So after NaNoWriMo I swore to take the first three requests for stories that I got. This one came in last night. Although I'm quite proud of this, Percy/Rachel is totally out of my usual but hey, blame Weirdo4/loveisapleasantdisaster who requested this. (No don't. Seriously, if you leave him hate anywhere I will rage and go on a writing strike.)
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO
Dedication: Weirdo4
A Breath of Fresh Air
Rachel was an artist. Perhaps that alone made it clear why her number one rule was that she didn't judge. She hung out with people who wore glitter on their eyelids (and not just glitter eye shadow, she meant glitter glue) on a regular basis, chewed mint leaves instead of gum to avoid shipping fees, hung fairy lights on their fridges and painted by imprinting their buttocks on canvases.
So when Percy showed up at her door, having snuck past the doorman, covered in slime that looked suspiciously like dish soap?
"Don't judge," Percy said, sounding exhausted and grumpy. The sleeve of his hoody was ripped apart, and Rachel knew for a fact that it was his favourite. It was her favourite too; he just looked really good in it. The brown shade made his clear green eyes pop up (though right now they were so grumpy and unhappy it wasn't worth it) without blending in with his dark hair, and his shoulders looked big and strong. He was still clutching Riptide in his hand, too stressed to put it away after whatever fight he'd just come back from.
"I won't," Rachel said putting her hands up. "I'm making tea, close the door behind you."
"I don't want tea." Percy said. The door shut either way.
"You say you don't want tea because you're a sixteen year old boy. Stop denying your body the kind of calming, soothing fix it needs because of society's premade conceptions on who should and who should not enjoy tea." Rachel said hurrying to the counter of her room/loft hybrid that she reserved for cooking, where a pot of water was boiling already.
"Rachel, your tea is probably the hugely expensive kind whose leaves' flavour comes from having been digested by a duck who's been feeding on cinnamon and mint or something. It's not like my lifespan needs help shortening." Percy said.
"Oh my God," Rachel rolled her eyes annoyed. "You are a) totally trying to classify everything in the world by the rules that society has transferred to you through peer pressure even though they have quite clearly led the world anywhere but downhill. Seriously, what are you doing Percy? Until you accept the fact that tea is an okay beverage for you to consume you are a puppet to society and its pre-established, often sexist and racist and morally wrong, rules! Do you also believe that we should reinstate slavery and have brides sold off to grooms three times their ages for cows? Should I and all the other strong women of the nation be stay-at-home moms instead of a working powerhouse in the country's economy? For God's sake, just have the tea! And b), you are totally assuming that my tea sucks when in fact I make the best tea in the world. British people cross the ocean to have my motherfugging tea."
Percy looked at her and blinked at her, the hair plastered to his head by spit making his head look small and his eyes look bigger and more confused and caught off guard than they were.
He glided forwards and hugged her as the kettle started whistling.
"Thanks, Rache," Percy said. "It's a breath of fresh air to get yelled at for something that doesn't have to do with being godly spawn."
Rachel was ready to shrug him off because of the spit, and she would have done it without a second thought and any shame on any other occasion. But hey, he obviously needed a hug. And it wasn't like Rachel minded giving them.