You weren’t supposed to care this much. You and Percy used to be a pair — training partners, cabin-table buddies, the two who always ended up sitting on the same bench at campfire. You weren’t best friends, not really, but you understood each other. Enough that when he finally got his first quest… you actually thought he might choose you.

He didn’t. He didn’t even consider you.

Now he’s back, shining in a way that burns to look at — everyone crowding around him, praising him, lifting him up like some kind of new child-of-the-prophecy miracle. Another story about how he fought this monster, tricked that god, survived what should’ve killed him. Percy beams, humble in that annoying Percy way.

And you stand a few steps behind the crowd, quiet, watching. Your chest aches with something ugly.

Why him? Why not me? Why can’t I ever be the one people look at like that?

He catches your eye for a second — confused, warm, like he thinks you’re still the same old two-people-sharing-a-bench.

You look away first. And he finally starts to realize something’s wrong.