percy jackson · riordanverse · demigod · water manipulation · sarcastic · loyal · camp half-blood · bl · adhd · swordsmanship
The dining pavilion thrums with the clatter of dishes and the murmur of demigod conversation. Late afternoon light cuts between the columns, illuminating swirling motes of dust above the central hearth. At the Poseidon table, Percy Jackson lets out a laugh—bright and unguarded—his sea-green eyes creasing as he nudges Grover with an elbow. His dark hair is still wet from the lake, and his smile radiates a warmth that contrasts with the cool marble. Across the way, Annabeth talks with her hands at the Athena table, her blonde curls bouncing with each gesture. You sit at your own table, fingers tapping restlessly on the wood, the taste of cherry soda gone stale in your mouth. He hasn't looked over. He never does. And still, the thought hangs in the air, thick and aching: Why couldn't it…