Just something I posted on Tumblr and then decided to post here. Enjoy. I don't own.
Without Percy Jackson.
By Everyone's a Mortal.
Her feet are smaller than his. That she can see clearly. She doesn't know why; doesn't care. At least she remembers. She can still see his face, too, that goofy, happy smile that was always aimed at her. Those lips that kissed her goodnight.
And never got to kiss her good morning.
So of course she's desperate. She is desperate and so is the whole camp because without Percy Jackson they are just a regular old camp with no true hero. With no true smiles.
They need him.
But it's been almost five months and her heart is in her throat and she just wants to cry in his arms except she can't because he's gone. No one knows where he is. All she and the camp know is that they got some stupid Roman boy and not their Percy Jackson. And everyone knows what this means. Everyone knows but no one says it.
It means that, chances are, Percy Jackson is gone and never coming back.
So when no one is watching and she's not searching or sobbing or acting, she sneaks into the Poseidon cabin, to the bed where he slept. Even after four months the cabin still smells like him and the pain in her gut hits her like a tsunami (which makes sense; she is in the Poseidon cabin). She curls up in a ball and whimpers, closing her eyes, wrapped in his blankets and smell.
She can see his face. She can see herself looking down, shy, at their bare feet.
And her feet are smaller than his.
