poke the bear.

"i see. sounds like it wasn't the best night. is your mom okay?"

adrian blows it off like its nothing, dismissing you with the wave of his hand. "oh, she's great. we were just busy with some butterfly—" he catches himself, stuttering over the word like he's about to spill the entire jar of jellybeans. "—butterfly stuff. you know, she's really into butterfly collages and collecting dead. . ."

you no longer comprehend whatever he's going to say. his voice trails in one ear and out the other. the word butterfly awakens you like a sleeper agent, and for a moment your blood runs cold—stilled—as if someone's taken a mouse and shone a great blinding spotlight on it.

you've been fighting butterfly agents—aliens—on the side. the memories of last night hit you all at once like a cannonball, and your mind feels as if it's suddenly running a million miles an hour. it was just a word. adrian didn't mean anything by it. did he?

a hand on your shoulder brings you back to. you fix your gaze on the busboy, his demeanor completely changed from what it had been. concern drapes over his face like a mask, and his smile has faltered into something more hesitant and half-hearted.

"you okay? you went all silent on me there. must be the lack of sleep," he says, though it sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

you dismiss the voice in the back of your head. it's just adrian. you know him. no reason to go all "black-ops" on him.

you exhale deeply, responding with a slow nod. your jaw ticks, but you relax your shaken body and smile at him. it's not too convincing, but adrian can tell you mean well. "i'm fine," you sigh. "just tired. i had a long night, too."

"okay," is all adrian can say before there's a clattering of plates and a loud CLANG! that has you tensing all over again.

adrian whips his head around. you lean to the side, following his gaze to see the same older couple fumbling with the glassware. on the ground lays the remnants of a once pearly plate, its patterns now scattered among the different tiles.

"awh, man!" adrian winces. "i gave him the garlic bread on my favorite plate! fuck!" you breathe deep again, hoping to alleviate the panic in your joints.

"shouldn't have given him your favorite plate," you emphasize. it's a little cheeky, but it's in hopes to lighten the mood.

adrian glances at you with frustration because it really was his favorite plate, but he shakes his head slowly and grumbles, "if he were a male spider, she'd have eaten him by now—i'm sure of it."

you snort, and adrian cracks a small smile.

"i'll go deal with it! being the one and only busboy and all," he grins, full of newfound joy and exhilaration. he gets to his feet, humming a sweet tune. slumping into the chair, you watch him go; the way his curls bounce, the dance in his hips, the pep in his step. . .

your eyes catch on his leg. the smile on your lips falls, and you're mind switches modes again. that is not a pep in his step. adrian is limping. he's fucking limping.

you don't move from your spot, but you do straighten up. maybe it's all a coincidence, but the voice in the back of your head is whispering to you again, telling you it's not. for once, you don't disagree.

the dots connect fast. for a brief moment, you feel like sherlock holmes, stringing the pieces together on your invisible mind map. never knowing what adrian was up to, him picking up the morning shift after being supposedly busy last night, the mention of "butterfly" that he so happened to stumble on, and the limp in his leg when he walked.

you feel stupid for not recognizing it before.

adrian chase, your adrian chase, is the vigilante. the mass murderer with a bounty on his head and a half missing pinky toe. the guy in the mask who could never shut up at work. the one who felt so familiar when you first shook his hand last night, after he tried hiding himself in a bush. even the vigilante's banter about whether he was a bush or not felt incredibly reminiscent of adrian! why were you so blinded to have not noticed it earlier?

when adrian finishes cleaning the mess and heads toward the back to throw out the trash, you decide to follow after him. a quick examination of the restaurant says you're not the only waitress around, and it's still early enough to spare a few minutes before the lunch rush begins.

adrian is about to head through the back doors again when you stroll through, stopping him in his tracks. the cold morning breeze bites at your cheeks.

"oh, hey!" he beams casually, as if there's no gaping secret between the two of you. "did i miss something? i thought i was thorough, but i have glasses so i can't be—"

"you're vigilante," you blurt, interrupting his tangent. adrian blinks, a little frazzled at the sudden accusation, and slowly looks around like you're the crazy one.

"wha—what? heh, me? vigilante?"

"adrian," you warn, your voice low and ridden with caution.

he does a double-take, like he still can't tell if you're being serious. "pfft, what?" he scoffs, but it's entirely doubtful. "who's a vigilante? better yet, what's a vigilante?" he asks, as if he's one-upping you.

your dead-set stare reminds him of his position and he crumbles, spilling everything.

"okay, yes, i'm vigilante! dude, this is so not fair. you're not supposed to know! it's critical that i keep it a secret. i even wear the mask during sex so nobody knows—"

you cough, taken aback at his boldness. "i'm sorry?"

"—well, yeah. you should be! now, you're in danger because you know my secret identity. ugh, this is so bad. you might have to move in with me and my mom," he rambles on.

you do the only reasonable thing that may shut him up. you close the gap and press your hand against his mouth, shushing him. adrian stills beneath your touch, his eyes locking with yours. you're surprised he doesn't try to bite or lick your hand.

time passes, and you can't find the words you meant to say. his green eyes gaze into yours, trapping you—entrancing you—and you fumble. embarrassment engulfs you whole.

"adrian," you coo softly, "i—uh, well, i am. . ." the words never come to you, and your voice dies out.

adrian's hand finds your wrist. slowly, gently, he pulls your hand away from his mouth. you swallow thick. his eyes widen, and you imagine he's figuring out who you are, too.

"no. way." he gasps, then leans in like the two of you were exchanging a secret. which, technically, was true. "are you fighting butterfly alien things like goff, too?!" just hearing the word "butterfly" makes you taut. you shush him again and he nods quickly, his tongue betraying him. "that was you last night? at the bush?"

"and everywhere else. yes," you sigh.

he laughs and there's a shift from concern to endearment, and then something that feels a little more like fascination. "oh, this is so awesome! i mean, we're like, crime-fighting pals! batman and robin, but so much better." adrian pumps his fists and holds his hand up for a high-five. you're a little confused, but go for it anyway.

"okay but i call being the batman version. robin's the sidekick," you say. adrian tuts, his hands finding their place on his hips.

"what-freaking-ever! batman doesn't kill people," adrian grumbles, his eyebrows synching down. "i'd hate to be compared to batman." outwardly, he's only a little troubled, but the look in his eye betrays him. he's pouting. it takes a good effort for you to suppress your laughter.

"you like killing people?"

he rolls his eyes as if that's the most obvious question you've ever asked. "only all the time! but it's okay, because i only kill the bad ones. we only kill the bad ones," he tells you.

then adrian narrows his eyes at you, and his shoulders drop dramatically. he shakes his head at you. "no," he says. "no, we have to be a trio. who would peacemaker be?"

you groan, "do we have to include peacemaker?"

"hey! that's my number one best friend! would you like it if your number one best friend left you out of the mix?" he asks. "i don't think so."

you shift your weight from one leg to the other, folding your arms over your chest. it pains you to say it out-loud, but it comes rolling off your tongue before you can think twice. "you are my number one best friend, but you would choose peacemaker over me any day."

"yeah, well—" adrian stops himself. for once, he's at a loss of words. him? your number one best friend? with how low he was ranked on peacemaker's list, he assumed it'd be even lower for you. he finds his voice again, but it comes out meek. "me? your number one best friend?"

the undeniable heat flourishes throughout your face again. "yeah," you say, "you are." you can feel your palms growing clammy, and the thunderous sound of your heart never stops growing. you don't think it's the breeze sending chills down your spine, either.

adrian's composure is shouting about how timid he is, in the way his hands rhythmically crease over the hem of his apron, or in how his feet take turns lightly tapping the toe of his shoes against the concrete. god, it's so cute—it's driving you insane.

"fuck! are you serious? do you really mean that? wait—don't answer that. augh!" he grimaces, turning around and dragging a hand over his face. "oh my god. i mean, i knew we were besties. but now i have to do a total rework of my list. . ."

". . .adrian?"

you're calling his name again, and he instinctively turns around. you sound a little too good to be saying his name that soft and slow.

he looks at you with these big puppy dog eyes, and you've never felt so much affection for someone before him. it's taking everything in your power to keep you from grabbing his face and kissing him on the spot.

"it's okay," you tell him. "i don't have to be your number one best friend. peacemaker's pretty cool, too."

he blinks at you. when he opens his mouth next, it all tumbles out, and you can't seem to stop it.

"well, obviously, he is. but you? you're so cool! and peacemaker's jacked, but so are you! you're so strong and hard-working. i mean, now i know you were the one shooting all of the alien's in the head, like BLAM! and SHING!, and i'd be lying if i didn't find that hot as fuck—" he imitates the sound-effects with his hands, finger guns shooting imaginary heads. you take a step forward. "—like, you'd be a desertas wolf-spider if you had to be any. and those are so badass. everybody thinks black widows are badass, but desertas wolf-spiders completely outweigh black widows." you take another step closer to him. "they also look so pretty. and so do you! like, you're fucking grammy-worthy pretty—"

whatever he was going to say next is cut off by your lips pressing against his. a muffled whimper escapes from deep in his throat. he's surprised, but his hands quickly find place on your waist, squeezing them a little too tight. your hands find his neck, and you let one creep up to cup his jaw, then his cheek.

he presses deep against your lips, craving to devour you. his lips are surprisingly soft—warm and mesmerizing, keeping you glued to the moment. you catch the taste of lip-balm, and unfortunately it has you breaking away from the kiss and bursting into giggles.

"holy shit. you just kissed me. oh, my god." his jaw falls slack, mouth agape, and you can't help but laugh even louder. "dude! oh, that was so hot. fuck! i can't go back to work like this!"

your eyes snag on his now-tented crotch, and you snort.

"do not laugh at me. you kissed me." then it hits him again, like he hadn't actually processed the fact that you had kissed him before. "oh my god, did you mean to do that? i mean—it's totally cool if not. whatever! it's not like i got my hopes up about anything, you know."

you grab adrian's hands and squeeze them, grounding him back in reality. you take a deep breath, and adrian copies you because he just can't take his eyes or mind off of you. "i meant to do that. i—yeah, i really like you. more than just best friends," you clarify. adrian's eyes light up.

"oh, man, i am so siked! i've been dreaming of kissing you for-fucking-ever!" there's that smile on his face again, the one wide enough to bring out all his dimples and reach the crinkle in his eyes, and he's blabbering again. "does that mean we can do that more? can i kiss you again? fuck, i really want to kiss you again."

"what's up?" you asked, pinching the collar of your orange 'camp halfblood' tee and swiping away at the beads of sweat that had collected on the edge of your temple.

percy drew in a long breath, carding a hand through his brown locks. his freckles had become much more apparent ever since the sun started raining its heat on camp, and you wouldn't be surprised if they started dotting along his arms and legs now, too. he was drenched in sweat, more-so than you, and his chest heaved with each breath. his dampened shirt clung to his body, revealing his ever-so-tucked-away muscles.

still, he looked good. you were embarrassed to even think it—your training opponent, smelling of body odor and the sea—but, man, it had an effect on your heart.

"jus' need a second," he breathed. percy cleared his throat and looked up at you through big puppy-dog eyes, his green orbs swelling with a steelish glint, the kind of look he had when he was set on an idea; determined.

"need some water?" you offered. percy shook his head.

"just a breather,” he told you again through quiet pants. a soft breeze picked up, temporarily relieving you from the sultry summer weather.

you snorted, “okay, mister. someone’s a little out of it today.”

“what?” he scoffed, a smile breaking through his sarcastic intentions. “can’t the guy who is literally the son of a god who’s all about water take a break from it?”

you shrugged loosely and reached down to pick your own water bottle from off the ground. "suit yourself." you uncapped the lid and took a swig of water.

"man, what is it with this weather?" percy asked, his voice a little whiny. "i can't think straight while i'm constantly being fried."

although he had a point, you decided to poke fun at him anyway. it was your easy one-way street to entertainment. "excuses, excuses. you can just say you suck, you know."

percy rolled his eyes and pulled at his shirt, eager to rid himself of the sweat. "on any other day," he said, "you would've been toast. no, worse. . . freshly grilled ground beef."

"gods, you're corny," you giggled. percy was notorious for coming up with the worst jokes possible—dad jokes, but even worse. half of the time they didn't make sense. this one was a little more respectable than the rest due to the addition of how absurdly hot it was outside, but nonetheless terrible.

and maybe it was corny how you loved that aspect of him.

percy hung his head back, his hands finding their place on his waist. seeing as he was still stalling, you decided that a quick stretch break would do you some good.

percy started again, his voice softer this time. "i saw nicholas oogling you earlier when we were sparring. you guys got something goin' on?"

you wondered why he was asking—maybe to tease you, since you weren't really known for being huge on romance (because that spot was spoken for by a certain sun-kissed demigod)—but there was a genuine curiosity in his voice when he spoke. though, being your best friend, he should have known you would've told him. "him? pshh," you said, stifling a laugh. "nah. not my type."

"you're running out of options," percy said, unable to conceal the mirth in his tone.

"what?" you laughed this time.

he nodded furiously and said, "oh yeah."

"what do you mean by that?"

"you don't have the guts to go up to anyone and flirt. i know you too well," he said, eyeing you mischievously. his lips parted to smirk at you—he really did know you all too well. he was right, but you felt offended, anyway. your cheeks burned up and, flustered, you took his bait like a fish to a worm.

"woah! that was mean, perce," you huffed, furrowing your eyebrows. you no longer met his stare, shrinking into your shoulders as you tried to think of something to match his 'insult'. you came up empty, and a meek, "your game isn't any better," slipped from your parted lips.

percy raised his eyebrows, obviously amused. "yeah? you wanna test that?" he asked you, now grinning from ear to ear.

okay, then. two could play at that game.

"okay, sir." you took a glimpse around the field. campers were scattered around, all tangled up in their own activities. if you could embarrass percy then you would be even, and you'd forget all about the crude comment he made.

from the distance, your eyes snagged on a girl around your height, sitting in the field beside another girl. they were picking at the grass and laughing. you recognized her, a faint memory of seeing her sitting at the apollo table during dinners. satisfied, you pointed to her. "that girl over there," you told him, "go up all sweaty and ask her."

percy heaved a dramatic and drawn out sigh. "first of all, i'm at a disadvantage," he chuckled, fixing his gaze on you once more. "i'm always down for a challenge, but look—" he gestured to his hair, his sweat-ridden shirt, and the various stains from a mixture of dirt and grass. "—i'm not exactly prince charming right now."

"so?"

his next words hit you like a burly sack of potatoes ten times your size.

"second of all, i was asking you."

you blinked. asking you? well, obviously. . . is that not why you gave him a challenge? to test that theory?

the breeze calmed and the heat went back to pestering you. it must have been getting to you bad, because for a moment you were telling yourself he was offering himself to you, testing his theory with you.

but that was insane. that was the heat talking.

you wrung your hands, growing increasingly nervous as you began to realize you were right. percy's silence spoke for itself. his eyes digging into your skin, picking apart your face to find a good read on you. his smile had thinned out to be more serious, more practical.

". . .me?" you mumbled after allowing yourself to linger a while longer in the silence.

percy took a step towards you, and his playful smile reappeared. "sure. doesn't have to mean anything, but, y'know. . ." his eyes teased you, every so often breaking eye contact to glimpse at your lips and you knew. and he knew it, too. he was working his charms on you and it was working. you clenched your fists together, fingernails digging into your palms to distract yourself from the fluttery, gooey feeling in your chest. "i'd hate for you to miss out. i'd feel bad."

so that's what it was. he didn't like you, not like that. you had troubled yourself briefly into believing he did. charismatic, popular percy. all smiles, jokes, and sass—percy, who you knew had girls fawning for him. 'can you be my wingwoman?', or 'what's percy's favorite color?', or 'does percy ever talk about me?'.

no, you wouldn't be their 'wingwoman'. his favorite color is blue. and, gods, please just shut up!

through your restless thoughts, there was a sharp sound—a footstep—and it sounded as if it were receding, falling away from you. it was enough to snap you out of your inner turmoil.

your gaze connected with percy's. he was reluctantly backing off, ready to drop the idea in seconds if you said to.

no, you thought. no, don't go. i don't want you to.

you didn't let him leave.

you reached for him, your fingers brushing against the soft of his arm, tickling his skin. percy's eyes widened, like he was surprised by your decision, but they were quick to settle again.

"okay," you whispered, overtaken by fondness for your best friend. its enough to shield your heart from the guilt.

percy broke into another smile, and he extended a hand to you. "let's shake on it, then."

"shake—shake on it?" you stammered, glancing down at his hand. this would make it final. breathing deep through your nose, you tried your best to play off the adrenaline pumping through your veins by laughing it away. "okay, then! it's final," you chuckled, clasping his hand in yours and giving it a firm shake.

"you know what? i'm thinking i could go for another round of sparring," percy beamed. he took his hand away to settle it on the hilt of his sword, eager to jump back into action.

you wondered if he had been thinking about this—perhaps it was the thought from earlier, the one you recognized as determination—but you don't let yourself waste any more time worrying over it.

"i wouldn't mind beating you again," you sneered, going back to best friends as if the previous conversation was never said aloud.

the first time he kissed you was in his cabin.

the moon hung high and stars speckled the sky. it reminded you of percy's freckles, or if the sun had kissed the moon all over before retiring, a foreshadowing of your own night.

it was cooler now, which proved to be refreshing on your trek to cabin three. both you and percy were tired and brimming with sunburns from leading camp activities in the sun and hauling around younger kids who didn't know better.

you hadn't been expecting it. you were drowsy and, nonetheless awake, distracted, leaving your body to rest in the doorframe of his cabin as you bid him a goodnight.

"mm," you sighed, lazily dragging a hand across your eyes. "g'night, perce. i'll, uh, see you at breakfast."

percy pressed his side into the opposite side of the doorframe, his head tipped against it for support. although he was tired, you could make out his eyes, wide and watching you with intent. he was only a few inches in front of you, close enough you could hear him breathing and take note of each shaky inhale and deep exhale.

"before you go," he murmured, his voice gentle and slow, "i need something."

you were too tired to bother protesting, so you nodded slow and said, "sure. what's up?"

his fingers brushed over your chin. instinctively, you let him guide your head to look up. pleased with his adjustment, percy dipped his head down. his lips found yours, soft and tender. he recognized your sleepy state and eased his way into the kiss, his hand finding the small of your cheek.

he pulled you closer, dragging his top teeth against your bottom lip ever so faintly, asking you to wake up—and it worked. you could feel your mind jogging itself, begging you to kick it into high gear.

through the slight parting of your lips, you gasped quietly. his lips were warm and beautiful. they reminded you of a flower petal—a rose, even—a texture so soft and comforting, you were drinking it up.

you pressed your lips deeper, eager to feel more of him. if it was this heavenly to kiss him, then gods above forgive you for wanting more. your hands found his shoulders. you smoothed them over the top of his shirt, finding his neck. you left one hand to rest there, moving the other up to his jawline. you pressed the pads of your fingers into his cheek, soaking in his warmth.

percy's other hand slithered up from below and snaked its way around your waist, clutching to the cloth of your camp tee. he spun you around slow and pushed your back against the doorframe. you braced yourself against the wall as percy dove in deeper, a soft whine escaping his lips when he pressed his body against yours.

you let your hand travel to his hair, to his brown messy locks, and tangle in them. you must've given percy ideas, because the next thing you knew, the hand around your back began roaming, massaging your waist and tickling your sides. you were melting at his touch, your heart hammering through your ribcage and knees locking beneath him.

and you would've kept at it, would've spent the night being his girl, but his fingers hooking around the hem of your shirt had you aware again—too aware, and you felt uncomfortably vulnerable under his gaze.

a rush of blood reminded you of your situation, and you brought your hands down to push gingerly against his chest. you weren't his girl, nor had you gotten past the guilt enough to let him in—to let him see you vulnerable and open so intimately.

percy noticed, and he didn't resist when you pushed him away. instead, he chuckled and rubbed sheepishly at his neck. "what'd i say? that's totally game," he said.

careful not to shed your true feelings, you laughed it off with a, "i think you were just infatuated with me for a few minutes there."

"yeah? wanna. . . test that?" he's tempting you again, seeing if he can rope you in for a next time, but there's no convincing needed. you'd been caught from the beginning.

your hands lingered on his chest just a little longer as your lips fell into an easy smile. "goodnight, perce."

percy nodded curtly and, taking a step back, retired to his cabin. "night, sweet girl."

it had been weeks, but most nights started and ended just like that. it was rare, but there were times you'd wake up to rays of sunlight filtering through the windows and find yourself still in his bed.

you never felt good during the days, when you and percy went off to your own occupations around camp. at nights, you found serenity with him and that was good—but it was only a temporary relief, and the days were filled with resurfacing thoughts and emotions that were drowning you.

gods, you loved percy more than you ever had before; and you were ripping the ground out with your heart just for another night drinking in his attention.

today was the last straw. it was funny, the way everything played out. you and percy were standing around the bonfire, partaking in a session of smore-making when a girl strolled up and interrupted you mid-conversation.

"i'm sorry," she said, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. "i was hoping to steal percy away briefly." her eyes tugged on percy, who only looked at you and shrugged.

"oh, no worries," you told her, a reassuring smile playing at your lips. you were never the jealous type. percy was popular ever since he first arrived at camp years ago. he was powerful. after a certain demigod from cabin eleven left, he claimed the title of the strongest swordsman in camp. so when the girl came up to talk to him, you assumed it would be nothing more than a friendly exchange.

but as you examined her closer, watching the pep in her step as she walked off with him; the way she held her hands clasped behind her back; the familiarity of her smacked you stark in the face—it was the same exact girl from the day you had sparred. she was the one you had challenged him to go after, pointing at her and grinning like you had been one-upping him.

it wasn't as if you held anything against her. she wasn't brought into your mess ever, she didn't even know either of you. but to think what a coincidence it would be if there was a tease here and there, or maybe percy found himself interested.

anxiety brewed in your stomach, churning over. . .

and over. . .

and over.

until finally, you saw something to prove you right. the girl had burst into giggles, boiling over with laughter at something percy had said. and percy was reaching down, slinging an arm around her and squeezing her. then she pulled him down and whispered into his ear and—

"—gods, lady! your marshmallow!" a chuckling leo interrupted.

you whipped your head back to your marshmallow, now black and burnt to a crisp, its edges trimmed by a fire still blowing. you brought it to your face and blew at it, waving your free hand until fire died down. a strained groan escaped your lips, one that had been pushed down for weeks, and you tossed the metal stick aside.

leo bent over and carefully plucked the stick from the ground. he watched you try to regain composure with narrowed eyes. "are you. . . okay?" he asked, cautious not to set your anger ablaze. "you, ah, overcooked your dessert."

your lips settled into a thin line, eyebrows upturned solemnly now. "i'm. . . i've just had a rough day," you told him. "sorry, leo." you swallowed thickly, eyes flitting from the burnt marshmallow in leo's hands to the bonfire. "i'm gonna head to bed for the night. tell percy i wasn't feeling well for me."

"if you're sure," he said, offering you a comforting smile. "you sure you don't want your marshmallow? it's just burning to be with you."

you waved him off with a grumbled, but still soft, "get back to the workshop and work on your jokes, leo," and trudged back to your cabin, folding your arms over your chest to try and console your tired bones and aching heart.

it was the fourth of july, and you were determined to celebrate alongside your friends without the thought of percy ruining your appetite. the wound was still fresh, and you had been ignoring percy by any and all means possible. you couldn't face him after that night. it wasn't just because some girl was bumping shoulders with him, but because your jealousy was unhealthy and the idea of percy with any other girl was so dreadful. avoiding him was painful, but you imagined it could be a whole lot worse if you stayed.

piper, who you originally planned on spending the night with, ended up dismissing herself early to help with the fireworks. you understood it was her duty as a camp counselor, but without percy, you found yourself completely alone. your other friends were all shared, meaning annabeth, tyson, and anyone else would surely be spending the firework display with him. fortunately, nico and will offered you some solace (haha) in sharing a spot with them for the show. although you were afraid you might end up third-wheeling them, you ultimately accepted it.

the firework show was good, but the snacks will had packed were even better. you were munching on red grapes and apple slices and cheese crackers like there'd be no tomorrow, effectively eating half of the bag and allowing you to forget all about percy. will was secretly glad he'd hid a bundle of cookies away by the end of the night.

then, when the fireworks had momentarily subsided, will crept away from the picnic mat. you didn't notice at first, and nico was trying his best not to peak over his shoulder at his boyfriend, but eventually the poor boy gave in to temptation, and you followed his stare.

will was messing with his blond curls, shuffling to the side like he was practicing some awkward dance. you blinked and turned around to get a better view.

he wasn't dancing. he was blocking someone from getting past him. their voices were too muffled to make out from where you were sitting down.

"who is that?" you asked, gazing across the beach.

nico cast a nervous glance in your direction and mumbled, "i dunno."

then you saw it. you saw him. his brown tuffs of hair shed past will's figure, and even in the dark, his eyes locked with yours.

"you're kidding," you winced and pulled yourself up, not wanting to indulge in the fireworks show any longer. not even the snacks were appealing to you now, as your stomach flipped, sending uncomfortable shivers up your spine.

"wait—" nico tried, but you were already stomping down the beach, itching to widen the distance between you and percy.

what you didn't know was that percy was already hot on your tail, only feet away from you. he had side-stepped around will and hurried after you.

finally, percy's hand grabbed ahold of your arm and jerked you back. you stumbled but caught your footing. you wriggled your arm hopelessly from percy's grasp. he was much too strong, much too determined, and you were stuck.

"stop running away for just one second," percy almost begged. you blinked, but then decided you must have misheard it. you can't turn around, too afraid the tears will well up and spill. thankfully, percy doesn't force you to either.

percy sighed, slumping his shoulders and allowing himself a moment to relax. the sound of fireworks spluttering and popping from somewhere above echoed across the night sky, filling the silence while he tried to figure out the right words to say, the right questions to ask.

after a minute, his voice broke through the silence. "what's wrong? i thought we were okay, but you randomly took off the other night and now you're avoiding me like i'm a curse," he said. "which i'm not, i'd hope." his hand fell from your arm, and the loss of his warmth had your heart recoiling all over again.

"i just—i don't know, i. . ." you sucked in air through gritted teeth. mustering up the confidence, you turned to face percy. his face was twisted into something sour, and he looked almost solemn. almost. "i can't just kiss you and go back to being your best friend," you told him honestly.

percy's mouth twitched before he blubbered out a desperate, "that's okay! we can just be friends, then. easy peasy, right?" an awkward chuckle followed. your heart sank deeper into your chest. his green orbs were piercing into your own.

"percy," you whispered. you looked towards the sky, set on keeping the tears from slipping through. "maybe. i need—i need time."

"hey, look at me," he said. you hesitantly obliged. "hey, yeah. i'm right here, okay? if—" he paused, racking his brain for something smart to say, "—if you need time, that's okay. i'm sorry for dragging you into something you didn't want from the start. that was stupid." his eyes were full of earnest. you couldn't help but love him more.

it was impulsive, but somehow you didn't regret it.

"i love you, percy."

you feel sick after you say it, but some invisible weight was lifted from your shoulders, and you could breathe again. the air still tasted foul, but it was better than none.

"what?" percy's voice was softer than before. there was a complete shift in his expression. a mixture of shock and something else settled into his features. "you. . . what?"

"don't make me repeat it," you grimaced.

percy shook his head furiously, stammering, "but i thought—you said you—what?"

"i'm sorry?"

"i thought you were avoiding me because you didn't like me in that way. i. . ." he ran his hands through his hair, completely bewildered. "gods, percy, annabeth's right," he cursed to himself, "you're totally stupid."

your eyebrows only furrowed deeper, now struck dumb. what was bro saying?? "percy?"

his eyes flickered back to yours and he sighed, catching his breath. "i love you, too."

the words slipped past his lips so easily you thought you misheard him again. but his eyes were yearning for something. for you. and you were speechless.

part of you threatened to get angry and spill all the horrible emotions you felt—the grieving, the longing, the heartache. all of it. it wasn't fair of him to reciprocate it so simply after all you suffered because of him!

but you stayed rooted and calm, approaching him with a gentler tone. "you do?"

"i do."

"then why not go through with it?" you pressed, hoping to quell the doubt in your mind. "why half-ass it? friends-with-benefits, or whatever."

percy quieted. you didn't blame him. you believed he was being honest with you, but if he couldn't give you a direct answer, was it worth it? would the newfound surge of excitement in your heart be crushed once more?

you physically relaxed when percy answered, and your worries melted away. "i was scared, i think. i was trying to test the waters, because i didn't want to lose you," he told you frankly. "best friends of—what—seven years? that's a big gamble." he laughed aloud, though its more a show of his nerves than it is joyful.

you punched him in the shoulder, earning a soft grunt and "hey!" in response. "what was that for?" he scowled.

"for you being a coward," you huffed, then added, "and a jerk. you know, maybe i should be reconsidering this whole friendship stuff."

"don't joke like that," he frowned.

"you started it!"

a small smile found its way to percy's lips, and his teasing nature returned like it had never left to begin with. "oh, i guess i did."

you rolled your eyes and started again. "percy, you—"

you were cut off by percy as he dipped down and kissed you. his hand found the small of your back and held you upright. the surprise on your face was glaringly obvious, but percy didn't care. he closed his eyes and kissed you deeper. and you didn't stop him.

his hands found their way to either side of your face and he pulled away, taking a moment to stare at you in awe. the pads of his thumbs caressed your cheeks. "gods, you're so pretty."

the flutter in your chest returned, and you smiled giddily up at percy. "don't be silly," you giggled, your own hands finding his. you grasped them tight.

"i love you, my sweet girl," he hummed between kisses as he peppered your face with them. you soaked it all up gratefully.

rules.

i. be respectful of both me, my works, and my readers.

ii. if you want to repost any of my works onto other sites, message me beforehand, and make sure to give me credit.

iii. my messages are open !! i love talking to new people. BUT i have some boundaries for messaging too. these include anything to do with religion, and anything that disrespects a group of people such as racism, homophobia, etc. (i’m literally queer)

requesting rules.

i. i don’t write smut. it’s just not for me. i will write works with suggestive themes, but that’s as far as it goes.

ii. i refuse to write anything that is nonconsensual, abduction, etc.

iii. i don’t like writing male!reader. it’s just my preference, but i will write gn!reader.

iv. if a character is a specific sexuality, i will not write them as anything else. ex: ellie williams is a lesbian, so i will only write her as a lesbian.

v. no self-inserts or ocs !!

okay… what do i write ?

fluff (ex: snuggling together in the middle of a storm, reader gets injured and character helps them, etc.)

angst (ex: cheating [depends], breaking up, death, arguments, etc.)

tropes (ex: found family, fake dating, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, etc. EXCEPT for age gap.)

characterizations (ex: chubby reader, poc, etc. just nothing that’s something only you would have, like specific scars or conditions.)

the mornings were always difficult, especially when every morning was a different surprise. sometimes it felt like finally reaching the top of a tall mountain, then other times you felt like the mountain. he treated you like some barrier, a big obstacle. it was not a practice either of you had wanted to fall into—though you were also aware it could not have been avoided.

the fried egg you had been tampering with sizzled between two crusted bread buns. butter oozed off of the sides, dripping into a puddle of gooey, leftover residue. the egg's edges had been trimmed (burned) to a crisp, toasty brown. it definitely smelled good, even if the image itself looked shriveled and overcooked. peeta would enjoy the thought you put into the food, that enough was guaranteed. but everything about that idea in itself bothered you.

ever since peeta was rescued; ever since peeta was abysmally brought back to his conscience, food had lost its taste and peeta had lost his touch. peeta had lost much that he could not recover, but specifically his baker's touch. it was as if the capitol had drained him of his joys—his skills and prides—just because they wanted to. you despised it. baking was one of the easiest crafts, and they took that from him because it entertained them.

you baked bread for peeta because he could no longer bake on his own. you baked breakfast and dessert for peeta to recoup old emotions he hesitated to feel. even so, it bothered you that your baking was never good enough to bring back peeta's bubbly laugh; the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled deep enough. never good enough to rid peeta of that long, distant stare; the ache in his muscles; the gentle shake in his fingers when they engulfed your own.

you plated the fried egg sandwich atop the cool white kitchen countertop and reached up to release the window shades in front of you. rays of sunlight dripped into the room, glimmering off of the eggy-residue. if he did not enjoy the food today, especially after you managed to not burn the whole egg to a crisp, you might as well faint there and then.

the sun gave way to speckles of dust in the air, peppering the house with that unusual feeling of 'comfort'. you were never too sure of what the meaning of home was, but sometimes you could believe you were living in it now.

you ambled your way past the sun, past the dust, and through a small hallway into the bedroom you shared with peeta. the door was partially opened from your escape earlier, revealing the crumpled bedsheets on your side of the bed. you nudged the door open further with your foot. blonde tuffs shed themselves from behind heavy sheets. a smile seeped into the cracks of your lips. his nightmares were subsiding.

the fried egg sandwich was abandoned on a nearby dresser. you were clambering into bed beside peeta without any hesitation, leaving the lights dim and the sheets scattered. his warmth had found yours and engulfed you whole.

your arms stretched out to meet peeta's waist, fingers digging gently into his loose shirt to draw him back to you. he let out a soft groan, eyebrows deepening at the sudden movement. cloth tangled between your fingers as you lifted his shirt just enough to press two fingers against the low end of his back. peeta shifted against your chest, murmuring a ghostly whisper.

"y/n?" his lashes fluttered open as your fingers tenderly kneaded his back, massaging circles into his skin. his lips parted to sigh deeply in response to your touch. your fingers traced along his spine, soothing his woes. peeta's head fell back and bumped into your forehead, earning him a soft giggle.

"breakfast is ready," you cooed, planting a kiss on the back of his head.

peeta hummed dejectedly, turning over his shoulder to face you. "told you not to make me breakfast anymore," he huffed. his face painted his voice, squinted eyes and crinkled brows gazing at yours.

it did not take more than a minute for you to change his mind. his eyes found your unchanging smile, and those sullen wrinkles softened up.

"but you won't stop, real or not real?" he whispered, a brief chuckle paired with the usually solemn question. your eyes glimmered against his stare as he drowsily smiled at you.

"real."