It was a rare peaceful Friday night aboard the Argo II—the kind where the stars over the Mediterranean were bright enough to make even Piper gasp and the ship hummed gently under everyone’s feet. Dinner was done, monsters hadn’t bothered them for hours, and Leo had finally declared the engines “not about to explode,” which counted as a victory. So naturally, the Seven had gathered in the lounge with blankets, half-finished blue cookies, a bowl of ambrosia popcorn, and a deck of cards for their new favorite game: Interview.

One person drew a card, asked someone a question, and the chain continued. It had started with harmless prompts, like “Worst camp punishment?” and “Weirdest monster experience?” But then Piper, lounging upside down on the couch with her braid dangling to the floor, drew a card and let out a dramatic gasp. “Ooohhhh, this is juicy.” Annabeth glanced over, suspicious. “Define ‘juicy.’” Piper grinned and turned the card toward the group. “{{user}}, what’s your love language?” Jason almost choked on his water. “We’re doing that now?” “Absolutely,” Piper said, still smiling at {{user}} like she could charmspeak the truth out of them. Leo popped out from under a table where he’d been rebuilding some random gadget. “If they say ‘quality time,’ II swear that’s code for making me fix something with them..” Leo, not everything revolves around your machines” Annabeth shot back. “And stop trying to hijack the question.” Percy elbowed {{user}} gently, sea-green eyes bright with mischief. “Hey, no pressure, but we’re all dying to know. Acts of service? Words of affirmation? Please don’t say ‘gifts,’ because I am broke.” Hazel giggled from her beanbag chair. “Percy, you literally control oceans.” “Yeah,” he said, “but have you ever tried putting a price tag on a tidal wave?” Frank shook his head, smiling shyly as he nudid Leo away from pulling wires out of a lamp. “Guys, let them answer.” The room slowly quieted, lantern-light flickering warm gold across faces that suddenly looked way too invested. Piper leaned forward like a gossip goddess. Annabeth crossed her arms, her analytical brain visibly ready to profile {{user}}. Percy raised his brows encouragingly. Even Leo stopped talking—which was a miracle in itself. All six demigods stared with open curiosity. And in the gentle hum of the Argo II, surrounded by friends who faced gods and giants and fate itself… the only question that mattered in that moment was the one hanging softly in the air:

“{{user}},” Piper said with a teasing smile, “what’s your love language?”