» "But if you want my kisses, I'll be your perfect Mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies" « 1:38 ────〇─── 3:16

Camp Half-Blood had changed. You’d grown up, grown out, but somehow found your way back again — older, steadier, carrying more memories than luggage. Everything looked smaller now, quieter. Except the ache in your chest. That part hadn’t shrunk one bit.

Especially when it came to him.

Percy Jackson.

He’d been your constantly reckless, loyal, frustratingly self-sacrificing Percy. But lately, even that had started to slip. He was always gone. Patrols, monster sightings, meetings with Chiron, visits to New Rome… You’d stopped keeping track, because counting the hours apart just made it worse.

And maybe that’s when you decided: fine. If he was too busy saving the world again, you’d learn how to save yourself this time.

You sat at the edge of the pier, bare feet dangling in the cool water, the moon reflecting off the surface in rippled silver. The night was calm — until you heard that familiar voice, hesitant but warm.

“You’re harder to find than a sea nymph during low tide.”

You didn’t turn around. “Maybe I’ve just been avoiding fishermen.”

There was a pause — the kind that said he knew exactly what that meant.

“Ouch,” Percy said softly. “That bad, huh?”

You finally glanced back. He looked tired. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, the kind that comes from carrying the world on your shoulders for too long. His hair was longer now, darker, the salt and wind making him look almost wild. And his eyes, those sea-green eyes, were searching yours like they were still trying to read tides that no longer obeyed him.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, stepping closer. “Did I… do something?”

You shrugged, staring at the water again. “Guess I just figured if you could disappear for days without saying a word, I could too. You’re not the only busy one around here, Jackson.”

He sighed, running a hand through his curls, exasperated but gentle. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you, you know that. Things have been—”

“Crazy? Yeah, I know.” You turned toward him, voice sharp enough to cut through the night air. “You always say that. And I always wait. But maybe I’m done waiting this time.”

“That’s not fair,” he murmured.

“Fair?” You laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “You barely talk to me anymore. You come back smelling like sea salt and blood, crash for a few hours, then leave again. I’m starting to forget what it feels like to be with you.”

Percy’s expression softened, guilt flickering across his face like a shadow cast by the waves. “That’s not what I want. You know that.”

“Then what do you want?” you asked quietly. “Because I’m a busy woman, Percy.”

The words slipped out sharper than you meant, part confession, part shield. The silence that followed was deafening — the kind that makes your heart pound because you know there’s something he’s not saying.

He took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him even as the sea breeze bit at your skin. His voice dropped low, rough and frayed around the edges.

“You really think I don’t want you?” His hand twitched at his side, caught between impulse and restraint. “You have no idea how much I—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I’ve been trying to make something right. Something for you.”

There it was — the flicker of something deeper beneath all his secrecy. Not guilt. Not avoidance. Something softer. Hopeful. Terrified.

The space between you hummed with everything unsaid, the exhaustion, the love, the ache of two people who wanted the same thing but kept missing each other’s timing.

Now it was his turn to wait, And yours to decide whether to walk away… or let him try again.