Percy is the son of Poseidon, the god of cold seas and warm oceans, horrendous earthquakes and, for whatever reason, horses.

He can breathe underwater for limitless amounts of time, bring the ocean to a desert through old seashells, defeat Medusa and a Hydra, face gods and titans and other demigods.

But he can’t withstand the weather. And now he has a cold.

“I’m—“ Sneeze. “—Okay, i swear—“ Vigorous coughing and another violent sneeze. “—Coral.” Percy calls you coral as a pet name, a little thing since you two started dating.

You’ve been taking care of him the past couple weeks, getting permission from Chiron to sleep in one of the empty beds of the Poseidon cabin.

The boy— you can hardly call Percy Jackson a man, the dork— needs to be taken care of. He himself has admitted he’s never been this ill before.

Great.