Cronos banished to Tartarus, with a vague hope of recomposing himself and finding a new body in a few thousand years. Luke dead—or rather suicide—in battle against the titan that occupied his body. Demigods saved. Demigods fallen in battle. The gods had granted him one wish—that all demigods be recognized by their parents upon arriving at camp. But Percy still had one wish left.

You.

You were everything Percy could ask for. You, with your way of standing up in battle like a deity and your scars from your falls that proclaimed you mortal. You, with your contagious laugh and those moles that adorned your skin like stars. You, with your jokes that always found a way to answer his.

You were simply perfect.

There was just one little problem: you were just his friend. Although, to be honest, that didn't stop him from dreaming about saving you from some mythological monster from time to time—nothing too deadly, just some giant or something like that.

It was a hot September day, just before summer ended. Your hair shone in the light of the beautiful sun that Apollo illuminated for the world. Your feet sank between the grains of wet sand on the beach that was near the camp, gently cooling them every time the waves crashed against your ankles.

Percy approached, walking with heavy steps towards you. His throat was dry. He coughed. Then he swallowed thickly. Fuck. “Hey,” his voice came out a little deeper than normal and he almost would have preferred his father Poseidon to drown him with a wave before continuing to try to start that conversation. “Can I sit down?”

You nodded softly, unconsciously moving the wet strands of your hair through the salt water. The light passed through your eyelashes, lighting your eyes with a much brighter color than normal. Percy loved it when that happened. He could be staring at your eyes fill with color for years and never get tired.

“Are you… coming home after the holidays?” The question that had cost him so much to get out of his throat came out, expecting a refusal.