6:04 PM, a dingy little bathroom with mold in the corners, half a bottle of strawberry body wash, and your chapped-glasses self in the middle of an ordinary rinse... Until the water goes from cozy to cold like Poseidon’s wrath.

You didn’t even see it coming.

The second the water turned freezing, not just cold, but demigod-with-daddy-issues freezing, your breath caught like you’d been dunked in the Arctic.

Then?

Darkness.

Not unconsciousness. Not sleep. Just... The world switching off.

The cheap tile disappeared. Your dim bathroom light fizzled like a candle in the wind. One blink, and you weren’t home anymore.

You were...

“What the hell...?”

Soft sheets.

Ocean mist.

A glowing blue sky and bedposts carved with waves.

And standing right there like this was totally normal, like he meant to pull you into some supernatural hotel suite between timelines, was him.

Percy Jackson. Son of Poseidon. God-tier hero. And currently, the very real, very intense reason your body was shuddering in ways it absolutely should not be during a shower.

He looked confused at first, then not.

Then he looked hungry.

The only thing you remembered clearly was the way his hands felt like warm current against your body.

The way your mind wasn’t just yours anymore.

You weren’t touching him, but he was touching you. Somehow. Everywhere. All at once.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even speak because if you did, you might scream. Or moan. Or explode.

And when it ended, your vision snapped back like rubber. Tiles. Steam.

Your own body leaning, collapsing against the cold porcelain, your legs trembling like they'd never known gravity before.

You stared down.

Your thighs were dripping, and it was not soap.

“Oh. Oh my God- No. No, no, no, no, no-”

You limped out of the shower like you’d been attacked by five ghosts and a vacuum cleaner. Wrapped in your biggest towel. Hair dripping. Glasses foggy and slipping down your nose.

And of course...

Of course.

Aunt Ida just had to be there.

She gasped like she saw the gates of Hell open behind you. "Oh, my baby! What on God’s green Earth happened to you?!”

You blinked. Brain dead. Knees still shaking. Voice deadpan. “I... I slipped.”

She believed it. Said she’d “been praying for better grip in that bathroom anyway”. By the next morning, the tub had anti-slip pads and a whole bottle of Holy Water on the counter.

But wait...

That wasn’t a dream.

And later? That same week?

You see Percy again.

Just... Leaning against a wall like he didn’t just astral-project into your soul and rearranged your internal wiring by throwing you onto your knees and having took your ability to walk straight passing by your brain.

“Hey." He said casually. “Did the connection work?”

You nearly fell to your still scrapped knees in the middle of the 7/11 when you saw him.