I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
.Post Blue.
He loves it.
The feeling of gliding -- smoothly, effortlessly, through the water.
He thinks that, even if he wasn't the son of the sea god, even if H2O didn't course through his veins like blood, he would still get that peaceful emotion from the eerily calm ocean. He likes to think that, but he knows it's not true.
He knows it's not true, because if it were -- if he were welcomed into the water easily, even as a mere mortal -- then the water must absolutely, positively adore him now, with Poseidon as his father. It must long to caress him gently, float him around on the currents blissfully for all of eternity. It would bend to his every whim on command -- heck, it would be ecstatic to accomplish these tasks, to make him happy.
Instead, he is drowning.
The sweet water, so friendly, so beautiful, fills his nostrils and clogs his mouth. His arms pinwheel uselessly as the liquid spins around him, twirling like a flexible, overprotective casket. His dark hair is in his eyes, and he frantically smears it off his forehead, only for it to slouch back down over his face a heartbeat later.
I'm sinking, he realizes. The sun-topped waves have nearly vanished from sight, the sparkling ocean surface stretched seemingly miles above him. A dark, merciless abyss was instead reaching to gobble him up whole. His lungs are bursting, he has been underwater nearly ten minutes now, there is nothing to breathe…
He knows there is no use fighting.
If the god of the seas wants you dead, you will die.