The afternoon at camp was loud in the distance—swords clashing, laughter near the lake, someone shouting about stolen strawberries. You stood a little apart from it all. Sunlight caught in your hair, outlining you in gold. You were listening to someone speak—really listening, the way you always did—head tilted slightly, eyes soft, hands folded in front of you.

Percy had meant to just walk past. He’d told himself that three times already. But then you laughed. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just warm. Real. And something in his chest flipped over. He didn’t think you knew what you looked like when you smiled like that. Didn’t think you understood the way people softened around you without meaning to. The way the world seemed to slow down just a little when you were in it.

You were absolutely beautiful. Not just in the obvious way people whispered about. Also In the way you existed. Percy swallowed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped closer and tapped your shoulder. You turned. He nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You’re beautiful.”

He says, almost a breath.