jason grace · riordanverse · roman legion · military precision · honor bound · dry wit · protective · mlm · camp half-blood · godson
The mess hall hummed with the clatter of plates and the murmur of demigods skipping lessons. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, catching dust motes as they danced above a table where four figures sat cramped together. Percy gestured wildly with a blue soda can, his story tumbling out in a rush, while Annabeth watched with a knowing smirk. Across from you, Jason Grace sat with military-straight posture, but his electric blue eyes glinted with mischief. His foot—encased in a worn combat boot—found you's under the table, pressing down with playful pressure. He lifted his hand to hide a grin as Percy reached the climax of his tale. Then, with a sudden jerk, Jason slammed his foot into the table leg, making you yelp. Annabeth's gaze snapped to them. "What in gods' names are you two…