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𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪
WHATEVER PERCY WAS EXPECTING, the reality was a thousand times worse. The moment he stepped into the water, every muscle in his body turned to liquid and he crumpled face-first into the current of the River Styx.
He realized very quickly that, horrifyingly, he could not breathe underwater. He'd never been scared of drowning— he'd never had to be— but acid-cold water flooded his throat, shooting pain through every single nerve in his body, and Percy was very afraid that he was going to drown.
Much later, after everything was over and done with, he'd tried to describe the pain to someone, but words had failed him. How could he explain what it felt like to have every ounce of his essence peeled away from him, to be so eroded into a raw lump of something that he didn't remember his own name? He was becoming the water, but not in that comforting way that reminded him faintly of his father's embrace— no, the water had stripped him of his soul and replaced it with the cold and the wet.
There, under the current, he thought he remembered faces. His mother's kind smile, his father's eyes. Grover and Annabeth with their hands on his shoulders, laughing about something. But it faded just as quickly, whisked off with the broken dreams scattered through the Styx. He was losing.
Then, someone laughed, a warm sound like a soft, clear D major on an acoustic guitar. Really, Waterboy? He could practically imagine them tilting their head, one brow raised slightly. Giving up that easily? Whose voice was that? He knew it, he knew it, he knew it.
Something tingled at his lower back, like there was a warm hand pressed to the base of his spine. Percy wanted to reach around and grab that hand, tangle his fingers with theirs.
That laugh again, stunning him limp in the current. He felt less like he was drowning now, with that sound vibrating his bones. Never took you for a quitter, Jackson.
Percy blinked, and he could see her. Elia was standing at the edge of the canoe-lake dock, laughing to herself like she'd been the one to push him in. She was wearing her overalls again, with a gray long sleeve under, her hair falling around her shoulders, and he could see every freckle and sunspot across her shoulders and arms and face. Her head was cocked to the side and her eyes flashed the same clear blue as the sky above. She laughed again, crossing her arms over her chest, and her mouth curved into a grin, teeth cutting a white line against the pink of her lips— lips he had just been kissing.
Yes, that was right. He was Percy Jackson, and he had just kissed Elia Bassett. Holy shit.
Elia extended a hand, a peace offering, leaning down toward the surface of the water. C'mon, let me help you. I can't kiss you from down there.
Percy reached up and his fingers met hers.
Moments later, he burst out of the river and collapsed on the sand, trembling and panting.
