#pjo reader insert

It’s not difficult to avoid each other completely. When his habits are ingrained into every part of your being, knowing what time to steer clear of the armory on Mondays and only lingering around the places he hates the most becomes as easy as breathing. The two of you also manage to synchronize your eating schedules, so his usual spot at the Hermes table is starkly empty every time you find your way to the pavilion. It’s a twisted dance of avoidance.

The feeling of him remains though, his memory lingering around every single corner of Camp Half-Blood. The lack of him ends up becoming just as much of a reminder as the actual sight of him. You can’t count the amount of times you’ve turned to your side, expecting him to be there the same way he always has.

Luke Castellan has always been the only steady presence in your life. Your friends had jokingly called him your human shadow. There was never you without him, and never him without you.

The emptiness at your side is almost as stark as the empty ache in your heart.

It feels like a part of you has disappeared. It’s hard, because you see Luke in just about everything. You hear his laugh in the creaking patio of Cabin Eleven and feel the ghost of his touch over your spine whenever someone brushes too close to you. The twin sized mattress always feels two sizes too big when you find your way back to your own cabin to sleep.

You had gone to Luke’s after leaving the lake that night, your hand shaking on the door knob and a sick feeling in your chest. The empty bag slung over your back felt as heavy as the sky itself.

A cabin that you knew just as well as your own began to distort in front of your eyes. The squeaking of the sticky door hinges felt like they were mocking you. The familiar chatter of Luke’s siblings that flowed into the night air filled your stomach with dread.

Usually, the shame of cowardice was enough to get you to push forward when it was hard. But as you stood in front of the door, you hadn’t felt any of that familiar humiliation. You would have turned around and fled if a heavy hand hadn’t landed on your shoulder.

You’d tensed, the edges of your vision darkening. But whatever apology or insult that was waiting to fall from your lips slipped your mind when you’d been spun around.

It was only Chris.

“Hey,” he had said, entirely unaware of the way you were about to be sick on the front step. Chris had been giving you an easy smile. “What’ve you been—”

“Is Luke here?”

Your interruption had been as rude as it sounded, but it was difficult for you to think over the sound of your heart racing in your chest. You were afraid of the answer Chris had to offer.

How would you be able to look at Luke when just the thought of seeing him made your hands shake with fear?

Chris’ brows had furrowed, confused. “No. I just saw him over by the Big House. He should be heading this way soon, though, if you need to talk to him—”

The door creaked loudly as you pulled on it, though the sound went unnoticed by the kids talking inside. Sheer muscle memory was what let you step over askew sleeping bags and stray soccer balls without much thought. The ease of it all had been too much to think about at the moment.

Your vision narrowed as you crossed the room, nausea rearing its ugly head once again as you hurried over the floorboards.

For what would be the last time, you found yourself face to face with Luke’s things.

Luke’s stuff laid cluttered all over his dresser. There was a stick of deodorant tossed haphazardly between his sunglasses and an empty cardboard box, and one of Annabeth’s drawings sitting on top of a few loose pieces of paper. He had also kept a makeshift flag football trophy a Hephaestus kid made for him. You let your eyes rake over every inch of it greedily, your hand unsteady where it curled into the fabric of one of his jackets.

“—t’s the matter? Did something happen?”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that Chris was standing a few steps behind you. He had no doubt followed you from the front door, concern dripping heavy from his words.

It almost stung to hear. You had met Chris as Luke’s brother first, but he had become your friend over the years too. You knew him well enough to know that he would want nothing to do with you when he found out what had happened.

As selfish as it was, you let yourself enjoy the last moment of kindness you probably would ever receive from Chris Rodriguez.

The details of Luke’s things grated on your heart. The closer you had looked, the more you saw yourself, too. One of your shirts was draped over his headboard. The water bottle you’d left this morning was sitting in front of the mirror, right next to—

Your heart had felt like it stopped in your chest. The memories flashed back through your head against your will.

You and Luke’s trip to the city for your sixteenth birthday. The diner. The sightseeing boat. The photobooth.

It’d only been a few years ago, but it felt like you didn’t recognize the people in the pictures. Your faces were pressed together in one of them, and you were laying a kiss on his cheek in another. The last one showed you laughing, your arm over his shoulder. You couldn’t see it, but you could still feel Luke’s embarrassed smile pressed into your neck, the redness of his cheeks lost to the black and white photo.

A sick sense of jealousy surged through you. This version of you was ignorant. Ignorant but happy. She had no idea that the person who held her heart in his hands would be the same person to shatter it.

Distantly, you realized you didn’t feel upset anymore.

You felt nothing but angry.

How could Luke do this to the two of you? Where had it all gone wrong?

Chris’ sharp intake of air was what snapped you out of your stupor.

You blinked, looking down in confusion, and you froze. The photo was in your hands, the strip ripped quickly in half.

Your immortalized laughter taunted you from where the lower half of the photo remained taped on Luke’s mirror. You looked away before any tears could form, your fist closing hard over the broken piece in your palm.

It all unraveled after that.

It didn’t take you long to clear out the bottom drawer of Luke’s dresser, the one he’d dedicated to your things. There were a few things under his bed that you went back and forth on, like that paint splattered hoodie that was yours just as much as it was his and a shirt he’d given to you a few years ago. You weren’t sure if you would be able to take the sight of any of it after this.

You’d lost your camp necklace somewhere here too, and had been meaning to find it. You wondered if you would have time before Luke came back.

It felt like your breath grew shorter and shorter the longer you stayed in the cabin. Images flashed through your head no matter where you looked. He’d kissed you for the first time against this bed. He’d helped you sneak in through the back window of the cabin years before that, and you didn’t realize that you were hyperventilating until something warm settled at your side.

It was Chris, his eyes wide where he was kneeling next to you.

His hand slipped into yours, unclenching your fist the same way Luke would. You were still holding onto half of the photo. His face fell with sympathy and something that looked like understanding.

You wiped your face, beyond glad when you realized it was completely dry. It had been an hour or so, but you still hadn’t cried about losing your best friend.

In that moment, you promised yourself that you never would.

“Are you okay?” Chris had asked, voice low to not draw too much attention. He tossed a furtive glance over his shoulder in the direction of where a group of younger campers were giggling over a magazine.

“Yeah,” you said, a complete and utter lie. “Sorry about all of this. I’m all done now.”

The familiar weight of eyes on you made you rush to your feet.

It seemed now that Luke would be able to keep your camp necklace. He was standing in the doorway of his cabin, his eyes trained on where you were sitting in front of his things.

You had no intention of staying in Cabin Eleven for another second. You never wanted to step foot in this room ever again.

The two of you tracked each other as you moved.

Even though you were—or, had been—his best friend, anyone would’ve been able to tell Luke had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, though they were not still wet with tears. You did not take as much comfort in the thought as you thought you would have.

His mouth had been parted in surprise, clearly not expecting to see you so soon. The heel of his palm was frozen against his sternum, like he had stopped moving the second he had realized it was really you inside of his cabin.

When Luke was younger and had nightmares every other night, he would rub circles into his chest to get his heart to stop aching. You wondered if that was what he had been doing just now. You also wondered who would hold him through the rest of his nightmares now.

He didn’t let his gaze stray as you stepped closer and closer and closer until you were near enough to touch.

If it had been any other day, you would’ve brushed your thumbs over the tear tracks on his cheeks. He would’ve kissed your palm. He would’ve kissed you.

As you stepped close enough to touch him, your eyes traced over the tightness of his shoulders. It was like he was scared you would brush against him. The skin of his neck was tinged red with tension.

You couldn’t tell if you would ever stand this close to him again.

The smell of his cologne followed you as you stepped past him, and you were slammed with the realization that one day, you would forget the little details of Luke Castellan. Eventually, you wouldn’t remember that he liked to press his forehead to your shoulder, or that he only needed two alarms to wake up in the morning.

He was leaving you, and the memories of him would eventually fade too.

You hadn’t been able to hold his gaze for another second, fixing your eyes on some far off point ahead of you. Emotion clouded your vision. Chris had mumbled some sort of greeting to his friend, probably pulling him inside before he shut the door behind them.

You made it fifteen feet before a resounding slam echoed from somewhere inside the building.

You didn’t recognize it as the sound of your now empty drawer until sometime later.

TWO

The next time you see Luke, you almost don’t recognize him.

Some of the kids had decided to put together an informal fighting tournament, with the winner getting a whopping prize of thirty-three drachmas. Half of camp came to the arena to watch, the summer campers eager to spend some of their last days here doing something seriously fun.

The Ares cabin was taking the bracket a little more seriously than you’d expected them to. Your siblings had passed around eye black before the big event, and a few of the boys painted letters on their chest spelling out your sister Lana’s name.

(Most of the time though, they rearranged themselves to spell out something that was clearly not Lana.)

You were excited for your siblings who were participating, of course, smiling whenever someone looked your way and even letting Clarisse smear a line of red face paint under your eyes. But to say your heart wasn’t in it would be an understatement.

It had officially been a week since you’d last spoken to Luke.

It meant that you’d officially broken your record of not speaking to each other. Seven whole days had passed, though it felt a lot closer to a year.

Embarrassment burns hot in your chest when you acknowledge it, but it feels like you’re missing a part of yourself. He was a part of you. The biggest part.

It’s shameful how you’re only halfway functioning without him. You finally understand what it means when people say they are ‘going through the motions’. Every day, you wake up to a nightmare where your best friend hates you and you hate him. You eat, walk the grounds of camp more as a ghost than as a person, let sleep evade you, then get up to the same nightmare.

You haven’t been able to sleep through the night since your fight. When the sun sets on camp, you stare up at the ceiling and try to pretend like you aren’t thinking about the empty spot next to you. You’ve started burning food as an offering to Hypnos, but find not even that’s enough to let you sleep for more than an hour at a time.

In the days after your fight, you almost found yourself flinching at every reminder of Luke. You’ve gone out of your way to avoid anything that would even make you think of him, which meant you lost interest in most things you used to love doing. You haven’t sparred since. You sat out of yesterday’s Capture the Flag game to sit by the beach instead. It felt like he had taken every aspect of your life from you.

His memory taints everything you even think about doing. But after a week of silence, you find that you’re almost hungry for any glimpse of him you can manage. In every crowd, around every corner, and in every shadow, you look for the outline of his back, or the cut of his jaw. You still search for him despite the fact the thought of seeing him fills you with dread.

Annabeth had explained something to you a couple of years ago — the concept of negativity bias. Even when positive or neutral things of equal intensity occur, a person’s psychological state is more likely to be affected by something negative.

You think that’s what’s happening to you now. You’re trying your best, but every time you think of every hug you shared, every hour you spent together, every moment Luke had been the only thing that felt safe, you only seem able to think of that night.

Is it really that hard to believe someone doesn’t love you?

You can’t get the way he looked at you out of your head. It felt like he hadn’t known you at all. The person you were convinced you were going to spend the rest of your life with looked you in the eyes and swore his love had been a lie.

And you can’t even think about him long enough to remember if any of it had even been real.

It ends up being here, at the camp’s makeshift fighting tournament, that you see Luke Castellan for the first time in a week.

Even when faced with only the sight of his back, you know immediately that he looks almost nothing like your Luke.

He’s sitting next to Chris on the edge of the mat the campers are fighting on, his shoulders slumped, like he’s curling in on himself. He seems completely unresponsive to the shouts and heckles of the rest of the kids from his cabin, who are currently cheering on Travis in the ring.

You’re torn between two opposite gut reactions.

The new unease that rises at the thought of him sits uncomfortably in your chest. You move to duck behind a taller Aphrodite camper to your left when you feel your hands reach to pick at a loose thread on your jeans.

But somewhere else, deep down, your lifelong instinct takes over, and you’re taking a step in his direction before you can stop yourself.

After all, something was wrong with Luke. You were supposed to comfort him, weren’t you?

Their entire section stands up abruptly when Travis manages to knock his opponent’s weapon onto the floor, and you watch with morbid curiosity as Luke remains seated, his jaw resting in the palm of his hand.

You get hit in the back so hard you almost stumble forward.

From right next to you, you catch a glimpse of a sharp glare aimed at your direction, and you realize belatedly that your entire cabin is now standing too, cheering loudly as your brother Cole gets ready to step into the ring. You get to your feet abruptly, clapping mindlessly.

Even if she wasn’t glaring, Clarisse’s disappointment would still feel almost palpable. “Stop giving ass-face your time of day.”

It didn’t take long for your siblings to put together what happened between you and Luke, though none of them knew the full story. They saw that he stopped coming by to ask for you and that your sleepovers came to an abrupt stop, and the pieces settled into place for them. You realized the Hermes cabin came to a similar understanding when whispers of Luke’s apparent mood swings made their way to you.

The general consensus among them at first was that you two were having a little fight. To everyone else, it had seemed like the silent treatment you had given him earlier in the summer. Your brother insisted that Luke had been wandering around camp like a kicked puppy dog, though you sincerely doubt that.

You could feel the looks people gave you whenever the Hermes cabin was nearby, waiting to see if you were going to go running over like you used to. People were shocked to see your twenty-four hours of silence creep into forty-eight and then roll over into seventy-two.

It was clear that everyone expected for it to blow over eventually. After all, no one has ever known who you are without Luke. You arrived at camp together and haven’t spent a day apart since.

Your stomach twists when you realize you aren’t sure who you are without Luke either.

Five days after your argument, you snapped at someone who asked when your boyfriend was coming over, and their suspicions were confirmed. Whatever was happening between the two of you was serious.

You and Luke are the only two people alive who knew whatever this was was permanent.

Permanent.

You’re having a tough time coming to terms with the fact that the feelings of resentment you held toward him were going to remain a permanent thing. Luke had been more than just your best friend. He’d been your… boyfriend? Partner? Soulmate? You aren’t even sure there was a single word that could perfectly describe what he had been to you. None of the words in the English language seemed to encompass it.

You still half believed that Luke was going to come back to you and apologize. After all, he’d drawn first blood. But as the days passed, and the end of your time at camp drew nearer, you felt yourself losing hope.

He’d asked you to stay away from him. It was over. He swore it.

“I’m not giving him my time of day,” you insist to your sister, though it’s clearly a lie. Your eyes are still trained on the outline of his back. “I was just looking.”

A group of people next to you knock you closer to Clarisse when one of your brothers in the ring lands a good hit on his opponent.

“Then stop looking,” she grits out, not bothering to keep her voice low with how loud the arena is. “He doesn’t deserve you thinking about him.”

“I’m thinking about how much he looks like shit,” you say flatly, your voice lacking any of the vitriol you planned to say it with. Even after everything that happened, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him completely. You aren’t sure you’re even capable of it. Not even playing your last conversation in your head seems to work. You’re hurt by what he said, but hatred isn’t something you think you can feel for him.

Your sister snorts from next to you. “You can’t even see his stupid face.”

You don’t respond. She leans closer to you to try and catch a glimpse of him too, craning her neck around to get a good look.

You’re just about to hiss at her to stop being nosy when she grabs your bicep, an amused sound coming from her throat in surprise. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Somewhere in the commotion, Annabeth wandered over to the Hermes cabin. She’s just tapped on Luke’s shoulder, and he’s spun around to face her, giving you your first good look of him in a week.

Clarisse laughs. “Holy shit.”

Dark circles mar Luke’s under eyes like twin bruises. He’s listening to Annabeth, nodding along as he does so, but his eyes look vacant and unfocused. He looks just as exhausted as you feel.

Even when you’re apart, you can’t help but be connected in the worst ways.

“He’s sure taking your little breakup hard,” she muses. “Couldn’t handle being dumped, I guess.”

You whip your head in her direction. “Clarisse—”

“What?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like Castellan would’ve dumped you. He’d probably cut off his own arm if you said it would make you happy.”

Her words make your insides twist. There was a time when you believed that too. “I didn’t dump him. We weren’t even… it wasn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, you ‘weren’t dating.’” You don’t appreciate the quotes she makes around her last few words. “I know, you’ve only said it fifty times.”

“And I’ll say it fifty more times if that’s what it takes for you to get it,” you snap, finally tearing your eyes away from him. “Drop it, okay?”

Clarisse puts her hands up in surrender, though the amusement hasn’t faded from her eyes. “Heard.”

You try to put your focus back on the tournament, where your sister Lana is finally taking her turn after your brother’s win. Your brothers in the front row have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they’re cheering in sync.

“Sheesh,” Clarisse says again, though her attention is clearly not on the fight in front of you. She’s still looking over at Luke.

“Clarisse,” you warn, voice firm, but as stubborn as ever, she ignores you.

“He looks like he got trampled. And then hit by a bus that pushed him off a cliff.”

You can’t tell if the lump in your chest is concern or intrigue. Whatever it is, though, is strong enough to get you to look back up at him again.

He and Annabeth are… arguing.

It’s subtle enough that Clarisse can’t tell, too busy making a snide comment about how it looks like he’s climbed his way out from the Underworld.

And while the slight sheen to his eyes is enough to give you pause, you’re much more stunned by the way his fists clench at his sides, jaw twitching with irritation. Luke’s never gotten upset with Annabeth before. You almost don’t believe your own eyes.

Luke has been soft on Annabeth your entire lives. While the three of you were always close, you knew their similar home lives meant that the two of them understood each other in a way you would never be fully able to. He doted on her a lot, and had probably stolen hundreds of dollars worth of trinkets for her over the course of your time on the road. He was more likely to jump into a pit of vipers than say no to her.

It’s why you can’t quite make sense of the scene in front of you. Even Clarisse has started to realize the conversation is shifting more into a fight, because she gives you an amused smile before putting her attention back onto Lana’s match in front of you.

Annabeth’s shaking her head vigorously, and you watch as Luke cuts her off abruptly, which she doesn’t take lightly. His brows knit as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. They go back and forth some more before he scoffs, his dark eyes rolling briefly. She pokes a finger into his chest with so much force his eyes widen, and then she’s whirling around so quickly you almost don’t realize she’s making a beeline in your direction.

You don’t bother pretending you weren’t watching. Annabeth’s face is scrunched with frustration, and she looks about a second away from pulling her own hair out. She weaves between people swiftly until she finds herself in front of you, her features pulled into a scowl.

“There is seriously something wrong with him,” she grumbles, not bothering to use his name. Her eyes are steely, but you can see they’re hurt, too. “What happened to you two? He’s been weird this whole week. What are you even fighting about?”

“Annabeth,” you say, your voice catching on the last syllable. You don’t know what to tell her.

“Did he do something?” she pushes on, brow furrowing. “It’s his fault, isn’t it? He wouldn’t be so mad if—”

You cut her off before she can continue. “It’s nothing, okay?”

As sharp as ever, Annabeth hears the break in your voice and drops it. She can probably tell she clearly isn’t going to get anything else out of you despite how much she wants to press it. She sighs and doesn’t say anything even when some of your siblings jostle the two of you around.

Before she disappears into the crowd again, she gives you a look you can’t quite understand. “Just talk to him.”

You direct your gaze somewhere in the direction of the tournament in front of you, but your vision is swimming. You and Luke Castellan have already spoken for what you know is the last time.

Your cabin surges forward again when Lana finally bests her opponent, and you feel your heart plummet to the ground.

THREE

It’s been another week since you last saw Luke.

You leave Camp Half-Blood tomorrow morning.

You’ve already gorged yourself on strawberries from the field and run your hands over the Ares cabin’s flag for the last time. You said goodbye to the naiad who saved your life a few years ago and had one last climbing wall race against Clarisse, which you won, obviously. A little after, your little sister pushed you on the tire swing outside the Big House until you got dizzy. Your hands are stained from painting your very last camp bead, which sits safely in your packed bag next to your bed.

You’ve revisited almost every hidden corner and every inch of camp that exists, and there’s only one place left on your goodbye tour.

The lake.

You haven’t gone back since your fight. The spot had belonged to both of you, and it didn’t feel right going back without him.

Truthfully, you haven’t wanted to go back there, either. Your last conversation had tainted your memory of the place, but you know that you won’t be able to leave without seeing it one last time.

After promising your siblings that you’ll be back before the fireworks start, you start the short walk through the woods.

Nothing has changed, of course. The grass to your right rustles as a rabbit darts across your path. When you reach for the thick branch to pull yourself over a fallen log, your hands fit perfectly in the grooves you’ve worn into the wood over the years. The air is sticky with humidity, and the laughter that rings out from behind you grows quieter as you move further away from camp.

The only thing missing is the steady presence at your side. Luke probably would’ve made ten bad jokes by this point of the walk, and would’ve bounced a few times between trying to trip you and trying to hold your hand.

You shift your focus intently to where you’re stepping instead. You estimate how many yards away the lake is. You think about what being on a plane will be like. You wonder how you’re going to say goodbye to Annabeth. You wonder if you’re going to say goodbye to Luke.

No matter how hard you try, it all comes back to him anyway.

Before you can even stop and realize it, you’re stepping past the treeline, gravel crunching quietly under your shoes.

The lake is eerily silent.

A canoe that someone was too lazy to put away rests overturned by the water. In the distance, you can see a duck dipping into the lake looking for something to eat. Its small movements send ripples throughout the rest of the water.

It’s so quiet that you can only hear the sound of your own breathing.

Being here by yourself is unsettling. You almost get the urge to turn around and leave, but something tells you to plant your feet. You know you’re going to regret not saying goodbye to a place that has watched you grow up. It witnessed the entirety of your love for Luke — the oblivious years, your first real kiss, and the crash and burn of all of it.

There’s movement in your peripheral vision. You swear for a moment that you can hear the familiar crackling of fire by the trees, but when you turn there’s nothing there.

You start to regret coming here. For the first time, being at this lake isn’t making you feel better. It’s nothing but a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

The last few weeks have been the hardest of your entire life. It’s even worse than the weeks after you nearly died in Pennsylvania, and even harder than your first weeks on the run.

You had Luke through all of it. Nothing had been too hard to bear because he had been there to shoulder it with you. He’d held you through nights where your stomach would cramp from hunger, and he would always let you sleep an extra hour or two even when it was your turn to be on watch.

Nothing about those years were easy. It’d been hard, but you were always together. When you couldn’t rely on yourself, you knew you could rely on Luke.

Your eyes sting as you take in the emptiness of your surroundings. The slow breeze that whips at your face bites a little harder. It’s so quiet that your ears start to ring. You try to pop your ears to stop the incessant noise, but find that the silence gets worse. There’s nothing out here but you.

The weight of it hits you a second later.

For the first time in your life, you are completely and utterly alone.

You’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry over Luke. You blink quickly to try and stop the onslaught of tears and find that your eyes begin to burn despite it. Pain stirs in your chest as you finally feel yourself fall apart.

You’ve been alone for a long time.

Did you ever truly have Luke? You wonder how long he’d been harboring that anger against you. When did he start pulling away? Had you been too love-blind to see it? Was any of it real?

Everything about your relationship had been a secret. Was it because he was ashamed of you? Has this been his plan all along?

The outline of the dock comes into focus despite how unsteady your gaze is.

You can still see the version of yourself that sat here and believed in a future you were never going to have. It had only been a month since that morning.

A breeze kisses the apples of your cheeks, and more memories come back to you.

Phantom laughter rings in your ear, taunting you. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel the soreness of your arms from a day full of playful fighting and racing Luke through the water. A few summers ago, he had held you by the fire here and told you he wanted to stay with you forever. He saw a future with you in it.

You had so many plans, and none of them would come true.

Tomorrow morning, you are going to get on a plane that will take you miles away from this place and the person you’ve called home for almost as long as you can remember.

You stumble away from the water.

It’s too late, but you finally realize that you’re heaving.

It feels like your chest is trying to collapse in on itself. You can barely breathe around the physical weight that’s compressing your ribcage, pressing hard against the rampant beating of your heart. You can’t take a breath in without your entire body shaking, the tightness in your chest stopping you from getting any air in.

You clutch at your shirt like it might help, trying to pull it off the space above your lungs, but the fabric is as loose as it's always been. You can barely feel your fingertips.

The sobs that wrack your body ache.

You’re so sick of feeling sad. Only one person has ever made you feel better when you get like this, and you have no idea what to do when he’s the reason you feel this way.

You want him to come back to you. You want to never see him again. You want him to apologize. You want to beg him to forgive you. You want to leave camp and never look back. You want to shackle yourself to him so you’re never separated again.

There’s shuffling behind you. Deja vu creeps around your shoulders and curls around your insides like a familiar friend. It feels like the sand at Compo Beach and tastes like your mom’s lemonade. It feels like coming home.

Warmth envelops you from every side. You find yourself sinking into it despite the way it feels like you’ve been turned inside out.

How could you stop yourself, anyway?

It’s Luke.

His cologne fills your senses as you shove your face into the crook of his neck, slotting yourself so close to him he stumbles back a step.

The familiar feeling of his skin against yours causes a sob to wrack your chest. You start grabbing for any part of him your hands can reach, one of your hands fisting in his hair while the other grabs blindly for one of his arms that he has around you. You never thought you would feel this whole again.

“I’m sorry,” you plead. You aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for. For your fight? For reaching for him like he’s the only thing that’s holding you together? You can’t tell. “Luke. I love you.”

His grip loosens and you panic. You grab onto him harder, your nails digging into the skin of his bicep painfully, your vision swimming. He’s a blur of orange fabric and curly hair as you shake your head, refusing to let him leave. He can’t.

You don’t recognize that he’s saying something to you until the familiar feel of his palms settles on both sides of your face. Your eyes trace the shape of his lips as he speaks, though none of it processes. Your ears are ringing again.

He pulls you against his chest again, letting you feel the rise and fall of it. His breathing is barely more even than yours. The setting sun paints the two of you in pink and gold.

“How could you do this?” You feel bile rise to your throat. You think you’re going to be physically sick. “Why are you doing this to us? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you know I’m so sorry, please—”

“I know. I know.”

“You’re my best friend. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, Luke. Please don’t do this to me.”

“You need to breathe, okay?” His hand passes over your back. It’s shaking so badly that he has to clutch at your shirt. His words are fraught with tension, like he’s forcing them out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. I need you to forgive me. You have to forgive me.” Half of your words are choked out between gasps for air, but you know he understands.

“Breathe. I know. I promise you, I know.”

You vaguely feel his grip on you loosen again, and you protest with every ounce of energy you have left. Your tears are soaking his shirt.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing a line down your arm. Warmth creeps into his voice and another sob wracks your body. “You’re hiccuping. You’re gonna be sick.”

He rubs your back through the entirety of it. You must make quite the sight, the both of you on your knees in the dirt as you empty your stomach.

You fall back against Luke when it’s over, pressing against him as much is physically possible. Your neck is craned at an impossible angle so you can see his face. You want to memorize every inch of it. You never thought he would be this close to you ever again.

“I don’t know how to do this without you, Luke,” you admit without an ounce of shame. Your voice comes out rough from the tears and coarse from your retching. “I’m so scared.”

He stays silent while he cradles you against him, his eyes unmoving from the sand. The dark circles under his eyes have somehow gotten worse, which makes you frown. His lips are red and bitten too. He looks just as sick as you.

After another bout of quiet, he finally looks at you. He wipes at the corner of your mouth, his stare blank.

“I was so mean,” you try again, nodding, like it’ll help him understand. “I’m so sorry. How could I have said those things to you?”

One of the last times you sat like this was the morning after you first kissed. You wonder if he realizes that too.

“You’re nothing like him,” you promise. “You’re good. So good, Luke.”

Luke’s face crumples with an emotion you can’t quite read. “I have to do this.”

You shake your head, desperate. “No. No. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life, I promise, Luke, I promise.”

He presses his forehead against yours, the two of you so close together that it feels like you’re sharing oxygen. His eyes are glassy and almost unfocused, and you brush your thumb over his cheek, greedy and desperate. You should feel guiltier than you are.

“He… he is the only one who can fix this. All of this. I don’t have a choice,” he says, almost whispering it.

Your head spins. It feels like he’s talking through you and not to you. “I don’t understand. You’re… you always have a choice, Luke. You’re nothing like your father. You don’t need him to do anything. And you know I didn’t—there’s not a world that exists where I actually thought those things. I didn’t mean it.”

You can’t believe you used his father against him. You can’t even blame Luke for wanting to leave you. What kind of person says those things to someone they love?

Luke’s features pull down into a grimace as he shakes his head. He says nothing else as his eyes trace the path of your tears down your cheeks.

The July humidity makes it feel almost unbearable to be this close to him, but you soak up every second he’s willing to offer you. Sweat beads at your hairline and in the small of your back.

A month wasn’t long enough to erase the nuances of Luke from your memory. You trace the cut of his jaw with your thumb. His tan has come in full force this summer, and you mourn the time you could have spent together.

“Leave with me.” You nod quickly, reaching for his hand that rests limply against your side. “It’s not too late, Luke. It’ll never be too late.”

You can’t remember why you’d even been angry with him at all. Your flight is tomorrow morning. How did you think you could ever leave without him?

He doesn’t respond, his eyes tracing down the length of your face. You wonder what he sees there.

You glance down at his lips, and wish instantly that you hadn’t.

Luke tenses, and it feels like you’ve been struck.

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows stiffly. His words are even and practiced when he says, “Kissing me won’t change anything.”

“Then what will?” you beg. Your face heats, not with embarrassment, but with grief. The words sound just as desperate as you feel.

You feel his entire body go very still behind you.

You’re almost grateful that he doesn’t grace you with a response. You’re all out of words to say.

Your eyes slide shut when you feel the warmth at your back disappear.

Surprisingly, there is no tell-tale feeling of your eyes burning with tears. In place of grief is the all-consuming ache of numbness.

Sometime later, you get the strength to face the empty space behind you. Luke is gone.

For the next hour, you sit alone by the lake as the fireworks explode over your last night at Camp Half-Blood. Red and blue lights make shapes in front of your unseeing eyes. You wonder if Luke had even been here or if you’d just imagined him when you’d needed him most.

An hour later, by the time you find your way back to your siblings, it’s over.

You’re standing on the front steps of your cabin when you find out that Luke has betrayed camp.

—

Cue the record scratch. This immediately brings a lot of confusion and gossip. Many eyes look between you and Mr. D who doesn't seem bothered at all. You saw Chiron sigh and place his hand to his face, giving your godly father a disappointed headshake. Then you hear Castor and Pollux yell that they have a new sibling that they didn't even know about?!

You get a lot of looks of sympathy and jealousy. You don't figure out why until a little bit later on. Chiron fills you in with a reassuring voice but also speaks with an exasperated tone to Dionysus 

Although you guys can't make wine or touch anything alcohol related, you did inherit Dioynsus' wine making skills. This includes also being good at making infused drinks or mixing drinks that range from mixing soda flavours together to making your tea blend. Even if the flavours shouldn't work together or whatever the drink type you're making, you just can. You are your own personal barista.

Putting this first and out of the way, you're both in a blessed and awkward situation where you are able to see and interact with your godly parent. Mr. D tries to treat you like every other demigod in Camp Halfblood, and that makes it awkward when you don't know if you should call him “Dad” or “Mr. D”, but at the same time, you know you have it better then others. 

It doesn't mean Mr. D doesn't keep an eye out. When you dedicate your offerings to the gods and look at him when you do it, you can just see Dionysus’ face soften and his eyes have a hint of affection. 

Don't ask how you or your other half-siblings came to be if Mr. D was sentenced to Camp Halfblood. You won't get an answer from but at least you know you're not alone and the twins are glad to have a baby sibling. Get ready for the youngest sibling treatment. 

Dionysus is the God of Theatre so you have a theatrical flare. Even if you're introverted, you're not exempt; this can be applied in how you do certain things or be rather convincing at times. If you're extroverted, well, you're automatically the Theatre kid. 

This turns out to be rather useful in events like Capture the Flag in a state of mania. When the heat of the battle starts to get to you, you feel your godly parent's power begin to rise in you and you can use that theaters flair to rouse your teammate's spirits up. You can also get a bit maniac and effect your teammates and enemies alike and become rather terrifying. 

You have a bit of a green thumb so you can find some solace with the Demeter kids. However, unlike the Demeter kids who can just make plants grow and flourish, your green thumb only really applies to plants you have an interest in like Dionysus with his grapes…or now strawberries. Regardless, you can keep a houseplant alive at least. 

Aside from a few very selected people within Camp, you're one of the few people who has seen Mr.D's true form. Not his godly form or the Mr. D you've seen, but the form he usually shows in front of mortals. Then it becomes very obvious how your other parent became so enamoured. You thank him silently for taking up his current form because you’re not going to be ready to hear about Mr. D being a DILF.

“Welcome to Cabin 12!” greeted Castor and Pollux as they opened the door to the cabin. You looked inside and saw how lived in the cabin was. It was clear the twins didn't expect to have another sibling and judging by the absolute shock that your shared father was supposed to be stuck in Camp, they really didn't expect him to have another mortal child.   

You also noticed on one of their nightstands there were stacks of Coke and Pepsi, each belonging to one of the beds. There were copious amounts of it, and you wonder if being a child of Dionysus was a prerequisite of having a drink as your go-to drink. Like wine fo Dionysus…though you heard he had to switch to Diet Coke due to his punishment. 

“Yeah, sorry for the whole…mess,” said Castor as he looked sheepish. “Pollux and I weren't expecting anyone else to be here, especially since it's been so long since we've first arrived. And you know, our dad, being, well-”

Pollux cleared his throat, “What Castor means, despite everything, we're thrilled to have a baby sibling. We've always been together so we're not that alone, but every now and again, we kind of get envious of the other cabins and having other siblings.”

Not to mention you didn't look like a typical child of Ares. Hell you didn't seem to belong there at all.

"Who is that?" Percy muttered partially to himself.

Annabeth, who had been walking the camp with him, followed his gaze.

A smirk curled her lips. "Oh that's ____. She's from the Eris cabin."

"Eris? As in...the Goddess of strife?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yep," Annabeth confirmed with a chuckle. "Goddess of discord and chaos."

He stared at you laughing with one of the Ares kids, passing them a bottle of water as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was hard to accept the idea of you being related to a Goddess of chaos when you seemed so gentle. "She doesn't really look it...like at all."

"You really think so? Awe thank you!"

Percy and Annabeth jumped, startled to find you standing just a few steps away with a sweet smile plastered on your face.

How you got that close without them noticing was beyond them.

You were practically beaming—a stark contrast to the usual gloom that seemed to hang around the children of Eris.

"I get that a lot ya know," you continued, rocking back on your heels as if completely unaware of the scare you caused. "If I'm honest it's probably cause of my dad. Sweetest man you could ever meet...wouldn't even guess he was a serial killer."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

The two share a quick wide-eyed glance of disbelief, clearly unsure whether to laugh or be terrified.

Before they could react you dart forward and grab Percy's hand with both of yours, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Percy Jackson!" you chirp, shaking his hand so vigorously that it left him wobbling on his feet. "Can't believe I'm finally meeting you in the flesh. The son of Poseidon! Wow. I've heard so much about you."

Percy found himself lost in the whirlwind that was you. Your energy was so sunny in comparison with the words that had just left your mouth seconds ago.

"Uh...y-yeah," he stammered trying to collect himself. "That's me."

You didn't let go of his hand right away, instead holding it just long enough to make the situation a little awkward.

"So! You really fought the God of War Ares huh? That must've been something. Although..." You leaned in a little with a head tilt as if you were sizing him up. "I was expecting more. I mean for someone who fought Ares, you look like you could barely take on a mortal bully."

Percy was caught off guard. "W-What?"

"You know with all the talk around camp I was expecting it to be a little more...epic. Then again you did the best you could. I mean, if I were facing a God I'd probably want to take the easy way out too. No shame in keeping it simple."

He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say to that?

Annabeth stifled a laugh, clearly amused at his baffled expression before looking to you.

"You're really good at that aren't you?" Her tone was light with an edge of knowing.

You give a half-shrug.

"At what? Being honest? Someone's gotta keep him humble Wise Girl. Though," your gaze slid to Annabeth with a mischievous glint, "Of all people you should know all about fight with Ares right? Oh wait—never mind. You weren't there. Shame really. Could've used the help."

Annabeth's lips twitched into a tight smirk.

"Yeah well someone had to stay behind and do the thinking." Her words were sharp and calm as if this exchange was nothing new to her. "I figured you'd be better at that considering your parentage."

Your eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Touché," you give a dramatic little bow clearly unfazed by Annabeth's quick jab.

Meanwhile Percy was still trying to wrap his head around what was happening. "Wait...what do you mean I couldn't take on a mortal bully?"

You turned back to him with a bright smile as if you hadn't just insulted him. "Oh no offense of course! It's just with all those big stories about you I was expecting someone a little more...I don't know, formidable? Then again tales exaggerate things. Kind of like when you hear all about a store's big sale, but when you get there it's just old clearance stuff that no one wanted anyway."

Percy blinked. "What?"

You pat his arm as if to console him. "It's fine really. Happens all the time. I'm sure you're...adequate."

The Jackson boy once again didn't know how to respond. Was he supposed to be offended?

It wasn't like you were directly mocking him—more like you were making him doubt himself in the weirdest way possible.

Before he could say anything, your gaze suddenly drifted over Percy's shoulder and your eyes lit up.

"Oh!" Bouncing on your heels as you focused on whatever had caught your attention you turn to the pair with a smile. "Looks like I'm needed! Well it was fun meeting you Son of Poseidon."

You give Percy a teasing salute and then turn to Annabeth with a wink. "And you and I definitely need to have another round of wits Wise Girl."

With a little wave you skip off leaving them in the dust.

For a long moment Percy and Annabeth stood there, both staring after you.

"I don't get it," Percy muttered, finally breaking the silence. "What's her deal?"

"She's from the Eris cabin," Annabeth explained with a shrug as though that summed everything up. "Being chaotic is kind of her thing."

Percy blinked. "Chaotic? She's weird. Her dad's a serial killer Annabeth."

She sheepishly rub the back of her neck. "Yeah I wasn't expecting that either. But trust me she's not dangerous. Not to us at least. She just likes stirring things up."

"Yeah but..." Percy shook his head, watching you with a deepening frown. "I don't trust her. She's too..."

"Too what?" She asks with a smirk. "Too nice?"

Percy shot her a look. "She just told me I was like a disappointing clearance sale!"

Annabeth chuckled. "Yeah that's pretty standard for her to keep people on their toes. You get used to it."

Percy frowned. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

As they spoke Percy's gaze caught sight of you now across the camp.

You were laughing with a group of Aphrodite and Artemis kids, flitting between them like you belonged everywhere.

It was weird. The way you moved so easily between groups always smiling and lighthearted—yet there was something unnerving about it.

Like you were playing some game that no one else knew about.

"Look," Percy said nodding toward you. "There she goes again."

Annabeth followed his line of sight just in time to see you lean in close to one of the Aphrodite kids, whispering something with an exaggerated gasp.

The Aphrodite kid's eyes widened and she looked at you for confirmation with shock coloring her face.

Seeing your nod, she becomes visibly shaken till the point a few of her half-siblings swarmed her trying to console her.

While they were distracted you effortlessly slid over to a nearby Artemis camper and whisper something in her ear.

The Artemis girl's face hardened instantly. Eyes darkened with fury, without hesitation she marches over to the Aphrodite camper.

Tension between them crackled as they exchanged words.

The Aphrodite camper snapped something sharp at the Artemis camper who fired back with equal heat.

Within moments the two girls were yelling and nearby campers began to picking sides.

It wasn't just about the two of them anymore—campers from both cabins were dragged into the fray.

Shoves were exchanged and even the onlookers who had initially tried to mediate were swept up in the full-blown fight.

You slipped away completely unnoticed, leaving the chaos to spread behind you as counselors rushed in to contain the fight you had so subtly instigated.

Annabeth's mouth fell open. "Did...did she just—?"

Percy nodded with an darkening expression. "I told you."

Annabeth shook her head in disbelief. "She really does live up to her mother's name doesn't she?"

Percy sighed, his gaze following you as you joined back with the Ares kids as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah," he muttered. "And I'm pretty sure she's way more dangerous than she lets on."

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

Percy couldn't shake the unsettling feeling you left in your wake.

You weren't like anyone he'd ever met at Camp Half-Blood—and that was saying something.

All day he kept noticing you; flitting between groups of campers, always smiling, always helping.

But for the Ares cabin? You didn't just help—you managed everything for them like a personal servant.

You'd bounce from one camper to the next, making sure everyone had what they needed.

A strap needed tightening on someone's armor? You were there.

Someone's sword needed fixing? Off to Hephaestus Cabin to get it repaired.

You even carried a pile of weapons over your shoulder like it was nothing, making sure every spear and sword was in pristine condition.

It was strange the way you handled things.

To everyone else you looked like a wimp. A pushover trailing after the Ares kids like a loyal dog.

Some campers even joked about it, wondering why someone as bubbly and soft as you would waste your time with them.

You didn't have the brutal intimidating energy the Ares kids were known for.

And yet despite your soft appearance and sunny attitude, they seemed to tolerate on you.

As lunchtime approached Percy found himself alone.

Annabeth was busy welcoming a new camper, leaving him to make his way to the pavilion by himself. 

Plate balanced in hand, he scans the rows of tables where campers sat in their respective groups—most sticking to their own cabins.

Though the tables around buzzed with laughter and conversation, but Percy still felt like an outsider, even after everything he'd done.

He hadn't fully found his place, not yet really.

Tearing his gaze away with a sigh the Son of Poseidon makes his way to the central hearth to make an offering.

With a portion of his meal selected Percy gets ready to offer it to his dad when—

"Hey Jackson!"

Percy nearly jumped out of his skin. You had appeared beside him, tray in hand with a grin like you'd just won the lottery.

"Uh...hey." he managed caught off guard.

You leaned forward, watching him with wide eyes as he prepared to toss the food into the hearth. "Whatcha doing?"

The Demigod glances down at the hearth then back at you. "Just uh, just giving an offering to my dad."

"Oh cool! It's sweet you do that," you replied with a grin, humming thoughtfully as you looked at the flames. "Guess I should do that too."

Percy's brows raised in curiosity as he watched you step up to the fire.

He assumed you'd pick something off your plate—maybe a small portion to toss in as an offering like everyone else did—but instead you did something that made his heart skip a beat:

You reached directly into the flames.

"Whoa wait—what are you—?!" Percy sputtered eyes widening in disbelief.

Instead of pulling your hand away with a scream of agony, you calmly pluck a half-cooked piece of [food] from the fire.

Percy's mouth dropped open in a mixture of shock and confusion plastered on his face.

"What?" You blink at him before following his gaze to the still-flaming food in your hand. "Oh there wasn't any more of my mom's favorite left at the bar. I figured I'd just grab something quick before it burned all the way through ya know?"

Percy stared at you like you were from another planet. "Your mom's favorite food?"

"Yep," you confirm with a grin. "She's a picky eater sometimes. Then again I guess Eris isn't the easiest Goddess to please."

Shrugging as though this was common knowledge, you turn the food in your hand to inspect it further. "I usually only give blessings for her. Oh and Ares too—only if he hasn't ticked me off though."

Percy's brain tried to catch up with the words you'd just said. His mouth moved, but no words came out for a second. "Wait so...you're only making offerings to Eris and Ares?"

You make a small prayer for your mom before throwing the food back into the hearth and turn to the blonde boy.

"Uh-huh! The others don't really care much for me. I mean can you blame them? No one likes messing with my mom, and by extension me. She causes too much trouble even for them." You flashed him a playful grin. "Plus, I think I'm her favorite."

He shook his head unable to wrap his mind around how nonchalant you were about everything.

"You're...impossible," Percy mumbled, his tone equal parts baffled and impressed.

"You're not the first person to say that," you teased with a wink and nudge him lightly. "Anyway, looks like you're all alone today. Mind if I join you?"

Before he could respond you were already dragging him to one of the emptier tables.

Percy was still trying to figure you out. You weren't dangerous—at least not in the way he'd expect a child of Eris to be.

But you were unsettling in your own way; friendly yet... strange, an almost too carefree energy about you.

"So," you lean forward with a bright-eyed grin, "What's your story? I mean I know the basics—son of Poseidon, fought the God of War, saved the day and all—but how's a guy like you end up doing all that?"

Percy gave you a sideways look. "You already know all that stuff. You seem to know everything that goes on around camp."

"True," you admit with a pout. "But I wanna hear it from you. Stories are way more fun that way."

He hesitated, still unsure if you were genuinely curious or just setting him up for another round of subtle digs.

But surprisingly the more you pressed, the more you managed to pull bits and pieces of his story from him.

He talked a little about his mom and how much she meant to him—though he skipped over the worst parts.

"Wow only child in both worlds huh? That's a bummer. I was an only child out in the mortal world too, but Camp Half-Blood gave me a bunch of moody gloomy brothers and sisters." You waved vaguely in the direction of the Eris table, where your half-siblings sat.

Percy followed your gaze, eyes narrowing as he observed the difference between you and the others from your cabin.

They were all starkly different from you—dark, brooding, exuding an aura of chaos just by being around.

Like storm clouds or a brewing hurricane while you were the sunshine in the middle of it all.

It didn't make sense.

"You don't really fit in with them though," Percy said, gesturing to your siblings. "You're...not like them."

You tilt your head with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "You'd be surprised. It's easier to blend in with chaos when you wear a smile. Keeps people guessing."

Satisfied with the answer Percy suddenly shifts in his seat.

His gaze dart around, unsure of how to bring up the topic that had been bugging him ever since your first meeting.

Finally he cleared his throat. "Uh...speaking of family. You mentioned your dad before. That he was...y'know..."

"A serial killer?" you finished for him, smile unfaltering.

Percy flinched at how easily the words rolled off your tongue, like it was just another quirky fact about your life.

"Yeah that."

"Oh my dad's the greatest!" you exclaimed, leaning back with a nostalgic sigh. "The sweetest man you'd ever meet—total golden retriever energy, always in pastels and soft colors. He's truly the last person you'd expect to have over two hundred bodies to his name."

Percy nearly choked on his drink. "Two hundred?!"

"The official documented count. They estimate there's more. He never really kept tabs so who knows," you add with a shrug.

The pre-teen was silent, his mind reeling as he tried to process what you'd just said. "And you...seem okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be? He was a good guy! I mean he only went after people who deserved it—kinda like Jigsaw. Strong moral compass and everything."

He purse his lips. "That's...that's not really the same thing."

"Eh. But hey, at least he stopped killing when I was born. Wanted to focus on raising me. He did start back when I turned six though." You smiled fondly as if reminiscing about happy childhood memories. "We even went on father-daughter hunting trips together. Great bonding time."

Percy's jaw dropped. "H-Hunting trips?"

"Yup! He'd teach me all about tracking, stealth, how to dispose of bodies. Said I had a natural gift for it."

He tried not to grimace at the thought of six-year-old you going on murder trips with a serial killer, a disturbingly vivid picture appearing in his mind.

"That's messed up," he blurted out unable to stop himself.

You giggled, waving it off like it was no big deal. "He got caught when I was nine. That's when I ended up in foster care."

The casual way you spoke about your past made Percy's skin crawl but he was too curious to stop listening. "Foster care?"

You poked at your food absentmindedly as you spoke. "It wasn't the best. Different homes, different people. It was toxic really: thrown bottles, yelling voices, a bruise here and there..."

Percy stiffened, the similarities between your childhood and his life with Gabe hitting a little too close to home.

Though it crashes at the sight of your dreamy expression, "...it was so chaotic. So beautiful."

"You're serious?" his voice was barely above a whisper, unsure if you were joking or genuine.

"Oh completely," you reply without missing a beat. "Chaos is unpredictable, uncontrollable. There's just something so freeing about it."

He swallowed hard feeling the gulf between how you both saw the world. What you called beautiful, he called trauma.

Not knowing how to respond to that he gives a stiff nod. "So um. W-what happened after that?"

You snapped out of your reverie and perk up again. "Oh right! So when I was around eleven I found out I was a Demigod. Arrived here and figured out who my mom was—Eris, goddess of strife and chaos, all that jazz."

A sense of relief filled him, feeling the conversation veer back to something he could at least wrap his head around. "And your dad?"

Your eyes brightened as if he'd asked the perfect question. "Well of course I started visiting him in prison once I figured out how to shadow travel."

"Wait," Percy blinked in surprise. "You visited him? Like you actually met him?"

"Yup," you said cheerfully. "I'd pop in during the night. To everyone else it just looked like he was talking to a dark corner. But I was there right beside him. Kept him company until..." Your voice trailed off but your smile didn't falter. "Well until he got the lethal injection when I turned twelve last year."

Percy stared at you, his mouth dry. "You were there?!"

"Duh. Who else was gonna be there for him? That's my dad after all...stayed with him until the very end."

A fond look appears on your face. "He even said his last words to me. Go out there and keep shaking things up sweetheart. The world's better with a little disorder..."

"Wow..." Was all Percy managed to say. He leans back in his seat as his mind reeled from everything you'd just told him. "I...uh...I'm sorry for your loss?"

You giggled, waving your hand dismissively. "Oh don't be. It's all good. He lived a full life you know? And I got to see it all."

Before either of you could continue the conversation a familiar voice cuts through the air. "____!"

Clarisse stormed over, her heavy boots thudding against the floor as she approached.

"Where have you been?!" She barked. Her scowl deepened when she saw Percy sitting across from you. "And what the Hades are you doing sitting with him?"

You simply smiled at her as if you hadn't noticed her foul mood at all.

"Just keeping Percy company," you chirped. "He looked lonely."

Clarisse huffed, her gaze sliding back to Percy with an unimpressed sneer. "Lonely huh? Poor little Seaweed Brain."

Percy bristled at the insult. He couldn't understand why you hang out with them, why they relied on you.

The question had been gnawing at him since he first noticed your strange connection with the Ares kids.

And now, with Clarisse glaring at him, he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"What's the deal with you and those Ares kids anyway? They treat you like—like you're their servant or something."

Clarisse's sneer twisted into something darker, her voice dropping low as she leaned over the table toward Percy.

"You don't know anything," she growled. "Just her mother is to our father, she's everything to us. Without her we wouldn't be able to fight the way we do. Spill blood the way we do. She makes us stronger."

The intensity in her voice caught Percy off guard.

There was a fierceness to her words, but there was also something deeper—something like reverence. Maybe even admiration.

The Ares cabin respected you, needed you in a way that went beyond simple reliance. It unsettled him.

He looked at you perplexed but you only smiled at him as if you'd heard this all before.

Sensing the tension building you gently place a hand on Clarisse's arm, your touch instantly diffusing her aggression.

"Relax Clarisse," you say with a grin. "Percy's not so bad. He's just curious."

Clarisse grumbled under her breath, clearly still annoyed but less intense now.

"Fine. Just don't take too long. You know where to find us." She glared at Percy one last time before turning on her heel and stomping away, though not before giving the Demigod one last warning glare.

You turn back to Percy with a playful glint in your eyes. "Looks like I saved just you from an ass-whooping. You owe me one."

Percy couldn't help but chuckle with a shake of his head.

"You sure are a wild one," his words slipped out before he could stop them.

"Wild....?" The word roll off your tongue. Your smirk darkened ever so slightly as if those words triggered something in you. 

Percy's brows furrowed unsure what you meant, but before he could ask, you raise your hand.

Dark inky smoke began to twist and curl from your palm, snaking around your fingers like living shadows.

The air seemed to thicken with energy and Percy could only watch transfixed as the smoke condensed into a solid shape—a golden apple.

It seemed to shimmer with a strange otherworldly light, pulse softly as though it had a heartbeat of its own.

Percy's breath hitched. There was something mesmerizing about it but also deeply unsettling.

He knew enough about myths to recognize what this was: The Apple of Discord.

"Wha—" Percy began, but the words died on his lips as you twirled your hand with an elegant flick of your wrist and the apple morphed.

In its place appeared a sleek new phone and a vape pen, both gleaming as though they had just been pulled out of a store display.

Percy barely had time to process what was happening before you casually tossed the objects a short distance from the table and stood up.

"Hey look!" you called out loud enough to catch the attention of the surrounding campers. "The newest [phone model] and a [flavored] vape from the mortal world!"

Heads snapped in your direction, eyes widening as campers spotted the coveted objects lying on the ground.

In an instant the entire dining pavilion erupted into chaos.

Campers lunged for the phone and vape, shoving and pushing each other out of the way desperate to claim the prize.

Voices rose, chairs screeched across the floor, and fists flew as they scramble for the items intensified.

Percy could only sit there watching in stunned disbelief as the scene unfolded around him.

Campers who had been peacefully eating moments before were now engaged in full-on brawls all over a phone and a vape.

It was like a bomb had gone off and you had lit the fuse.

From across the way, Clarisse and the Ares kids along with your half-siblings, watched the chaos unfold with bored amusement.

They barely paid attention as they continued eating, as if this kind of spectacle was a routine occurrence. It probably was.

You calmly sit back down in your seat with a soft giddy sigh as if you had just finished a particularly satisfying task.

You didn't even glance at the chaos you'd caused, your focus entirely on your food as you took a slow bite.

"Wild you say...?"

A pale-faced Percy turned to look at you. The sheer ease in which you'd thrown the entire pavilion into disorder left him speechless.

Florida. They 100% think they’re going to Florida and it was a cherry on top for the news Vincent was about to reveal. He wasn’t sure how they were going to take it, other than the predictable disappointment they weren't going to Disney,

Should he just market it as a regular summer camp? He considered it but he didn’t want to leave them in the dark. Honesty and finally revealing the secrets he’s held onto felt like the only way to do it.

“I call shotgun!” You shout. You knew well enough that claiming your dibs meant nothing to Atticus. As you expected, his footsteps quicken but he fails to outrun you. As your hand reaches the door handle first, Atticus whines something unintelligible. “Neither of you are sitting in the front,” Vincent declares sternly, wiping your look of victory straight off your face. 

“What?” Your father doesn’t respond right away, shutting the truck closed. “Why?” 

“Because then you’ll argue about it the whole way. Just sit in the back together.” 

He doesn’t react to your scrunched face, making it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. It was a little selfish but you and Atticus arguing wasn’t the only reason he wanted you to sit in the back. He read somewhere it’s easier to be confrontational when you aren’t looking at the person. To do what he needs to do tonight, he’ll take any advice; even if it’s from Psychology Daily. “No fair,” you grumble as you slide into the backseat, Atticus moves in behind you with his own teasing smile. 

Vincent settles in the driver's seat and glances in the rearview to make sure your seatbelts on. “Alright kids,” he begins, switching the gear shift. The pedal feels heavy under his feet, and his knuckles tighten around the wheel. “Here we go.” “Where are we going, actually?” Atticus asks, sitting up in his seat. “You haven’t said.” “Somewhere,” Vincent answers vaguely. You and Atticus exchange a look, the corners of your lips turned upwards. It must be a surprise, and surprises are always good, you concluded. There couldn’t be any other reason for his ambiguity. 

“How long until we get ‘Somewhere’?” “About 2 hours.” 

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Okay, so definitely not Disney. Little bit of a bummer but anywhere you go with your dad is always fun. 

Atticus meets your gaze, your brains recalculating every place you’ve been to that might take that long. 

“Are we going to Rhode Island again?” You guessed. 

“No.” “Atlantic City?” Atticus chimes in. “No.” “Are we leaving the state?” “No.” 

You and Atticus sit back in your seats in defeat, pondering in silence. Vincent gulps hard. You two were never patient for answers. Or patient for really anything. His vision falters from the road, the silence in the car is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. 

The radio.  

Suddenly reminded of the tool's existence, his fingers, almost frantic, feel around for the button. He doesn’t care what he ends up listening to as long as something plays. Turning the dial, he skims through stations and settles on the first one that runs clear of static. 

NSYNC’s “Bye, Bye, Bye” plays through the speakers and it rips through your train of thought. Atticus catches you side eyeing him with a wicked grin. Your brother was never one for pop songs and his instant dread brought you satisfaction. 

“Don't want to be a fool for you. Just another player in your game for two!” You sing, scooting closer to the boy despite Atticus’s physical attempts to keep the distance. 

“Stop!” 

You sit back in your seat, quiet for a moment. Seemingly done with your torment, your brother settles down. The moment he turns to look out the window, your mischievous smirk returns. “Might sound crazy but it ain't no lie! Baby, BYE BYE BYE!” “STOP!” 

“Y/n, please,” Vincent groans and you press your lips together hard in an effort not to laugh. 

“Sorry,” you apologize to your dad and abide by his wishes only.

Checking in the rear view mirror, Vincent catches you quietly whispering the words to the pop songs that play back to back and Atticus occupied on his game boy. Unaware of how long it will take before you are interrogating him again, he takes the time to plan out what he was going to say. Soon, he found out no matter how he worded it, he knew he’d sound insane. 

Your mother is a goddess and I’m taking you to a special camp with other demigods. 

That’s ridiculous…

Vincent considers perhaps it wouldn’t be so farfetched. You and Atticus are aware you have abilities other kids don’t. Hearing and seeing spirits was one, the disastrous consequences of your anger was another. Cordelia ruled it out to be a sort of telekinesis. Especially after realizing, you and Atticus had a habit of stealing cookies from the table by willing them to fly towards you. 

Plenty of times Vincent told you not to use your powers outside of home and to not tell people about the spirits you vividly have encounters with. 

Still, it all felt too much. Having abilities and being told you’re half god was on very different ends of the supernatural spectrum. 

The signs greeting him to Long Island came earlier than he expected. Vincent knew he had to tell them, rip the bandaid now. He can reveal the news, stop at a gas station to fill the tank and leave them alone to digest everything. The method of telling them they’re going to a summer camp and leaving them to figure everything out felt like the easiest option but it didn’t feel right. The twins deserved to hear the news from their father and no one else. Before he can back out, he turns the dial for the radio volume. 

“I have to talk to you guys about something.” Vincent fights the quiver in his throat, his eyes set on the road. 

“Are we in trouble?” Atticus asks. 

“No, you’re not in trouble. I just have a few things to tell you.” 

Vincent shifts in his seat from the silence, his twins waiting for him to continue. “For a long time, you both have had questions about who your mother is.” 

If your father didn’t have your full attention a second ago, he definitely had it now. Your mom, were you finally going to meet her? The day you exchange your first words with her, suddenly it felt closer than you thought.

Vincent sighs shakily. “Grandma always tells you that your gifts are because of her.” “She was a witch like grandma. A powerful one,” you chime in, and Vincent nods slowly. “Your mother isn’t just a witch though, She…” 

Atticus exchanges a look with you before his eyes return to the side of your father’s face. 

“She is a goddess.” 

That was the last thing you expected. The silence that followed was deafening. Vincent felt silly, as if he was telling a lie.

“Dad, are you okay?” Atticus asks half jokingly. Surely, your father was playing a prank on you. Your mother being a goddess? Impossible. 

“You're playing a prank on us,” you accuse and your father shakes his head before you can finish. 

“I am not joking. This is serious.” 

Slowly, you sit back in your seat. The tone of your father, the sternness of his face didn’t look like he was kidding. It confused you even more. 

“I’m taking you two to a summer camp where there are kids like you. They have powers, and godly parents and you’ll learn everything you need to know as demigods.” “Who’s our mother?” Vincent shifts in his seat, his eyes flickering at the rear view and his heart sinks when they immediately meet yours. At times, he catches a glimpse of your mother in your face. Every time he catches it, it strikes too many emotions in his chest. Grief, pride, longing, were only a few he could name. Right now, it makes him nervous.

“Lady Hecate.” 

“How is this possible?” You whisper to yourself but loud enough to be heard. Vincent swallows hard but it does nothing to ease the rock in his throat. “When you study to be a professor, you have to write a really long presentation on an original concept in your major.” 

His fingers adjust on the wheel. “I was having a hard time coming up with a topic. So much so, I had considered leaving school. Grandma knew and she prayed to Hecate as her patron to help me. I didn’t know it was her at the time but at a presentation I was doing for an academic convention, I had seen her in the crowd and I fell in love with her.” 

Your father took a pause. It was as if it was too painful to recall the memory. Plenty of times you’ve heard this story but never from his mouth. It was always told from a third person, that person being your grandmother. Clearly, she failed to mention the goddess part. 

“She introduced herself to me as Florence. She told me she transferred from another school and was my new colleague. We studied together and we became very close friends. She helped me a lot and led me to my dissertation topic. Once I had everything ready to put together, she left. Her errand was complete.

I didn’t know she was going to leave. The night I began working on the project, it was halloween. Grandma heard a knock on the door and she found you two in golden cradles at the doorstep. Your mother had left you two with me as a gift, to commemorate the love we had for each other. She didn’t want to leave but she couldn’t stay. There are rules the gods have to obey when it comes to humans, one of them was she could not raise you like a normal mother.” Dad got dumped badly. 

Hearing the story from him for the first time left you dumbstruck. Years of wondering why your father avoids talking about your mother suddenly made sense. Now every assumption you made about her, you had to reformulate. A goddess mother? That wasn’t even on your list of possibilities. 

Your mouth opens to say something but your father cuts in. “It is a lot to process, I know. It seems unbelievable but this is very serious. Because of who your mother is, you guys are different from other people. You have powers and bad things like monsters and entities gravitate towards you. Remember how Grandma always has to cleanse the house because you two get nightmares or scary things happen?” He catches your nods through the rear view. “The reason that happens is because you two are demigods. Your auras and scents are different from regular mortals.” 

Atticus nods his head slowly. “This feels like I’m in a superhero movie.” 

Your brother's awestruck expression makes your father chuckle. It felt nice; the comedic timing allowed Vincent to lower his tense shoulders, just a bit. “You two remember the stories I used to read to you at bedtime, right?” 

“The ones about Hercules, and Jason?” “And Odysseus, Achilles too?” 

“Yes. From those stories, you know being a demigod is a hard life but I know you guys are strong. I know that you two will be okay and do extraordinary things. At this camp, you will be safe and you’ll train to use your powers and abilities. I wanted to spend one last summer with you but grandma and I decided it was time for you to go there.” 

“It’s just for the summer, right?” You ask nervously.

“Yes, only for the summer. I know Grandma will protest but if you wish for me to pick you guys up for any reason, I will.” Vincent smiles sadly at you before his focus returns to the road and he pulls into a gas station right off the exit. “I am going to stop here for gas and then we’re going straight there. Any snacks?” “Oreos!” Atticus jumps in and a small smile spreads across your face. “I want Oreos too.” “Copycat.” “Shut up.” 

A huff of laughter leaves your father. “Oreos, got it,” he says and the moment he closes the car door behind him, you and Atticus whip your gazes at each other. “Do you think it’s true? Or is dad losing it?” Atticus’s eyes are filled with every emotion under the sun. He was excited but also nervous. Concerned but ready for the reality he was about to accept. 

“I don’t know. It sounds crazy but he looked serious.” Atticus nods in agreement. He never pegged his dad to be an actor so he couldn’t even begin to deny what he said was untrue. 

“That’s so cool!” Atticus shouts, his voice too loud for the confined space you’re in.

“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” The laugh that bubbles in your throat is cut off by a gasp. Unexpectedly, you slide toward him, the buckle of the seat belt digging in your hip.“What?” you mutter to yourself, a sense of urgency filling your chest as Atticus yelps. “A cyclops!” 

“Cyclops?” You quickly follow your brother's gaze and sure enough, there it was. A tall statue beams over the window on your side, shaking the car frantically and roaring in determination. Frozen in your spot, you blink a few times, your brain barely processing the monster you’ve only heard about in stories. 

You simply watched, leaving your brother frantically trying to find a way out of the situation. One eye catches your gaze after its attempts at shaking you out of the car fail. There’s a furrow of a single eyebrow, a pause of thought and you jerk back hard as its soccer ball size fist starts banging on the window. 

You find some instinct to slide away, watching the cracks slowly spread like spiderwebs. Then suddenly, there is a loud crash of glass followed by a muffled call of your name under a deafening roar. Atticus grabs you by your collar, hauling you out from the other side of the car like a limp doll. Barely out of your trance, your shaky legs move to keep up with your brother. 

There aren’t many options where you could go, running down the massive road would leave you to deal with a monster and cars. Desperate to lose the monster, you decide the hill into the woods was your best option. 

“The woods,” you choke out through your panting and Atticus doesn’t argue, running straight ahead with a grip on your hand so tight your fingers are turning white. 

“ATTICUS? Y/N!” Goosebumps riddle your body, your ears tingling at the sound of your father’s voice. The desperation, the scratch of his yell made your eyes prickle with grief. You didn’t dare look back, refusing to see the look on his face. It won’t hurt him, you rationalized. It’s trying to hurt us because of our scent. 

As much as you wanted to make a u-turn straight to your father, the thumping footsteps of the cyclops were too close. You knew you had to get away first, then you can worry about making your way back to your dad. 

Atticus leaps over a log, twists and turns through trees. As much as you wanted to free your hand from his violent grip, you didn’t want to risk losing him. Crashes of thin trees being mowed down by the monster and its frustrated growls start to sound faint in the distance. 

Your heavy pants made your lungs hurt and just as you thought you were out of any line of danger, a boulder speeds right past you and crashes into the trees ahead. 

Atticus gasps, his other hand patting the pocket of his jeans, “We’re not going to lose him,” he says, his tone frantic. “He’ll knock us down before we’re able to.” 

Before you can ask what you should do, Atticus makes a sharp turn to the right treading off course. “If we can get far enough, I can try to blind him,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. “With what?” Your question is cut off by the desperate hitching of your breath. Atticus doesn’t say anything, turning and flashing a quick smile at you which is the last thing you expected. He raises his slingshot in the air and you scoff. “Dad told you not to bring it!” “Well, it’s a good thing I did anyway. C’mon!” Atticus picks up his speed and you sigh in relief as you come upon a flat patch of land with rocks big enough to hide behind.

Taking cover behind a boulder, the cyclops missed the sight of you by a second. His shout of anger echoes through the stillness as he realizes he’s lost the two of you but in his persistence he sniffs around, trying to catch the familiar demi-god scent once again. 

This doesn’t even feel real, you think to yourself, fully expecting to be woken up by your alarm clock for school any minute now. Beside you, Atticus ruffles the ground, trying to find a rock big enough to cause damage but not big enough to compromise the distance he needs.

“Whatever rock you’re looking for, you need to find it now,” you whisper frantically as the monster’s vision snaps in your direction. A gasp leaves your lips, back pressed against the boulder in panic and as you turn to your brother, he practically shoves a baseball size stone in your face. He beams proudly and hops up into view. “Alright, big guy,” he shouts.

Your eyes widen. “What are you-?” “Come at me!” “By the gods, you better not miss,” you whisper sharply and he chuckles in response. Cringing at the sound of the cyclops stomping towards you, there is a stretch of Atticus’s sling. Strategically, he adjusts his direction, one eye in focus as he aims right for the monster’s eye. “Get ready to run,” Atticus warns, barely giving you time as he gages on the right moment and releases his hold on the sling. There’s a quick rush of air and a cry of agony follows afterwards. “NOW!” 

You hop up, grasping your brother’s hand once again. “Did you-?” “Hell yeah, I did,” Atticus shouts proudly and an excited cackle leaves his lips. You were amazed at Atticus’s enthusiasm at this moment. You were scared out of your mind but to Atticus, this was a video game in real time. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to lose the enraged monster behind. Blindly, it throws whatever he can get his hands hoping to knock one of you down but alas, he was unsuccessful. For a while, you hear his raging and as the sounds grew distant, you eventually heard nothing but the cicadas. 

“What do we do now?” You ask, Atticus perched on a rock to keep his sights on the vast forest. You’ve been running for so long, the possibility of finding the road again without running into something else would be slim. 

“I don’t know.” His voice is filled with fatigue and shaky with anxiety. Atticus only had a slingshot, not a compass; it wasn’t even a question if the two of you were lost. Sitting on the dirt, you sigh softly trying to think of a plan. 

You could keep walking until you find a road. At some point, you and Atticus would stumble upon something but who knows how long that would take you and how many monsters will be in your path. Shifting in your seat, you do the only thing you could do comfortably in this moment. 

Pray. 

Lady Hecate is your mother, after all. Cordelia was always adamant she would be there for you whenever you needed her. 

“Hekate, dark mother, keeper of the keys to the door between worlds; Hekate, lovely dame of earthly, watery and celestial frame; Mighty Hekate, mother of all witches, please assist my brother and I back to safety. Help us find dad or this camp we’re supposed to go to, please. Hear my voice, know my gratitude, Hail Hekate.” The prayer leaves you pleadingly and your brother’s fingers interlaced with yours as he repeats the prayer himself. 

For a second, there was nothing. You looked up for a sign, something different from the chirps of insects and the sounds of the wind rustling in the trees. As time passed, you begged in your mind for help or even a strike of intuition. Just as you were inching toward defeat, there’s a snap of a twig and a white iridescent glow appears further ahead. 

Immediately, you stand up but Atticus grabs on your calf. “It could be something dangerous,” he points out and you frown. 

“Or it could help us.” 

The feeling in your gut was telling you it was from your mother. Slowly, you inch closer, the dark outline amongst the iridescent glow becoming more pronounced. Atticus hovers behind you, ready to take off if this thing charges at you but soon he also notices a snout and the proud statue of a well trained dog. 

The both of you jump in surprise when it barks, but it didn’t feel malicious. Quickly, the hound turns on its heels and gallops away. At first, you didn’t move but when it halted and stared, you realized you should follow. “Should we go?” “It’s Hecate’s sacred animal, it has to be safe,” you say, your legs taking you toward it. There’s a short huff before the hound continues its way through the forest and you and Atticus follow as best as you can while also keeping your eye out for any more monsters.

“Where do you think it’s taking us?” Atticus whispers. 

“Probably to the camp. I don’t think this is the direction we came from.”

Your brother nods, his hand becoming sweaty in your grasp despite the cool air. The nervousness coming off of him was adding to your own feelings, suffocating you.

“You know, what you did back there was really cool.” At the compliment you can feel Atticus’s anxiety begin to lessen. A small smile forms on your lips as he gleams with pride. “All those times of me flinging golf balls at your forehead paid off, didn’t it?” Atticus chuckles at your side eye. “I guess some good came out of you tormenting me,” you mutter in playful defeat. 

Before Atticus could tease you anymore, the hound ahead of you begins to growl. At first, you thought it was toward you but as you look further into the trees, you catch the hoard of cyclops coming from the right side of the forest. “You two blinded my brother?!” 

The gravel in his voice makes goosebumps form all over your skin. Atticus slowly moves towards the dog and he chuckles nervously. “No, I think you have the wrong people.” “I don’t think I do,” the cyclops responds and suddenly, he and his four other friends are charging at you, yelling threats that definitely aren’t empty. A yelp leaves your lips, you and Atticus hauling yourselves along the trees once again. 

“Um, could you slow down!” You shout at the dog much too far ahead and you swear it rolled its eyes and mumbled something when it halted. You ignore the sass coming from the canine, just happy it waited for you and your brother before continuing its route. Atticus tries his best to sling over rocks and twigs while he was far enough to stop but it did nothing but anger the cyclops.

With quick thinking, your hand reaches out, your sights focused on a decent size log ahead. You’ve made plenty of things fly with your will alone, a log couldn’t be much different. As the log ascends from the ground quickly, you visualize it shooting back and slamming into the gut of the leader. You didn’t think it would work but then you heard a groan and a thump as if someone fell.

“Nice!” Atticus chuckles before the hound barks frantically ahead. Returning your sights forward, you notice a post and a giant sign over an archway reading: CAMP HALF-BLOOD. “We’re almost there!” You shout in relief before you scream at the arrow passing right by your face. 

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“ALERT! Potential threat sighted!” Annabeth calls, binoculars pressed on her face. She squints, a dog and two kids her age running full force in the direction of the gates but that didn't interest her. Her main concern was the gang of cyclops’ hot on your heels. 

“CYCLOPS’ APPROACHING! BE READY TO ATTACK!” 

Annabeth hears the rustling of her postmates and bow's stretching as the archers line up beside her. Amongst the growing seriousness of the situation, she suddenly hears a giggle. The sound is so misplaced, Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. Removing the binoculars from her face, she finds Silena nudging Beckendorf's shoulder playfully. “Beckendorf, Silena, stop flirting!” Annabeth commands and Silena finds only amusement at the younger girl's orders.

As unserious as the twelve year old looked, Silena and Beckdenorf quickly straightened their postures, “Yes ma’am!” They shout and turn to the scene ahead right as the cyclops roared. “FIRE!” Annabeth shouts and just like that there’s a whizz of arrows flying right into the cyclops with great accuracy. One by one, the cyclops fell to the ground like flies. A smirk of satisfaction appears on Annabeth’s lips, as her archers cheer in success. 

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“Do you think they’ll shoot at us too?” Atticus asks nervously and you look up at the small people perched up on the post, waiting expectantly for your arrival to the gates. 

“I hope not,” you pant, hand coming to your chest as if it would help relieve the burn. Once the monsters were taken down, the hound began to slow down and you and Atticus followed. You were grateful the chase was over but your destination made you nervous. 

“HEY!” A girl’s call catches your attention. She stands at the foot of the entrance, her hand waving around wide for you to see. Unsure if it was safe, you double checked with the hound but it was gone. His errand was done, you realize. Hesitantly, you wave back, following Atticus as he jogs over to the girl. A boy appears on her side, much bigger in stature and much more intimidating-looking but the warm look on his face tells you you shouldn’t be scared. 

With a welcoming smile, the girl with pretty blue eyes and long dark hair cascading over her shoulders nods proudly. 

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. You made it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you shut the door to your cabin, trying to escape the eyes of your siblings. "He likes you," Austin says. "Like, a lot." "No, he doesn't," you retort. "Connor does that all the time with everyone. He's not being serious." "So, when he's wrapping an arm around you at the beach, that's not serious?" Kayla snorts. "I knew you weren't the brightest bulb in the box, but my gods, y/n, come on." You throw your bow and quiver of arrows onto your bunk. "Again, he does that with everyone." "What about the compliments he constantly gives you?" Austin asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Hmm? He constantly goes out of his way to compliment you and, I don't know about Kayla, but I've not seen or heard him compliment too many people before." "He's my best friend," you say. "Of course he's going to compliment me every now and then, just like I do him -" "You have pretty eyes, y/n, mind if I stare into them for a while longer?" Kayla says, deepening her voice to match Connor's. "Like, come on, how is that not flirting?" You huff. "He's been like this with me for ages. I'm sure if he had feelings for me he would've done something by now." "Do you like him?" Austin asks, shifting his weight. "In what way?" "Are you serious? Like like, y/n!" You roll your eyes again. "Sure, I do, but he definitely doesn't. Connor's just the kind of guy to flirt with everyone for the sport. Trust me, being his best friend for years helps you get information like that." Kayla looks away from you to the door of the cabin. "Speaking of..." You turn to the door just in time to see Connor open it, grinning. "Hey, Sunshine," he says. "You coming to the beach? Sun's about to set and I'd hate to watch it on my own again." You smile. "Yeah, I'll just be a minute." "Gotcha." Then, the son of Hermes disappears behind the door. You look back to Kayla and Austin, graced by the sight of the former making kissing faces and the latter mocking you. "Shut up," you say. "I'll be back in time for the dinner bell." "Don't get up to too much out there," Austin calls as you begin to leave. "He calls you Sunshine, for Hera's sake! That's flirting!" Your face grows hot. Your siblings, if possible, are worse than Connor when it comes to this stuff. When you reach the beach, Connor has already set up your blanket and whipped out two cans of Coke that he must have smuggled in. He lays over the blanket, his head in the sand, eyes closed as the waves wash over his feet. You nudge him with your foot. "I'm here, Mr Thief." "You need a better nickname for me, Sunshine." That's true. You doubt Mr Thief sends any reaction through him like Sunshine does for you. You situate yourself down on the patterned blanket beside your best friend, lacing your hands through the grains of soft golden sand. The sun is setting over the Long Island Sound, shining like molten gold over the rippling blue water. You smile and wave at the sun as it dips, imagining your father waving back at you. "You do that every single night without fail," Connor notes. "It still confuses me, no matter how many times you tell me why you do it." You roll your eyes. "You're just jealous that my dad pays more attention to me than yours does you." Connor smiles. "You've got me there, Sunshine. I'm oh-so jealous." You smile. You've met your father - godly father, that is - on countless occasions, but Connor hasn't had that same opportunity. Well, he has once, but that was when the safety of Manhattan and Olympus was at risk. Routinely, Connor wraps an arm around your shoulders, shifting over the smallest bit towards you. You try not to stiffen, scared he'll remove his arm. That's the opposite of what you want. Maybe Kayla and Austin are right... "You're awfully quiet today," Connor says. "And I have to say I'm finding it fairly enjoyable." You scoff and nudge him in the stomach with your elbow. "Trust me, my day was so much better without your scrawny self jutting in every two minutes." Connor laughs, squeezing you to his chest for a moment before releasing. Your face feels hot