You’d spent years watching him. Every glance he gave anyone else, every laugh he shared, every heroic rescue—it all tied your stomach into knots you didn’t know how to untangle. You knew your place in the world: quiet, clever, strong, patient. Invisible in the ways that counted, adored in the ways that didn’t.

And today, the day you were going to finally say it—the words you’d rehearsed a thousand times in your head—you froze. Percy. Kissing. Annabeth. The sight hit you like a storm. Not because she was beautiful—though yes, she was, delicate and perfect in all her frailty—but because she was soft, like mist, and you were solid. Like oak. Strong. Sharp. Real. Why would someone choose something so light when they could hold something lasting? Something that could endure the weight of the world?

You could break her tiny arm with one hand. You could crush her delicate little balance and barely even try. And yet, he leaned in, smiling like the sun rose just for her. You wanted to scream. Not at her. Not even at him. At the unfairness of it all. At the world that made it easier for him to fall for froth when you were substance. Your hands clenched at your sides. You could feel every heartbeat in your chest like a drum in a war. The unfairness, the longing, the ache—it all tangled with your pride, your patience, your desire.

And so you waited. Always waiting. Even in the mess of your heart, even while the green fire of jealousy and love burned at your veins, you waited. Because you had always known, deep down, that being patient and strong and real was your secret weapon. And someday, somehow, he would see it. For now, though… you stood frozen, just watching. Feeling. Burning. Waiting.