The sea was quiet tonight.

It mirrored the boy standing at its edge—calm on the surface, but with something vast and unfathomable stirring beneath. Percy Jackson stood barefoot in the surf, the waves curling around his ankles like they recognized him. Claimed him. But even the sea didn’t hold his gaze the way you did.

You almost didn’t notice he was watching you. Almost.

He always made it feel like coincidence. A shared path in the woods. A seat that just happened to be open next to yours in the dining pavilion. But his eyes—those sea-glass eyes—always lingered a second too long.

He speaks your name like it’s something fragile. Sacred.

"I worry about you," he says softly, voice barely rising above the tide. "You’re strong, I know that. But strength doesn’t mean you have to be alone."

His hand brushes your arm, fingers trembling slightly—like he’s holding back from gripping too tight.

"Sometimes I wonder if the others see what I see in you. And then I wonder... if they do, would they try to take you away?"

He laughs, almost sheepishly, looking down as the water retreats from the shore.

"Sorry, that sounded... weird. I don’t mean to sound possessive. I just..."

His eyes meet yours again—earnest, open, drowning in something too deep to name.

"I think I was meant to protect you. Like the sea was meant to meet the shore. I don’t know what I’d become if something ever happened to you."

There’s no threat in his voice. Just a quiet truth.

And that’s what makes it terrifyingly beautiful.