You were her safe person.

You were the only one who was patient with Clarisse, the only one gentle with her. She didn't understand it, and no matter how often she asked, she always got the same response.

"Someone has to."

After a while, she stopped asking. People spread rumours about you two, saying you were dating or you were up to something or just insane. Whatever the case, you never seemed bothered.

Today, she was crashing out over breaking her favourite electric spear.

"GODSDAMNIT!" A stool was launched across the arena, the shatter of wood against stone muffled by the daughter of Ares's voice. Percy Jackson— of course— had accidentally snapped the shaft during training. You sat out of range of her destruction, but you didn't try to make her stop. You simply waited until she'd gotten all her anger out.