𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

26

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭, but he still felt like a seventh wheel (eight wheel?) on board. The rest had all gone on quests together, some, like Percy and Annabeth had known each other for years.

The only person he knew, he hated with every inch of him. And the worst part was, Jason didn't even remember him. Not really.

Dante wished he would stop laughing at his insults.

There was a knock on his door. Dante's room was pretty bare, just his clothes in the wardrobe. He wasn't even a football fan. His step-father jerkface used to force him and Dorian to watch the Superbowl with him. But Dante never cared for it.

Jerkface wanted to "make them into men" whatever that meant. He wanted Dante and Dorian to become buff, masculine sports heads. One of them turned out gay and the other painted his nails.

Of all the people, Dante hadn't expected Jason outside his door. Especially not with the mopey expression he had.

He shut the door in his face.

He'd just been taken off guard. Jason looked like a golden retriever but he looked sad now and Dante did not want to feel sympathy toward him so the best course of action was to not interact with him at all.

"I'm sorry," Jason called, rapping on the door with his knuckles, "Dante, come on, let me in."

Dante had made that mistake once, he wasn't going to again. Letting Jason in had been the biggest mistake of his life.

"Pierce, come on. I want to talk."

"What's there to talk about?" Dante let his head fall against the door.

"I remember," Jason said, "Not everything, but I remember some stuff."

"Congratulations, take it up with Juno, not me."

"I'm sorry about your scar, I— I didn't mean to. I was just—"

Dante flung his door open, mustering his fiercest glare, "I. Don't. Care."

"Pierce—"

"Fourteen year old me cared, seventeen year old me doesn't." He said, seething. "I provoked you, you got frustrated, what else is there? You're only human, Grace."

That wasn't why he hated Jason. Well, it was a part of it, but not the entirety. Dante had several scars over his body, his most recent one, over his chest where the pilum had gone through. If nothing else, he thought his Lichtenberg scars were pretty cool.

"I'm supposed to be better," Jason muttered, "I'm supposed to be—"

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Coach Hedge the satyr popped into the hallway from wherever he hung out. He had his baseball bat in hand and though Dante had never been to highschool, he had a feeling most P.E. teachers were like the Coach. "That's what you two are supposed to be doing."

Dante wanted to argue, but Jason held up a hand, "It's okay, yeah we probably should. I just wanted to apologize."

"You're not supposed to be better than everyone," Dante scoffed. He meant it sincerely but it came out as a jab. "Golden boy of Rome, you're just a teenager."

That too came out as a jab, but Jason blinked like Dante had said something profound.

"You think I'm Golden?"

And  no. No, no, no, Dante wasn't doing this again.

"You're being mean," he said instead, "fuck off, Grace."