#royallyseagreen

The clang of celestial bronze echoed through Camp Half-Blood’s training arena like the soundtrack to your rivalry. You hated this sound. Or rather, you hated what it represented: another stupid sparring match with Percy Jackson.

The son of Poseidon stood across from you, his sword Riptide at the ready, sea-green eyes twinkling with that insufferable confidence. It wasn’t the kind of confidence born of arrogance—it was worse. It was the kind that came from knowing he was good at what he did, and that he could get under your skin with a few well-placed words.

"Ready to lose again, Lucky?" Percy called out, twirling his sword like this was all a game.

You gritted your teeth, gripping your celestial bronze dagger tighter. "I don’t lose to fish, Jackson."

"Fish? That’s the best you’ve got?" he teased, taking a step closer. His smirk grew wider—too wide.

You lunged forward without thinking, your blade slicing through the air in a clean arc. Percy dodged with a precision that made your stomach churn, effortlessly sidestepping your attack like it was child’s play.

"Careful," he said, his voice low and teasing as he brought Riptide down toward you. You barely blocked it in time, the force of his strike sending sparks flying between your weapons. "Wouldn’t want to lose your temper."

"Wouldn’t want to lose your teeth," you shot back, shoving him off with all your strength.

He stumbled back a step, laughing. "You always say that, but you’ve yet to follow through. Maybe you’re losing your edge, Lucky."

Your blood boiled at the nickname—Lucky. It was his favorite way to needle you, a constant reminder of your mother, Tyche, the goddess of fortune. Percy had started calling you that when you first arrived at camp, and it hadn’t taken long for the nickname to spread. At first, it had been a taunt, a way to undermine all the hard work you put into training by chalking it up to "luck." Even now, after months of proving yourself, he still used it.

The worst part? You didn’t hate it as much as you used to.

"Luck has nothing to do with this," you growled, rushing at him again. This time, you feinted left before pivoting and slashing toward his right.

For a split second, Percy’s smirk faltered. He tried to block, but you were too fast. Your blade grazed his arm, leaving a shallow cut in its wake.

"Ha!" you exclaimed, a triumphant grin spreading across your face.

Percy glanced at the cut, then back at you. "Not bad," he admitted, his smirk returning. "But you’re gonna regret that."

Before you could react, he was on you, his movements a blur as he launched a series of attacks. You parried the first few, but his speed was overwhelming, and you soon found yourself on the defensive.

"Getting tired?" Percy asked, his voice irritatingly calm as he pressed his advantage.

"Not even close," you lied, sweat dripping down your temple.

He swung Riptide in a wide arc, and you barely dodged in time, rolling to the side to avoid the strike. When you came to your feet, you were panting, your muscles burning with exhaustion.

Percy, meanwhile, looked annoyingly unbothered. He stood a few feet away, his sword at his side, studying you with an expression that was almost… amused.

"Why are you smiling?" you snapped, irritation flaring in your chest.

"Because this is fun," he said simply.

"Fun?" you repeated, incredulous. "You think this is fun?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, you’re one of the only people who can actually keep up with me."

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Then you shook your head, scowling. "Save the flattery, Jackson. It won’t work on me."

"Who said I was flattering you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I’m just being honest."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Percy was moving again. This time, his strikes came slower, more deliberate, as if he was testing you. You met each one with equal determination, refusing to let him gain the upper hand.

The fight dragged on, the sounds of your clashing weapons drawing the attention of other campers. A small crowd began to gather around the arena, their murmurs adding to the tension in the air.

"Come on!" someone shouted.

"Don’t let them win, Percy!" another voice chimed in.

You ignored them, your focus locked on Percy. He was watching you closely, his expression unreadable.

"You don’t quit, do you?" he muttered, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Not when it comes to you," you replied, your tone sharp.

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—something that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to think about.

"Good," he said softly. "I’d be disappointed if you did."

The words caught you off guard, and in that split second of hesitation, Percy struck. His sword swept your dagger clean out of your hand, sending it clattering to the ground. Before you could react, he hooked his foot behind your ankle and swept your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you.

Percy was on you in an instant, pinning you down with Riptide pressed lightly against your throat. His face hovered just above yours, his expression triumphant.

"Looks like I win," he said, his voice annoyingly smug.

You glared up at him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "You’re insufferable," you muttered.

"And you’re stubborn," he countered, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like a smile.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely heard them. All you could focus on was Percy—the way his hair was falling into his eyes, the way his face was so close to yours, the way his smirk made your heart do stupid, traitorous things.

You hated him.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

"Get off me," you said, shoving at his chest.

To your surprise, he actually listened, stepping back and offering you a hand.

You hesitated for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet.

"Good fight," he said, his tone surprisingly genuine.

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t teasing you. He was just… looking at you, his gaze steady and unwavering.

It made you uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well," you said, brushing dirt off your clothes. "Don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m winning."

Percy chuckled, the sound warm and disarming. "We’ll see about that, Lucky."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the tiny smile that crept onto your face.

As the crowd began to disperse, Percy fell into step beside you, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "You’re not as bad as you pretend to be."

You glanced at him, frowning. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just that…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time, he looked almost nervous. "I don’t know. I guess I kind of like sparring with you."

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. "Are you feeling okay? Did you hit your head or something?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "I’m serious. I mean, yeah, you drive me crazy sometimes, but… it’s not all bad."

You didn’t know what to say to that. For months, you’d thought he hated you. You’d convinced yourself that the constant teasing and bickering meant he couldn’t stand you. But now… now you weren’t so sure.

"Truce?" Percy asked, holding out his hand.

You stared at it for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. Truce."

You shook his hand, and for a moment, you thought you felt sparks.

The campfire crackled in the center of the group, sending sparks into the twilight sky. The circle of campers was unusually rowdy tonight, laughter and shouts bouncing off the trees as the game of Truth or Dare spiraled further into chaos. Percy sat with his arms crossed, half-watching the others as he tried to pretend he wasn't completely over it. He didn’t even know why he’d agreed to this in the first place—probably because Annabeth had dragged him here, muttering something about “team bonding.”

But now? Now, Percy was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Especially because he was here.

Kieran sat on the opposite side of the circle, leaning back on his elbows with that stupidly calm, aloof expression he always wore. Percy hated that look. It was like Kieran thought he was better than everyone else, like he couldn’t be bothered to care about anything or anyone. Ever since their falling out a few months ago, Kieran had made it his mission to get under Percy’s skin at every opportunity. And, okay, maybe Percy wasn’t exactly innocent in that department either, but still—it was his fault they weren’t friends anymore.

“Percy, you’re up!” Someone’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing everyone was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

The camper to his left, a smug-looking son of Hermes, grinned at him. “Truth or dare?”

Percy hesitated. “Uh… truth?”

A chorus of groans erupted around the circle. “Boring!” one of the Ares kids shouted.

“Fine, fine!” Percy said, throwing up his hands. “Dare, then. Whatever.”

The group immediately perked up, the campers exchanging mischievous glances. Percy’s stomach sank. He could already tell this wasn’t going to end well.

“I’ve got one,” said one of the Nemesis kids, a boy named Ethan who always seemed to be in the middle of whatever chaos was happening at camp. He leaned forward, his grin practically splitting his face. “I dare you to kiss Kieran.”

The circle went completely silent.

Percy froze, his brain short-circuiting as the words registered. “You—what?”

“You heard me,” Ethan said, his grin widening. “Kiss Kieran.”

Percy’s face went red-hot, and he could feel the weight of everyone’s stares. He turned to glare at Ethan. “Are you serious right now?”

Ethan shrugged, looking way too pleased with himself. “What? It’s just a dare. You can’t back out, or you’ll lose.”

Percy’s fists clenched. He wasn’t about to lose some dumb game, but—seriously? Out of all the dares in the world, it had to be this?

He glanced at Kieran, who was sitting up now, his blue eyes narrowing as he stared across the circle. Percy couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, embarrassed, or just bored, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks that made him look… different. Not that Percy cared. At all.

“This is stupid,” Percy muttered, shaking his head. “Pick something else.”

“You can’t chicken out, Jackson,” Ethan said, his tone mocking. “Unless you want to admit you’re scared.”

Percy’s jaw tightened. “I’m not scared.”

“Then do it.”

For a moment, Percy considered storming off and leaving the game entirely. But then he caught sight of Kieran’s expression—a mix of disbelief and defiance, like he didn’t think Percy would actually go through with it. And that? That made Percy’s blood boil.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, standing up. “I’ll do it.”

The campers erupted into cheers and laughter, and Percy ignored them as he made his way around the circle toward Kieran. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he told himself it was just because he was annoyed. Not because he was nervous. Definitely not.

Kieran raised an eyebrow as Percy stopped in front of him, his arms crossed. “You don’t have to,” Kieran said, his voice low enough that only Percy could hear.

Percy glared at him. “I know I don’t have to. But I’m not gonna let them think I’m scared.”

Kieran gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Percy hesitated for half a second—just long enough to silently curse Ethan and everyone else in this stupid game—before leaning down and pressing a quick, awkward kiss to Kieran’s cheek.

It was over in less than a second, but it felt like a lifetime. Percy straightened up immediately, his face burning as he avoided Kieran’s gaze. The circle of campers erupted into cheers and catcalls, and Percy wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground.

“There,” he said, his voice tight. “Happy now?”

“Wow,” Ethan drawled, his grin widening. “That’s the best you can do? A little peck on the cheek? That’s so lame, Jackson.”

“Yeah, what are you, a chicken?” one of the Ares kids jeered, flapping his arms like wings. “Bawk, bawk!”

Percy’s face went even redder, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He glanced at Kieran, half-expecting him to look smug or amused, but Kieran’s expression was just as calm as ever. If anything, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe? Or was it disappointment?

That was it. Percy could take a lot of things, but he wasn’t going to let anyone call him a coward. If they wanted a show, fine. He’d give them a show.

Without giving himself time to second-guess, Percy turned back to Kieran, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him full on the mouth.

The circle went completely, utterly silent. Even the crackling of the fire seemed to fade as Percy pulled back, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it. Kieran stared up at him, his blue eyes wide and uncharacteristically stunned.

“There,” Percy said, his voice tight. “Is that good enough for you?”

The circle erupted into chaos—laughter, whistles, shouts of disbelief. Percy didn’t care. He stood up straight, letting go of Kieran’s shirt, and turned on his heel, stalking back to his spot without looking back.

As he sat down, arms crossed and face still burning, Annabeth leaned over from her spot next to him, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“What the Hades was that?” she whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Percy muttered, glaring at the fire.

Across the circle, Kieran was still sitting where Percy had left him, his fingers loosely brushing the front of his shirt like he was trying to process what had just happened. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a single snarky comment, which was probably the weirdest part of all. He just looked… thoughtful. Like he didn’t know how to feel.

Percy didn’t know how to feel, either. He told himself it was just a dare, just a way to shut everyone up. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

But the look on Kieran’s face as he stared silently into the fire made Percy wonder if maybe it did.

—

It wasn’t often that Percy found himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t understand, but tonight was one of those nights. The campfire was crackling as usual, the campers sprawled across logs and blankets, but instead of the usual gossip or ridiculous dares, someone—specifically Malcolm from the Athena cabin—had decided it was the perfect time to dive into a lecture about physics.

“Gravity,” Malcolm was saying, gesturing dramatically as he spoke, “isn’t just about keeping us on the ground. It’s also about attraction. Every object in the universe is attracted to every other object. It’s just that the bigger the mass, the stronger the pull.”

Percy blinked, resting his chin on his hand as he tried to keep up. “So, like… the Earth is pulling on me, but I’m also pulling on the Earth?”

Malcolm nodded, clearly delighted that someone was paying attention. “Exactly! And not just the Earth. You’re pulling on everyone around you, too. We’re all constantly attracting each other.”

“That explains a lot,” Connor Stoll muttered, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Wait,” Percy said, sitting up straighter as a grin tugged at his lips. “So, you’re saying we’re all attracted to each other? Like, scientifically?”

Malcolm sighed, realizing too late where this was going. “Well, technically, yes, but—”

“Got it,” Percy said, cutting him off. He turned to Kieran, who was sitting a few feet away with his usual detached expression, cleaning his crossbow like he wasn’t even listening. Percy smirked, unable to resist. “Hey, Kieran. I’m attracted to you.”

The entire campfire went silent for half a second before bursting into laughter and whistles. Percy leaned back, thoroughly pleased with himself, as Kieran slowly looked up from his crossbow. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Percy, and for a moment, Percy thought he might’ve gone too far.

Then Kieran raised an eyebrow, his expression as flat as ever, and said, “My foot is attracted to your ass.”

The circle erupted into chaos—laughter, cheers, and a few campers practically falling over each other. Percy couldn’t help but laugh too, even as his face flushed a little. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, fair enough!”

Kieran rolled his eyes and went back to adjusting his crossbow, but Percy caught the faintest twitch of a smirk on his lips. It was so quick he almost missed it, but it was there.

Annabeth, sitting next to Percy, shook her head and muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” Percy said, still grinning.

“Debatable,” she replied, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

As the group settled back into their usual chatter, Percy glanced at Kieran again. He couldn’t tell if Kieran was genuinely annoyed or just playing along, but either way, Percy couldn’t help feeling a little triumphant. Sure, Kieran’s reply had been brutal, but at least he’d gotten a reaction.

And if Percy’s heart felt just a little lighter than it had a few minutes ago, well… that was between him and the universe.

--

Evening at Camp Half-Blood was Percy’s favorite time of day. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the cabins, and the air smelled like fresh strawberries and woodsmoke. Dinner was about to start, and he was halfway to the pavilion when he noticed the movement at the top of Half-Blood Hill. He stopped in his tracks, squinting at the figure silhouetted against the sunset.

It wasn’t unusual for new demigods to stumble into camp, but this kid looked… different. For one, he wasn’t running or screaming, which was usually a sign that monsters were on their tail. Instead, he was walking—stiffly, carefully—as if he wasn’t sure whether to trust what he was seeing. His hands gripped a crossbow so tightly that Percy figured his knuckles had to be white.

Percy frowned. He wasn’t used to seeing demigods carry crossbows. Swords? Sure. Bows? Occasionally. But a crossbow? That was new.

“Hey, Annabeth,” Percy called out, glancing over his shoulder. Annabeth was a few steps behind him, talking to a group of campers near the Athena cabin. She looked up at the sound of his voice, her gray eyes already sharp with suspicion.

“What?” she asked, stepping closer. Her gaze followed his, and she tensed when she saw the figure on the hill. “Who’s that?”

Percy shrugged. “No idea. But he’s armed.”

Annabeth didn’t wait for more information. She drew her dagger and strode toward the hill, motioning for a few other campers to follow. Percy sighed. It wasn’t that Annabeth was wrong to be cautious—she was pretty much always right about these things—but sometimes she could be a little… intense.

“Wait up!” Percy jogged to catch up with her, falling into step beside her as they approached the newcomer. The kid didn’t move, though his grip on the crossbow tightened when he saw them coming. Percy could see him more clearly now. He looked about fourteen, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that stood out against his dirt-smudged face. His clothes were torn and dusty, and there was something guarded in his expression, like he was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Annabeth stopped a few feet away, her dagger held loosely at her side but ready to strike if necessary. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing here?”

The kid hesitated, his eyes darting between Annabeth and Percy. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Percy could tell he was nervous—he’d seen that look before, back when he first arrived at camp and didn’t know what to expect.

“Hey,” Percy said, stepping forward and raising his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Annabeth shot him a warning look, but Percy ignored her. The kid’s eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, Percy thought he might actually relax. Then the boy spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “I’m not a monster.”

Annabeth tensed. “That’s exactly what a monster would say.”

Percy sighed. “Come on, Annabeth. He’s not a monster. Look at him.”

The kid bristled at Annabeth’s words, his shoulders stiffening. “I’m a demigod,” he said, louder this time.

Annabeth didn’t lower her dagger, but she didn’t move to attack, either. Percy took that as a good sign. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The kid hesitated again, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. Finally, he said, “Kieran.”

Percy waited for him to say more, but that seemed to be it. No last name, no explanation, just Kieran. Percy wasn’t sure whether that was suspicious or just sad. “Okay, Kieran,” he said, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m Percy. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

“Percy,” Annabeth said sharply. “We don’t know anything about him. He could be a spy. Or dangerous.”

Percy glanced at the crossbow in Kieran’s hands. “If he wanted to shoot us, he could’ve done it already,” he pointed out. “I think we’re good.”

Annabeth didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. Percy turned back to Kieran. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll take you to Chiron. He’ll get you sorted out.”

Kieran hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the camp. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to trust them, but after a moment, he nodded and followed. Percy fell into step beside him, keeping his pace slow so Kieran wouldn’t feel rushed. The other campers hung back, muttering to each other, but Percy ignored them. He remembered what it was like to be the new kid, to feel like you didn’t belong.

As they walked, Percy noticed the way Kieran’s eyes darted around, taking everything in. His gaze lingered on the archery range, where a group of Apollo kids was practicing with their bows. Percy wondered if Kieran was one of them. He had the look—blond hair, blue eyes—but he hadn’t been claimed yet, so it was hard to say.

When they reached the Big House, Chiron was waiting for them on the porch, his wheelchair parked at the top of the steps. He greeted Kieran with the kind of calm, welcoming smile that only Chiron could pull off, and Percy felt some of the tension in the air dissipate.

Kieran explained his situation in short, clipped sentences, as if he didn’t want to give away too much. He didn’t mention a last name or a godly parent, and he avoided eye contact as he spoke. Percy could tell he was holding back, but Chiron didn’t press him. Instead, he nodded and said, “You’ve been through a great deal, Kieran. But you’re safe now. Camp Half-Blood will be your home.”

Safe. Percy knew how much that word could mean to someone who had been on the run. He glanced at Kieran, wondering if he believed it. The kid’s expression was hard to read, but there was a flicker of something—relief, maybe?—in his eyes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the camp settled into its usual evening routine, Percy found himself standing on the porch of the Big House, watching Kieran as he stared out at the cabins. He looked lost, like he didn’t know where he fit in.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Percy said, leaning against the railing beside him. Kieran glanced at him, his grip on the crossbow loosening just a little. He didn’t say anything, but Percy thought he saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

For now, that was enough.

--

The sun was dipping low behind the hills, casting long shadows over the forest as Percy tightened his grip on Riptide. His instincts were screaming at him to stay alert. He and Kieran had been sent on a quick recon mission—just the two of them. Chiron had thought it would be a good idea, something about “fostering camaraderie.” And honestly? Up until now, Percy had thought it was a great idea too.

Kieran had grown on him over the past few months. The guarded, crossbow-wielding kid who had first stumbled into Camp Half-Blood had slowly become someone Percy considered a friend—someone he could rely on. They didn’t always see eye to eye (Kieran was quiet and calculating, while Percy tended to charge headfirst into things), but they balanced each other out. Or, at least, Percy thought they did.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.

“You’re not listening, Kieran!” Percy hissed, his voice low but sharp as he glanced over his shoulder at the other boy. “We need to circle back, regroup, and then figure out where the chimera went. We can’t just go charging in—”

“You mean you can’t just go charging in,” Kieran interrupted, his tone clipped. He had his crossbow in hand, his blue eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. “I’m not the one who nearly got us killed five minutes ago because I decided to pick a fight with something twice my size.”

Percy bristled, his grip on Riptide tightening. “I was distracting it so you could get a clear shot. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“A distraction isn’t helpful if it just makes things worse,” Kieran shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t think, Percy. You just act. And now the thing’s gone, and we don’t even know if it’s still in the area.”

Percy glared at him. “Oh, so this is my fault now?”

Kieran sighed, dragging a hand through his blond hair. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Percy muttered under his breath. He turned away, scanning the forest again. The chimera had vanished after their initial encounter, disappearing into the thick underbrush. They were supposed to track it, not fight it head-on, but Percy had made a split-second decision to engage when it looked like Kieran was about to get ambushed. Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest move, but it wasn’t like he’d been trying to screw things up.

“I’m just saying,” Kieran continued, his voice quieter now but no less tense, “that maybe you should think things through before you act. Not everything can be solved by waving a sword around.”

Percy turned back to him, his frustration bubbling over. “And maybe you could try trusting me for once! I’m not an idiot, Kieran. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Kieran asked, his tone icy. “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.”

Percy felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d trusted Kieran. He’d thought they were on the same page, that they worked well together. But now… now it felt like Kieran didn’t even believe in him. And that stung more than Percy wanted to admit.

“You know what?” Percy said, his voice tight. “Fine. If you think you can handle this on your own, go for it. I’ll just get out of your way.”

“Percy—” Kieran started, but Percy didn’t wait to hear the rest. He turned and stalked off into the woods, his chest tight with anger and hurt.

It wasn’t long before Percy heard the sound of a fight breaking out somewhere behind him. He froze, his instincts kicking in despite his lingering frustration. The chimera had to be back—and Kieran was alone.

For a split second, Percy hesitated. Part of him wanted to let Kieran handle it, to prove he didn’t need Percy’s help. But the other part of him—the part that cared about his friends, even when they pissed him off—couldn’t just stand by.

Cursing under his breath, Percy turned and sprinted back toward the sound of the commotion. He burst into the clearing just in time to see Kieran fire a bolt from his crossbow, the weapon singing as he reloaded with practiced ease. The chimera lunged at him, its lion head snapping and its serpent tail hissing, but Kieran dodged out of the way, his movements quick and precise.

“Hang on!” Percy shouted, raising Riptide as he charged into the fray.

Kieran’s head snapped toward him, his expression twisting into something Percy didn’t have time to decipher. “What are you doing? I had it under control!”

“Yeah, sure you did,” Percy muttered, slashing at the chimera’s flank as it turned toward him. The monster roared, its goat head lowering to butt him with its horns, but Percy ducked and rolled out of the way.

Kieran fired another bolt, this one striking the chimera in the side. The monster screeched in pain, its movements becoming more erratic. Percy saw an opening and lunged, driving Riptide into its chest. The chimera let out one last, pitiful roar before collapsing to the ground and dissolving into golden dust.

Percy straightened, breathing hard, and turned to Kieran. “You’re welcome.”

Kieran didn’t look grateful. In fact, he looked furious.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, his voice cold.

Percy stared at him, disbelief and anger flaring in his chest. “Are you serious? I just saved your life.”

“I didn’t need saving,” Kieran snapped, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. “You just can’t stand the idea of someone else handling things, can you? You always have to be the hero.”

Percy felt like he’d been slapped. “That’s not—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “You know what? Forget it. Clearly, this was a mistake.”

“Yeah,” Kieran said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “It was.”

Percy clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but what was the point? Kieran had already made up his mind.

Without another word, Percy turned and walked away, leaving Kieran standing alone in the clearing.

Back at camp, Percy couldn’t stop replaying the fight in his head. He wanted to believe it was just a misunderstanding, that they could talk it out and fix things. But every time he thought about Kieran’s words—about the way he’d looked at Percy, like he was nothing but a liability—his anger flared up all over again.

Maybe they weren’t the friends Percy thought they were. Maybe they never had been.

And that thought hurt more than Percy cared to admit.

—

The sound of rain pattering against the cabin roofs filled the silence as Percy stalked toward the archery range, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wasn’t even sure why he was out here in the first place. He hated archery. Hated it. And yet, here he was, trudging through the muddy paths of Camp Half-Blood after a particularly embarrassing loss during Capture the Flag earlier that day.

It wasn’t his fault that Kieran—golden boy, son of Apollo, and general pain in Percy’s ass—had decided to show off with his stupid crossbow, picking off enemies from a distance like some sort of smug demigod sniper. Percy could still hear Kieran's voice in his head, dripping with mockery: “Nice try, Jackson. Maybe stick to swords?"

The worst part? Kieran had been right. Percy was better with a sword. But that didn’t mean he had to like hearing it.

When Percy arrived at the archery range, it was no surprise to find Kieran already there. The son of Apollo was perched on a wooden bench under the covered overhang, his crossbow resting across his lap as he adjusted its string. Even in the dim light of the storm, Kieran seemed to glow, his blond hair catching the faintest hints of golden sunlight that had somehow broken through the clouds. His sharp, Chinese features were set in concentration, his blue eyes focused entirely on the weapon in his hands.

Percy stopped in his tracks, suddenly unsure why he’d come here in the first place. He could’ve gone to the arena, or the beach, or literally anywhere else. But here he was. With him.

"You lost?" Kieran’s voice broke through Percy’s thoughts, his tone as sharp as the arrows he carried. He didn’t even look up, his fingers deftly tightening the crossbow’s mechanism. "Or did you come to practice missing some more targets?"

Percy gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on Riptide, which was sheathed in his pocket. "You’re hilarious," he said dryly, stepping under the overhang to escape the rain. "Really, you should be a comedian."

Kieran finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, what are you doing here? I didn’t think archery was your thing."

"It’s not," Percy admitted, crossing his arms. "But I figured I’d stop by and see what all the fuss is about. You know, since you’re apparently so good at it."

Kieran’s smirk widened. "Oh, so this is about earlier. Didn’t think you’d still be bitter about losing. Then again…" He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You’re kind of predictable like that."

"I’m not bitter," Percy lied, scowling. "I just think you could stand to be a little less—what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yeah. Obnoxious."

"Obnoxious?" Kieran repeated, feigning offense. "That’s rich, coming from you. Aren’t you the guy who literally jumped into a pit of lava last week because you thought it’d make a cool story?"

Percy flushed. "That was different. I had a plan."

"Sure you did," Kieran said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he stood and slung the crossbow over his shoulder. He was just a little taller than Percy, and the way he carried himself—calm, confident, like he was in complete control—only made Percy’s irritation grow. "Look, if you’re here to complain about me being better than you at something, you can save yourself the trouble. I already know."

"You’re not better than me," Percy shot back, stepping closer.

Kieran tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more challenging. "Prove it."

Percy blinked. "What?"

"Prove it," Kieran repeated, his blue eyes locking onto Percy’s. "Pick up a bow and show me what you’ve got. Unless you’re too scared to embarrass yourself again."

Percy’s jaw clenched. He hated how easily Kieran could get under his skin. It was like the guy had a sixth sense for finding Percy’s buttons and pushing them all at once.

"Fine," Percy said, grabbing a random bow from the rack and nocking an arrow in a single, clumsy motion. "But don’t cry when I wipe that smug look off your face."

Kieran snorted. "I’ll try to hold it together."

Percy stepped up to the line, the rain still pouring just beyond the overhang. He took aim at the nearest target, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He pulled the string back, his muscles straining against the tension.

And then, with a deep breath, he released.

The arrow flew… and missed the target entirely, landing somewhere in the muddy grass beyond the range.

Kieran burst out laughing, the sound bright and melodic, like a song Percy didn’t want to admit he liked. "Wow," Kieran said, clutching his sides. "That was… that was something. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone miss that badly before."

"Shut up," Percy muttered, his face burning as he grabbed another arrow.

"Here," Kieran said, stepping forward before Percy could take another shot. He placed a hand on Percy’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Let me help you before you hurt yourself."

"I don’t need your help," Percy snapped, though he didn’t pull away.

"Trust me, you do," Kieran said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced by something more genuine. He stepped behind Percy, his presence warm despite the chill in the air. "Relax your shoulders. You’re too tense."

Percy swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as Kieran’s hands gently adjusted his posture. He could feel the heat radiating off the son of Apollo, and it was… distracting, to say the least.

"Now," Kieran said, his voice low and close to Percy’s ear. "Keep your elbow up. Like this."

He guided Percy’s arm into position, their hands brushing for just a moment. Percy tried to ignore the way his skin tingled at the contact.

"Good," Kieran said, stepping back. "Now take a deep breath and try again."

Percy nodded, doing as he was told. He pulled the string back, aimed, and released.

This time, the arrow hit the edge of the target. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than his first attempt.

"Not bad," Kieran said, smiling.

Percy turned to glare at him, but the words died in his throat when he saw the look on Kieran’s face. The usual smugness was gone, replaced by something softer. Warmer.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The rain continued to fall, the world around them fading into a quiet hum.

"You’re not as bad as you pretend to be," Kieran said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Percy blinked, caught off guard. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just that…" Kieran hesitated, his blue eyes searching Percy’s face. "I don’t hate you as much as I thought I did."

Percy’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

"Don’t let it go to your head," Kieran added, his teasing smirk returning as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and walked away.

Percy watched him go, his chest tight and his thoughts a mess. He hated Kieran.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

--