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Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he’s only a little surprised.
Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn’t have a destination so whichever way he goes he’ll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.
The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don’t even look the same but they’re both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.
“You like them?”
“They’re beautiful,” He nods.
“Then you must have one,”
And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. “When people look at my flowers the same way you do,” She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. “Their souls are made of sunshine.”
A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. “How do you know that?”
Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, “Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look.”
“Thank you,” He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, “For everything.”
“Something is going to change to day passerotto,” She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, “The winds of the sea say so.”
Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and…
“Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square.”
“I will,” He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, “Do you—” He swallows, “Can you recommend a place I should visit?”
“Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?”
He shakes his head, intrigued.
“Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time.”
“Thank you,” He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, “And I’ll come back at the end of the day.”
“Goodbye Perseus.” She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.
It’s only when he’s past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he’s standing in an archway and there’s a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he’s known the world since he was stardust. He feels…alive.
He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It’s as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he’s ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.
He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.
But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.
His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he’s standing in front of them.
“Hi,” He waves, “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Hello,” The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. “How are you?” American, he deduces.
The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.
“I’m good thanks. I just—” He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. “I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?”
“Oh,” The American girl laughs brightly, “Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home.”
“And you can just do all three?”
“According to my girlfriend here,” She points to her right.
“It is true.” He can here the girl is native Italian. “Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice.” She nods deftly.
“Okay,” He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn’t reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. “Thank you.”
“Bye,” The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend’s and tugging them both away.
The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There’s something about its eyes he cannot get over. It’s the way they burn. No that’s not right. They almost…… crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them.
He’s surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn’t even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.
“For freedom.” He whispers.
And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.
“For love.”
He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let’s his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.
“For home.”
And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn’t want this to end.
The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—
He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.
He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.
“What the—” He splutters, “Who— How—”
His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.
“Hello,” The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn’t know.
“You were a—” He gasps, “And now you’re a—”
Words. He needs words. What’s language? What’s the alphabet?
“Where am I?” The statue— no, boy—asks.
Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.
“I’m sorry,” The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. “Could you help me? I don’t know where I am?”
“Yes,” He answers rawly, “Apparently neither do I.”
“What’s going on?” He can hear the frown in the boy’s voice.
“You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you’re… well a human?” He chokes out.
“I was what?” Those eyebrows knit in confusion.
“Yes. See that stand there?” Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. “You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Welcome to the club.” He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. “What’s your name?”
“Jason.” He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, “Jason Grace.”
“Hello Jason, I’m Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive.”