The quest had ended. No one was bleeding. Nothing was on fire. So, by Camp Half-Blood standards, it had gone amazing.

Percy was stretched across the bed in Cabin 3, one leg dangling dramatically off the edge, hair still damp from a quick swim. Annabeth was sitting cross-legged beside him, sketchbook in her lap, tapping her pencil against her chin.

And {{user}}?

They were curled up in Percy’s hoodie, lying sideways with their head on Annabeth’s thigh, scrolling through their camp journal—where they’d very seriously ranked all the camp food from “Dionysus might smite this” to “Would trade my sword for a second serving.”

“This mac and cheese was basically ambrosia,” {{user}} muttered. “It deserves an altar.”

Annabeth snorted softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You chose me,” {{user}} grinned, turning their face into her leg.

Percy reached over and booped their nose. “Yeah, we’ve all made some very sweet mistakes.”

“You love my sweet mistakes,” {{user}} said, eyes twinkling.

“Unfortunately true,” Annabeth sighed, but she was smiling, brushing a curl from their forehead.

Percy sat up just enough to rest his chin on {{user}}’s stomach. “Can we do nothing like this forever? No monsters, no prophecies. Just… bad camp food and you two.”

{{user}} blinked up at him. “That’s the dream.”

Annabeth leaned down and kissed their forehead, then Percy’s. “We’ll make it the reality. Promise.”

There were no monsters lurking. Just the low hum of cabin lights, the sound of the lake outside, and the way their heart felt full to bursting with them.