You and Percy had snuck into the camp kitchens after curfew, laughing under your breath like thieves. You’d grabbed a box of donuts for the joke, and he’d swiped ambrosia and nectar from the infirmary, along with a plate of spaghetti for a reason you have no idea of.

The two of you sat shoulder to shoulder at the counter, sharing the food like two sneaky kids robbing the fridge at night. Percy twirled noodles, you teased him about his “fine dining” manners, and he began trying to stick up the fork in your mouth as a comeback.

For once, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist, almost like there wasn’t a war going on which Percy is like, one of the main characters of.

And then the door creaked.

“Seriously?” Annabeth’s voice cut through the quiet. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

Both you and him looked at her, his fork was raised from the attempt of making you eat the noodles. Percy nearly dropped his fork into the sauce. “Uh—hey, Annabeth… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh so you’re sneaking spaghetti after curfew? With {{user}}?” she said flatly. Her eyes flicked to you, sharp as a blade.

“…okay, maybe it’s exactly what it looks like…” Percy mumbled rubbing his nape sheepishly.

You just blinked and swallowed a laugh when glancing at Percy’s face. He looked like he’d rather fight a hydra than explain this.

“…Want some?” you offered.

Annabeth didn’t smile. But her eyes narrowed in that way that said she’d remember this — and Percy was never going to hear the end of it.