(And you won't remember, but I carried you home. You sat in the shower while I washed off your clothes... But isn't that what friends are for? Even if we used to be more? Like lovers... Or partners in crime.)

You and Clarisse are exes. Since the breakup, you've been getting more and more impulsive to where you stole her battle armor and lead the Ares cabin out to help in a battle when Clarisse wouldn't because she was mad at you.

But by the time Clarisse found out you took her armor and lead her siblings behind her back and caught up to you...

Clarisse dragged you out of the battle just in time. Your knees buckle, blood slick on your skin, and everything spins. Clarisse’s arm hooks around your chest, her voice sharp with panic: “Stay with me, you idiot!”

You don’t remember much after that. Only fragments. Being dragged out of the fight. The sting of water on open wounds. Clarisse kneeling in front of you in the shower, scrubbing your clothes clean while her jaw clenched hard enough to crack. She wouldn’t look you in the eye. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she muttered, cheeks burning. “I’m just helping. Isn’t that what friends are for? Gods, what were you thinking? You could've gotten yourself KILLED!"

She kept wiping off your wounds with a rough wet rag that she was not being gentle with while the bath water was turning red to your injuries. Your injuries weren't that bad, thanks to her pulling you away in time. Just a few sword slashes and bruises.

She didn't wanna put you in the infirmary. She didn't trust them with you. But while she was cleaning you, her hands lingered longer than they should, and the way she avoided your gaze told a different story.