𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

143

Percy didn't listen.

That could be the title of his autobiography.

"What are you waiting for?" Annabeth said, giving him a knowing look, "It's night. You're night watch. Go—"

So he did.

He followed out of the mess hall almost immediately after Hadrian had left.

He raced up the stairs, suddenly gripped by urgency. He had to find Hadrian, he had to talk to him. He had to kiss him.

Percy paused on the last step, he wondered if that's what Hadrian did the first time he caught him training on the deck. Just paused to look.

Percy wanted to look at him forever, that was something he could never get tired of. Hadrian was far from an open book, but in private, Percy had seen the way he seemed to unravel.

That's what he did now, he paced the deck and buried his face in his hands. He kept muttering something, though Percy couldn't hear it.

Percy watched him walk, groan in frustration and lean against the railing. How much had Hadrian heard last night? How much had he seen? Did he know Percy liked him? Did he hate that Percy liked him?

"Are you just going to stand there and stare, or?"

"Stare" Percy tried to say smoothly as he walked up to Hadrian. He remembered Hadrian's perfect lips brushing against his throat, Hadrian's fingers digging into his waist, pulling him closer in his sleep, Hadrian's leg draped over him. He remembered talking with Hadrian on the deck late at night, telling him about his past. He remembered the moment it clicked for him, that he couldn't let Hadrian fall into Tartarus by himself. He remembered trudging through hell for the boy he liked. He remembered how Hadrian looked with the death mist.

They had been through so much. Percy wasn't ready to throw that away over a misunderstanding.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Percy scoffed as he went up to the railing and leaned on it, staring out at the sea. He wished he was better with words, better with asking what he wanted. He wished Hadrian didn't have to look so perfect and intimidating, it made it that much harder to tell him Percy liked him.

"Oh I'm infuriating?" Hadrian, who had clearly not yet cooled down, rolled his eyes. "Gods, Percy, I can't with you sometimes—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hadrian was amazing most of the time, he really was. But gods, the guy was confusing as hell.

"Look, I get it. You might think this is some kind of melodramatic outburst, but I can't keep pretending anymore." With every word, his voice rose. His jaw clenched and he stubbornly refused to look at Percy.

Percy felt the ocean currents under them, if he closed his eyes, he could tell their exact latitude and longitude. Being on the ocean felt good— actual water, not a fire river or a river full of souls of murderers.

Percy hated asking for help, hated admitting that he needed help, that he wasn't good enough. But Hadrian had promised not to let him drown and he'd help up that promise. And for the first time, Percy hadn't felt bad about needing to be saved.

His heart was in his throat and there was no fucking way Hadrian couldn't hear it with how fast and loud it was beating. Percy thought his heart would tire itself out.

He sneaked a glance at Hadrian. A breeze hit his face and disheveled his hair, Percy saw the roots of his hair turn blue first and then the tips. He tried not to flush.

He looked away just as fast as he had looked at Hadrian.

"Melodramatic outburst?" Percy repeated, "Then talk to me, Hadrian. Please, just talk to me instead of shutting yourself out"