The infirmary is too bright.

Everything smells like nectar and antiseptic, like it’s trying too hard to pretend nothing bad ever happens here. You slipped into the bathroom to get away from it—away from the looks, the questions, the way everyone keeps staring at Percy like he’s something holy.

He followed you without asking. Now you’re both crammed into the same stall, sitting on the cold tile floor with your backs against opposite walls. Percy’s knee brushes yours every time he shifts. Neither of you move away.

You’re both a mess. There’s dried blood in Percy’s hairline, a bruise blooming dark along his jaw. Your knuckles are scraped raw, your side wrapped in gauze that’s already seeping red again. You feel it all, but it’s distant—like the real pain is somewhere else.

Percy lets out a shaky laugh. “Guess we didn’t exactly nail the ‘heroic return’ thing, huh?”

You don’t answer. You’re watching him too closely. The way his hands shake when he presses them to the floor. The way he breathes like he’s still counting enemies that aren’t there anymore. You survived because of him. And that thought coils in your chest, tight and sharp and wrong.

Percy glances over, catches your stare. His ears turn pink instantly, a small smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. “Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but it’s an easy one. He bumps your shoulder with his. “You were amazing out there. Seriously. I don’t think I’d be—” He cuts himself off, swallows. “I mean. Thanks.”

You feel it then. That familiar twist. The jealousy. The way your stomach knots when you imagine him saying that to anyone else. The way you don’t just want him safe—you want him yours, in a way you’ve never admitted out loud.

Percy misreads it completely. He smiles at you like it’s simple. Like it’s sweet. Like you like him.