Work Text:
Jason doesn't know at what point night crossed over to day. He doesn't even know if more than one night has crossed over. All he knows is that Annabeth is still not here. She's still not here despite her promise to be with him in three days.
His lungs feel like gardens grow inside them. If florists looked they'd want to pick the bright beauty. If photographers looked they'd want to capture the wild landscape. If doctors looked they'd proclaim him dead.
He types another message. Honesty falling through his fingers and over the keyboard.
My head hurts when I see you and I find myself drunk on pain.
Gods he's pathetic. One, two...three? nights of no sleep and he thinks he's a modern Keats. All heartbroken and waiting for love to ‘enter, pursued by a—’
His finger hits the send button. He curses loudly. The mugs on the shelf rattle. There's a storm already brewing over the apartment block.
He should take a deep breath. Should delete the message and just ask her where she is. Three dots pop up, waving at him with infuriating winks. And then they disappear altogether.
A grey text replaces them.
I'm outside.
The garden in his lungs soaks up rain. And the clouds above him part to reveal yellow butter sunshine.
He opens the door. He's drunk on pain. It feels alarmingly like love.