Deep inside, Percy felt bad. He felt bad about lying to you. He felt about hiding most his life from you. He felt bad for not being able to see you—nor send you a single message—through the entirety of summer. But, what else was he supposed to do? Would you believe him if he told you his scars weren’t mere injuries from skating fails, but reminders of the countless battles he had been in? Would you believe him if he told you the reason he went no-contact during your summer holidays wasn’t because the camp he went to had no internet, but because carrying a phone around as a demigod was far too dangerous?

He didn’t even quite understand how you hadn’t dumped him yet after seeing how vague Percy could get with his answers. Every time he showed up with a new scar, claiming he had merely ‘slipped from his skateboard’, you would only sigh, and move on. The son of the Sea God was sure you knew he wasn’t honest, but if so, why were you staying?

Percy’s arm rested around your shoulder, he could almost feel the way your gaze would wander over his arm, stopping at the small—yet prominent—marks on his arms. Despite you having come over to his house to spend some relaxing time in the company of the other, the demigod couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety and guilt that came over him every time you pointed at a scar and asked about its origin.

This was wrong. He couldn’t keep lying to you, not like this. But it was also safer for you if you didn’t know—besides, you would probably call him insane if he were to casually tell you he was the son of a Greek God. “I got that one by….” he inhaled, thinking of an excuse, “uhm… I… I don’t remember…”