Drooling
Percy always woke up from the nightmares in a cold sweat. His hands would be clenching the sheets tightly, and his legs would be taut with stress. A thin sheet of perspiration would be coating his forehead. He never made a sound when he woke up. Atleast, he didn't think he did. His eyes would open in a furious panic, but his throat would be so cinched with fear not a sound could escape. The only noise would be his labored breathing as he stared up at the ceiling, drowsily searching the darkness.
After several minutes of slowly relaxing his body, Percy would pry himself from the sticky cot and pace. His room in the Argo II was spacious enough for him to take several steps before wheeling on his heel and returning back the way he came. His body was too wired to sleep anyway. As his eyes accustomed to the darkness, the blackness receded and he could see perfectly. It felt like he was back in the Empire State Building, months ago facing the armies of Kronos, cramped in a cot trying to find rest before another wave of monsters appeared.
Percy found that, for the last few days, rest was one thing he both desired and wanted to avoid the most. On the one hand, his mind felt like it was being crushed from the lack of sleep. On the other hand, sleep only brought nightmares. Nightmares of what he'd lost, what he could lose and a slew of other thoughts and emotions he could hardly comprehend. He may have left Tartarus, but the pain and images he had experienced in that Black Pit clung to his mind like a stain. The Demigod grimaced.
He stopped pacing and looked at his bed for several long moments. It was a tempting sight. Damasen's red face flickered across the pillow and he looked away. Percy sighed, because he knew he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.
I don't deserve sleep, he thought to himself, not after what I did. Not after I just left them down there. I should have stayed, I should have helped them.
There was a small knock at the door. Percy could have guessed who it was with absolute certainty. He walked over to the door and opened it. Annabeth's face, framed by her soft blonde hair, was waiting for him. Immediately, the room seemed to brighten and Percy even found the strength to smile. He pulled her into a hug and rested his chin on the crown of her head.
"I figured you'd be awake," She whispered in his chest.
He nodded, "You were right Wise Girl."
"Aren't I always?"
Percy smiled a little, "Yeah."
They drifted over to the bed. The two of them squeezed into the cot somehow, legs intermingling together. Annabeth's head rested on his chest, and they both quietly absorbed each other's silent comfort. Percy's eyes gazed at the ceiling, throbbing with a desire for sleep.
"This is the only way I can sleep nowadays," She mumbled finally.
"Nightmares again?"
"Yeah."
"Me too," He replied, voice thick with exhaustion. Her warmth was already enticing his entire body to deflate into a fitful, long rest, "Sorry if I drool on you."
"My hair's been abused enough these last few years, Seaweed Brain. But that doesn't mean I won't punch you if I wake up with wet hair again."
"I'll control it in my sleep so it won't get on you, Wise Girl."
She didn't reply. He waited for a few seconds, and came to the conclusion Annabeth had successfully fallen asleep. He peered through her thick locks of blonde hair and saw her eyes closed and lips pouted. Her face appeared a thousand times more peaceful than it had looked the previous few days when she was awake. Wise Girl was always stressing, always planning and always thinking into the late hours of the night. Relaxation was a foreign concept to her. Personally, seeing her so at ease made his own heart glow. His heavy guilt and the pain faded away at the sight of her sleeping like an angel.
Something wet trailed down his jaw. He absently smacked his lips, and felt drool smear the back of his hand. Percy groaned quietly and wiped the sticky substance onto his sheets.
He would be so dead in the morning.