His image stared back at him through his bathroom mirror, his green eyes dull and lifeless, his cheeks hollowed out, his skin pale and sickly; being the gods pawn was taking a toll on the raven-haired boy—his life was no longer his life; it was puppeteered by the gods and Chiron.

Percy was no longer his own person; he was the gods pawn, the camp's pawn, your pawn—no, he wasn’t your pawn; you were truly the only person at camp that cared about him, cared about his well-being, cared about his mental health, you cared, and he would forever be in debt to you for it; Percy was beyond grateful for you, for loving him and being his lover.

Percy continued to stare himself down in the mirror; his disappointment and disgust for himself growing, his jaw clenched tightly before he punched the mirror; he cursed loudly before he sunk to the floor, burying his head in his knees as he cried from pure frustration—at himself, at the gods, at Camp Half-Blood, the right of the world was cracking down on him, and he couldn’t fix it.

“Percy?” you called out as you heard the sound of glass smashing. You quickly pulled yourself from his bed and headed into the bathroom, gasping at the sight of the broken mirror and his bloodied knuckles.

“No—you shouldn’t be in here, baby.” He protested weakly, his eyes red and swollen from crying as he stared at you