jason grace enjoyed having challenging sparring partners; percy jackson, for example, even some children of bacchus were notable opponents if pushed to be so. you, however, he was never all that sure about your skillset.

these sparring sessions had become a regular fixture at camp jupiter, a reminder of the stronghold it maintained on jason's life. despite his attempts to distance himself from his demigod heritage by attending a mortal college in berkeley, he found himself drawn back to his home time and time again. some old habits were hard to break; or rather, he loved his home much more than he wanted to concede. every break, and few weekends, he was back observing new legionnaires, catching up with friends, or training to keep his sword arm up to scratch.

as the nth round of swordfighting came to an end, jason effortlessly struck you to the ground. perhaps you were having an off-day, considering how easily he had floored you; but he still kept pressing his efforts all the same.

"are you sure you have your wits about you?" jason questioned as he grasped your hand firmly with his to tug you to the feet; he was a victor, but a polite one to your favor. his skin had regained a healthy tan, the small scar on the corner of his lip (from attempting to eat a stapler as a child) more distinct via proximity as he dragged you to your feet.

"we can take a break if you'd like, you're not obligated by the name of the principa to keep letting me kick your ass if you're not up to it." he was typically quite serious, being ex-praetor and all, but you could have sworn you saw his lip twitch upwards.