#internal struggle

There was no discipline.

Not when you stood too close. Not when you looked at him like he was something other than a man of God, something more—something worth yearning for, the way he ached for you.

And now, you were here again, sitting in the quiet chapel long after the evening service had ended, a soft candle glow flickering against your face as you smiled up at him.

“You ever wonder what your life would be like if you weren’t a priest?” you asked suddenly, head tilting as you gazed at him.

Jason’s breath caught.

He shouldn’t answer. Should absolutely not answer.

But he had never been good at denying you anything.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “More than I should.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised he had given in that easily. But then, a knowing look passed over your face, and damn it, you had to stop looking at him like that—like you knew exactly what kind of thoughts he’d been trying to pray away.

“You’d be a good man, no matter what,” you said after a moment. “You’re not a good priest just because you wear a collar, Jason.”

Something about the way you said his name—so soft, so intimate—made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He swallowed hard.

“I think you give me too much credit,” he muttered, turning slightly so he didn’t have to look directly at you.

“Maybe,” you teased, voice light. “But I think I’d like to see you outside of this place sometime. Just once.”

That definitely wasn’t a good idea.

“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You shrugged, and Jason didn’t miss the way your fingers traced absent circles along the wooden pew. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want to know what you’re like when you’re not being holy.”

Jason definitely stopped breathing for a second.

Because you had said it lightly—like it wasn’t meant to mean anything—but the glint in your eyes told him everything.

Tension curled between you, thick and heavy in the candlelight.

He had to end this.

Had to say something to stop this before—

“You’d be different, wouldn’t you?” you mused, biting your lip. “Outside of all this.”

Jason let out a slow, measured breath. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

You smiled at that.

And God help him, Jason had never wanted to break his vows more.

Because he wasn’t stupid—he knew what you were doing. You were testing him, pushing the line just enough to see if he’d pull away.

But the problem was, he didn’t want to pull away.

He wanted to know what you felt like under his hands, what your lips tasted like, what kind of sounds he could pull from you if he wasn’t so damn restrained.

And you knew it.

So when you leaned in—just barely—and whispered, “Maybe you should let yourself be different, just once,” Jason nearly lost it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He was stronger than this.

He had to be.

So he did the only thing he could.

He exhaled sharply, stood, and walked toward the altar, leaving you sitting there in the pew, watching him with that goddamn knowing smile.

“You’re playing with fire,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And what if I like the fire?” you teased.

Jason groaned. “You can’t say things like that.”

You laughed—soft and genuine—and for a moment, the tension eased, replaced with something gentler.

Jason sighed.

“You really wanna see me outside of this place?” he asked after a moment, still facing the altar.

He didn’t have to look at you to know you were smiling.

“Yes.”

Jason closed his eyes.

He was so screwed.

"one wish." one wish?

"you can ask for anything." anything?

"i already know what you are thinking." what am i thinking?

"yes, we can grant you godhood. you have been the most loyal soldier. you are a good leader and people already respect you. this is a great foundation and think about the power you'll have." no, that wasn't it.

"you'll never have to fight a battle yourself again. loyal soldiers, like you have been, will be ready to do so." more soldiers, fighting battles for gods? for me?

"of course, this comes with a small, absolutely affordable, prize" what prize? oh. that.

i remember hearing about this, about them offering percy the same thing.

the reward for my loyalty? godhood.

the prize? loneliness? my mortality? the prospect of love?

a small prize for peace. to be finally able to breathe.

what do i have to lose? i've spent too much time fighting. and i have nothing. nothing to lose. a home that resembles military barracks. family, that i lost a long time ago. friends that i never got too close to.

except one. if you can even call her that anymore.

my one beacon of hope.

hope for a peaceful life. hope for love.

like an angel she appeared at spqr.

i remember the nights i spent thanking the gods for sending her. a task that, in the past, has not been an easy one. what could i have truly been thankful for? her arrival seemed to me to be a gift. as if aequitas remembered, oh right, this guy still exists.

choosing godhood would mean leaving her.

and what would eternity be without her?

what would a year, a month, be without her?

no. but what else will i choose?

percy chose to do the right thing. he asked for other demigods to have peace. to not feel lonely in a world that is constantly trying to kill them.

i should do the right thing too. i always do the right thing.

but is this what i want?

i probably shouldn't even be thinking about this.

but i'm the one that has the choice.

i am the one that is rewarded for his loyalty. the one that fought endlessly for the gods.

i did that.

so why shouldn't i be allowed to wish for something for myself?

i'm tired. so, so tired.

i don't want to keep fighting. i don't want to worry about my life ending.

or hers.

i want to grow old.

white hair, wrinkles, that old people smell that feels so peaceful and everything else that entails.

i want to feed birds, slow dance to jazz at midnight, read all the books i want and sleep ten hours a day.

i want to have children one day, to put them to bed without having to worry if i'll see them the next morning. i want my children to never go through the same things i did, i want my descendants to not be cursed by their ancestors' godly parent.

i want to go where i want when i want it, without constantly being on the lookout for possible threats.

i want to learn how to cook, how to let loose, how to love with all my being.

and i want to do all that with her.

percy chose to do the noble thing, but for once i will choose myself.

"no, that's not what i want at all”