Sweet
PT: Thanks, everyone, for the reviews! They're all very much appreciated! ^^ And don't sue me for using the word "unclosed"; I suppose it's an expired part of vocabulary or something...but I like it. Found it in Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Disclaimer: I don't even own Percylicious XD Okay, I'm a mod, but I didn't MAKE it...
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How can it be so sweet?
When it is spawned by the most fearsome of insects.
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His hand brings up the honey, dripping gold, on one finger to smear on his tongue.
They taste sweet, but he remembers the time he had first been stung by a bee—and he would rather not keep knowledge of the sudden pain that shocked him so, when he saw the bee flying away from his arm with angry buzzes, leaving him with the puffy mark and ebbing hurt. After that he never wanted to be stung again. Ever.
But he wonders how such small but frightening bees—those bees that left wheedles on anyone, so that every child was warned against vexing them—could ever be so sweet, so valued—how he himself could feel how the honey put the hardworking insects in such a light...that was almost beautiful. The only thing he can understand is that they are wary, and always ready to defend themselves—because they don't want to be hurt.
Like demigods, he reflects as he wipes his hand on a towel. And perhaps, Artemis's Hunters even more so.
Zöe Nightshade—betrayed by Hercules, so Percy never saw him in any sort of admiration again.
He thinks of Thalia, in a sort of sudden appearance, remembering the cold, unreachable demigod who had sworn herself away from the company of men. With a second rush of heating anger, he thinks of the traitor Luke—did she ever have feelings for her old friend?—just as Annabeth had?—and still has?
Was he, Percy, not enough for them?
His lip tightens as he leans back against the cabin wall, in an attempt at calming himself. The stone wall is cooling, but he oddly still feels the prickling bit that nags at him—Luke, Luke, Luke—
His friend.
Former friend.
Who betrayed them all, in a moment of overwhelming anger, selfishly turning against Annabeth and Thalia. Selfish. Uncaring.
Percy squeezes his eyes shut. Am I jealous? he asks himself. Putting Luke in such a light—surely, Luke must have felt guilty.... But it was his resolve. He must have been hurting enough—but—but—
Percy lets out a long sigh, keeping his eyes closed, trying to see nothing but the dark pressing against his sight—but he cannot keep those eyes out of his mind...
Those blue eyes, eyes as endless as the sky, eyes as deep as the ocean. Cold, calculating, the glaze of a shield that cover the hurt that he assumes is buried deep, somewhere in her heart. Invisible, a thorn that is there.
Then, she swore herself into Artemis's arms, that shielded her from men. She did so with such absolute resolution—no more dead promises, no more teary nights, no more betrayal—right after meeting Luke.
Percy wiped his eyes, willing himself not to—as he suddenly finds himself—to cry, shed tears for her and her endless pain.
Is she all right?
She is like bees, Percy thinks, bitterly. She's so cold—but she probably hurts...so much. That's why she's the stoic person she is...to hold in that core of bitterness, so cold to protect herself—hiding her hurt with anger.
He reaches for the honey, finding the cold glass and upending it in the bowels of a bowl of hot water.
But she can be so kind, in her own way, probably, he thinks in continuation; she really is like bees.
Feeling the honey seep into the bowl, he rights it and puts it back on the floor.
He lifts the bowl to his lips, taking a long draught of the loosened honey. It runs, bubbles down his throat, free and sweet.
And suddenly, the thought comes to him:
How can I love her so?—when she is the coldest person, who even pushes me away.
Eyes unclose.
Choking on the thinned honey.
What is he thinking? A bolt of alarm flows through his veins. What possesses him to think such thoughts?
At the back of his head, a small voice whispers, Denial.