I wrote this for a friend for her birthday and I really wanted to share it with some other people. I know we're not really allowed to do second person but that rule really doesn't make any sense and please don't report me or anything for writing this. Please. I don't break the rules a lot.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Absolutely not. There is no way I'm letting you die. Now, will you just let GO OF THAT FREAKING BRANCH SO I CAN PULL YOU UP?!"

"So I can go back to being hated and not wanted?" He scoffs. "Not likely."

You look down the edge of the cliff, gripping his frail looking (although you knew otherwise) hand with an iron grip. He's wincing at said grip, but you don't care. You're not letting anymore people die, no matter how much you claim to hate him (which isn't that much admittedly.

"I'm not letting you go, Octavian. Not in a million years. So will you just give up and let me save your fricken' life already?"

"I'd prefer death than that camp, where nobody cares enough to make sure I'm still breathing. They only bother to take me to the healer because—"

"Because the person that makes sure you stay alive, takes you to the healer, and DOESN'T LEAVE YOUR SIDE UNTIL YOU'RE EFFING BETTER can't imagine a life without you, no matter how much she claims to hate you. So, will you JUST LET ME SAVE YOUR LIFE, DAMMIT?! I AM NOT LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!"

Octavian looks up at you in surprise, and while your cheeks are probably flushed, you REALLY don't care right now. You're pissed. You're pissed because he won't listen. You're pissed because he thinks no-one cares. You're pissed because he can't see how much you love him.

He lets go of the branch at long last, and you grab his other hand, pulling him up with a few groans from your sore muscles. He's panting, and pretty much collapsed against you, although he quickly pushes himself away.

"Why?" he asks after you've both had a chance to recover. "Why did you want to save my life?"

"I told you why, Octavian. Because I am not letting you die."

"But—why?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you, so leave off and just be grateful that I saved your pathetic ass."

"Not until you tell me why you wouldn't let me die."

You take a breath, giving him a murderous glare for forcing you to tell him the truth. "What if I said there's a girl at Camp Jupiter that loves you? REALLY loves you?"

He scoffs, obviously not believing it. "Yeah. Someone would be stupid enough to love me."

"Well, I never thought of myself as stupid, since I've always been a good student…" He's staring at you in confusion. "What?"

"Me?" he manages to say after a minute. "ME?!"

"Is there another Octavian around here?" you ask, sarcastic tone in place. "Yes, you idiot. I like YOU."

He looks at you, confused. If you'd told him you were a purple unicorn in disguise, he'd probably believe it sooner than he'd believe you liked him. It kind of makes you sad inside. He's not that detestable, honestly. He has his douchebag moments, but he's not horrible if you get through to him.

You sigh, brushing mud off your hands and onto your jeans. "Look. I dunno why, okay? Trust me, if I could chose not to like you, I would. I don't think you'd know, since you're quite plain in making it known you hate the idea of love, but liking someone who basically hates everyone-including you, well, it sucks."

You don't notice as he starts walking towards you. Actually, you're starting to walk away.

"Wait," he says, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around. He looks wonderstruck, as if he can't quite believe that you of all people would like him. His eyes aren't angry and insane. Actually, they're calm and peaceful-the first time you've ever seen him like that.

You look at him in confusion. "What is it?" you manage to say after a few seconds, not understanding why he doesn't want you to go.

His lips curl upwards, and-wow. When he doesn't look insane, he's got a nice smile. Maybe not as good as some of the boys in the Harry Potter movies that you maybe or may not be addicted to, but you still can't help but think Not Bad. Not Bad At All.

There's a faint pinkness in his cheeks, you notice, which makes you smirk. You never would have guessed that Octavian blushed about stuff like this. His thumbs trace your lower lip, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" you finally ask, finding it painfully obvious that that is exactly what he wants to do.

His cheeks turn pinker than ever, but his smile broadens slightly, as he leans in and kisses you.

...Damn he's a good kisser.

You would never have guessed he was a good kisser around the same time you became a Dalek (you really wished you could stop watching Doctor Who). In other words, you would never have guessed it. But he is. A really good one, actually. Seriously, who the heck had he kissed before to be this good?! His lips aren't forceful on yours; they aren't rough, demanding, anything. His lips are soft, gentle. They almost seem to be asking permission to kiss your own-permission that you give as your arms wrap around his neck and you kiss him back.

Eventually, the need to breath becomes to much and you separate. His face is really red now and you can't help but grin.

"Is life really all that miserable?" you say, as the blush fades from his cheeks and he manages to muster enough courage to look at you.

He smiles slightly now. "No," he admits. "It's not." He pulls you in by the waist, and kisses you again. "Thank you."

I know I don't do Octavian very well. And I really am sorry about that. I'll say it again. Please don't report it for being second person.