Archive of Our Own ^beta

jason doesn’t realise it’s a dream when it’s happening.

something is horribly, terribly wrong.

the hair on the back of jason’s neck prickles in warning, and he can feel the change in the air around him - it gets muskier, hotter, more humid, and his skin moistens wherever it’s exposed: one shoulder, his arms, his face and neck. he wants to fan himself with the neck of his toga, but he doesn’t want to risking moving: every cell in his body is telling him to run, to not even attempt to fight back whatever it is that’s behind him (also, his toga would probably fall to the floor in one, swift, very embarrassing moment).

he doesn’t dare turn. he continues staring up at the marble deity, vine in one hand, a swan at his feet, and silently but desperately prays to him to seek protection in his temple.

“there’s no need to pray, pontifex. i am already here.”

her voice is silky soft, echoing around the small, dimly lit temple, and it sends shivers down jason’s spine.

“…piper?”

there’s a laugh, and it’s too dark, too velvety to really be piper’s. it’s close enough, though, and that freaks jason out.

“won’t you turn and look, pontifex ? how long has it been since you’ve last beheld my beauty? before your death, perhaps?”

“i’ve-” jason swallows, “never beheld your beauty. i know it’s not her.”

“then turn around,” the voice purrs, “see who it really is.”

there’s definitely charmspeak laced through the words, so jason, completely unwilling, turns.

it really looks like her. her warm eyes, her brown skin, her choppy hair and that michevious smirk. jason gets the sudden urge to launch himself at her and tackle her to the floor, sob into her shoulder, admit how much he misses her. his arms twitch, then still, because it isn’t her, not really. not with that toga and the vine draped over her shoulders.

“you can touch me,” she offers slowly. “if you want.”

“i don’t…” jason starts, and swallows again. there’s a big, painful lump in his throat. “i don’t like her like that, not anymore. i don’t- want her like that anymore. why do you look like her?”

she laughs again. “do you know what i am the god of, pontifex? you’ve erected a temple in the name of my brothers and i, and yet the extent of my dominion confounds you?”

“you’re… pothos,” jason says quietly, hesitantly. “the god of yearning. um…” jason can feel the heat rising up his face. “passion. desire. stuff like that.”

“hm.” she looks mildly dissatisfied.

“why… are you here?” he tries to sound respectful, but he doesn’t think it’s working. jason pretty much hates her brother after the thing with the diocletian sceptre, and he doesn’t think her presence here is going to be a much better experience. 

she walks towards him slowly, her steps making no sound, and jason’s whole body tenses. he left his weapon outside the temple but now he wishes he had it with him, customs be damned. 

he’s waiting for the worst, but she brushes past him to stare up at the statue of her classical form. 

“you called upon me,” she says eventually, and it sounds so simple, except -

“i’m sorry. there must be- there must’ve been a mistake in the rituals i performed, or something. i didn’t mean to call on you.”

“oh, son of jupiter…” she turns back to him, and though her eyes are same kind of teasing, it makes her look the furtherest person away from piper in that moment. “there was no mistake. you called on me, and how could i refuse? you are… such a devotee.”

“i…” don’t think i am.

a finger traces lightly up his forearm and gives him goosebumps. the bad kind. “who would you prefer i look like? who are you truly ready to see?”

her appearance begins changing, so imperceptably that it makes jason’s head hurt to try and catch her features as they transform. reyna holds his arm lightly, fingers resting on the outside of his elbow, thumb pressed just slightly against the dip on the inside. 

“you know,” she starts, other hand playing with the end of the braid that winds down the side of her neck, over her shoulder, and rests against her stomach. her voice is all wrong. reyna’s never spoken to him like that before. “your greek is weak, so i’ll be patient with you. the word pothos does mean to yearn, but it means to yearn that which is… absent.”

jason stares at the place where their skin makes contact. it feels weird. “oh.”

“yes, pontifex ,” the voice has changed, and this time, when he looks back up, she’s piper again. 

“so… are you her because she broke up with me? because… i miss her?”

she smiles, a small dangerous thing, and tilts her head. “you tell me.”

“i didn’t even know i called on you,” jason says quietly. “so i have no idea.”

her smile grows, and it makes jason feel trapped and uncomfortable under her gaze.

“there are a lot of reasons you called on me, jason grace. so much of your mind, your heart, they work in my domain… oh, the yearning,” her other hand comes up to cup jason’s jaw, and it feels sticky and hot, like there’s honey on her skin, “the desire. the loss.”

“the loss?” he asks, and his voice is weak. a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

she tips her head to the side again, quickly this time, like she’s considering something. “my brother told you that he and death were two parts of the same whole, did he not?” she continues when jason nods, “yearning and loss… they are the same way. just as i am the god of desire, so i am the god of grief. and you, jason grace, have grieved intensely.”

“not the most. others have lost more, grieved more.”

she clicks her tongue, dragging the hand on his elbow up to his heart. “you have felt the sting of absence, right here. it lives within you. your… girlfriend, your sister-” for a second, he thinks he sees spiky black hair, but then she’s back to piper, “your partner-” she’s reyna again, only momentarily, “your mother…” 

she’s beryl grace, with her pale, sunken blue eyes, her stringy straw hair, a faded spark of a star as she’s cupping his face in her hands, and tears spring to jason’s eyes so fast he can’t force them back. 

“the love of your people, to be sure,” her rough, smokers’ voice rasps as the ghost of a purple cloak shimmers over her shoulders. jason tries to avoid her gaze, avoid looking at the purple, avoid facing whatever it is the god, his mother , is trying to make him face.

“but there was a grief greater than all of those, a loss so deep…” and a coil of fear tightens his heart - he’s not prepared for pothos to force him to confront the the person he knows is coming next, not her of all gods possible, standing so close and brushing soft thumbs against his cheeks. “hm…” she hums in beryl’s voice. “perhaps not yet…”

“i- just-” jason steps back, though he knows he shouldn’t, and he thinks about nico. he thinks, for the thousandth time, about just how horrible that experience at diocletian’s palace must’ve been for him, but for the first time, it feels like he can understand what nico was going through. pothos is playing games with him, demanding things from his heart he doesn’t even know are tucked away in its folds, and each second feels like jason’s being unravelled against his will.

he turns away from pothos, attempting to breathe deep, but is confronted with the marble statue of himeros, the last one of the three erotes, one he’s yet to meet. requited love , he thinks bitterly. of course he’s not the one here.

“is your mother difficult for you to see?” the rough voice pierces his chest and jason squeezes his eyes shut, hands trembling as he balls them into fists. “shall we try something else? someone… easier for you to look at?”

a hand, strong and calloused, wraps around his bicep and turns him back slowly but firmly towards the god. jason’s eyes are still closed, not ready to see piper or reyna or anyone else at this point. he wants to be alone.

“please,” jason whispers, ashamed of how broken he sounds. “i pray to you, leave me be.”

“open your eyes,” the voice is deep, deeper than he was expecting, and when the charmspeak forces him to wrench his lids open, his mouth dries in shock.

“what the hell?”

percy jackson stands in front of him, beach-curled sandy brown hair and sea-green eyes. he’s barely an inch shorter than jason, and wearing his signature delinquient grin. 

“what the hell ?” jason repeats, and the grin spreads wider.

“am i not easier to look at?” he reaches out for jason’s wrist and jason whips his whole arm back, knocking his elbow into a marble pillar behind him. he doesnt even feel the pain.

“why- what?”

percy’s face fake-frowns at him, teasing again, head tilting to the side in artificial contemplation. jason doesn’t think the real percy has ever made a face like that before. “would this be better?”

the god changes to michael kahale, son of venus, tanned skin and rippling arms, and jason feels like his head is getting heavy. 

“or this?” a son of mercury jason spoke to just once, a lifetime ago. “this, perhaps?” a barista in a coffee shop in new rome, with tattooed arms and a piercing in his lip. “this one, maybe.” austin lake, long braids draped over his shoulder. 

“i don’t-” jason stutters, blindly taking a step backwards and gasping as his back hits the pillar behind him.

the god tsks and it’s piper again, stepping closer to him and caging him against the pillar. “you cannot face loss and you cannot face desire. you called upon me and yet cannot bring yourself to accept that you prayed to me. when, oh pontifex, will your bravery awaken beyond the battlefield?”

“i am brave,” jason says, and for once, his voice sounds strong, because he knows it to be true.

“and yet,” the god replies, percy again, no- now the barista, “nico di angelo was braver. you are righteous, son of jupiter-” it’s drew tanaka, this time, “fair and just beyond measure-” it’s a girl from the ares cabin, “perhaps one of the kindest demigods to grace the gods, and noble-” apollo, not lester, and then mercury, “earnest. but you have yet to be as brave as nico di angelo.”

jason turns his head to the side to avoid looking piper in the face. she sounds likes she’s a few steps away when she commands, “kneel.”

“after all this? ” jason snaps impulsively, and the temple gets hotter.

“yes, pontifex , after all this. there is but one person you have left to face. kneel, and pray for courage.”

the charmspeak pulls jason to the floor, and the force of his knees striking the marble travels up his body, though it doesn’t hurt. “fuck,” he breathes. 

“ pray .” there’s no charmspeak.

jason prays. he shuts his eyes, doesn’t think of anything in particular, but knows he’s praying, nonetheless. he realises, in that instant, that he did this earlier - that, in every thought of dark brown eyes and curly hair, staring into the face of grief and desire, he had prayed. pothos was right.

when he opens his eyes, still trained on the floor, he sees dark skin, feet in cheap slippers. his eyes travel up, to knobby knees peeking out from wide-legged jorts stained with oil and soot. a toolbelt hanging loose on thin hips. a bright neon t-shirt with a stupid graphic of a raccoon spreading his little arms and an obnoxious font that says ‘u r wat u eat’, which makes jason snort despite himself. collarbones, toned arms, long neck. dark, shiny curls and eyes like stained wood.

leo kneels in front of jason, slowly, so they’re face-to-face. he cups jason’s face in his hands again, the feeling warm and familiar now. it’s not really leo, he knows it’s not, but when his hands slide down from jason’s cheeks to his neck, one thumb settled beneath his jaw and the other on his adam’s apple, something hot grows in jason’s abdomen anyway. he raises a trembling hand to leo’s wrist, pressing his thumb along the inside, feeling for a pulse. there isn’t one.

the god looks amused as he watches jason’s hand, and the lightness of it suits leo’s features. every moment, it gets harder for him to remind himself that’s not the boy jason wants him to be. 

“this is the face of your grief and your desire,” leo’s voice, though quiet, rings out into the temple. his dark eyes switch between jason’s languidly. his skin, like polished bronze, glistens in the low light, and the way his sharp smile grows on his face, teeth shining, the way his neck bobs as he talks, the way his hair curls onto his temples, all of it has jason’s free hand balling up the fabric of his toga in his lap. “you have proven your bravery, jason grace. you have my blessing.”

jason bolts upright, panting heavily. the room is dark, and leo, sleeping in the bed across the room, shifts in his sleep. apollo is barely dragging light across the inky sky, and the soft, pre-dawn glow illuminates the fuzz of leo’s thick blanket. jason stares for minute, hands fisting in his sheets, before he gives up on the prospect of more sleep. he pushes his own blanket away, quietly putting on his glasses and exiting their room, making his way through the halls of the waystation towards the kitchen.

by the time leo wakes up, jason has almost all the carrots peeled and the bathrooms are scrubbed to perfection. everyone else is already bustling around, doing one task or another, but there’s common consensus that the son of hephaestus is the only one going near the stables.

“aw, man,” leo whines as he enters the kitchen, but it doesn’t sound like one with his voice gravelly. “you left shovelling abelard’s shit to me?”

jason attempts to grin in response though his face quickly falls as leo walks up to him, reaching around his side for the box of tea bags. a wave of warmth disappears as quickly as it brushes jason’s arm.

he watches leo warm up water in the kettle and pour it out, dipping a tea bag in the steaming mug and letting it sit. he leans against the counter across from jason, crossing his arms.

“slept badly?”

jason gulps and then shrugs. “the best you can get, y’know?”

leo hums, grabbing the mug by its undoubtedly burning hot body, handing it to jason handle-out. “chamomile,” leo says. “i noticed when you left - it was pretty early. get a nap before lunch. i’ll handle the rest of the chores the moms throw our way.”

before jason can process anything, leo slaps him lightly on the arm, grabs a peeled carrot stick, and walks out of the kitchen.

jason catches leo around the waystation from time to time, even though there’s a lot to do.

he first spots leo carrying a bucket that stinks while grumbling to himself and briefly raising an eyebrow at jason as a greeting when they pass each other. jason makes a face at the smell, and catches himself hoping leo takes a shower so he can smell like cinammon and burning wood again. 

he sees leo later in the kitchen, and lo and behold, leo has showered. the loose collar of his oversized t-shirt and the straps of the apron resting on his shoulders are wet, his curls sticking to his forehead and dripping water down his neck as he works on what looks like tofu tacos again. 

“switch it up,” jason complains, knowing leo won’t take it seriously with the way jason’s smiling.

“hey,” leo objects, holding up a spatula threateningly. “if you could do better, emmie would be asking you to make lunch. yet here you stand, apron-less and utterly exposed.”

“alright, man,” jason concedes, hopping up on the counter. he watches leo work, deft fingers cutting up vegetables quickly and throwing them in a sizzling pan. “you look like a chef.”

“what, because i cut so fast? it’s easy - here, try it. help me-” and leo’s shoving a cutting board in his lap, slapping a peeled carrot on it and offering a knife to jason. 

“this is pretty- hold on-” jason gets off the counter and turns around, placing the board safely on the counter. “go on.”

big mistake, because leo nudges jason’s hip with his own, tucking right into jason’s side as he grabs jason’s hands and attempts to position them correctly. hands that have gone embarrassingly limp as he breathes in the smell of the conditioner available to waystation residents, now wafting up from leo’s damp hair. sweet and floral. it doesn’t exactly suit leo, masks what he really smells like, but it’s endearing in the moment. his head is just under jason’s, trying to get jason’s useless hands to hold onto the carrot and knife, chattering away as jason stares at the way beads of water cling to the back of leo’s neck. he’s so close, the entire line of their bodies pressed together, and jason could just duck and-

“ugh, you’re useless!” leo exclaims, throwing his arms up in the little space between them. “you’re being difficult on purpose. go annoy someone else.”

next thing, he’s shoving jason out of the kitchen, and jason, too overwhelmed by his own brain to protest, goes easily.

then, after doing the dishes and finally taking that nap, he finds leo in the workspace with jo. he’s lounging horizontally on an armchair and tinkering with little pieces of metal in the corner as jo works on something or the other.

jason is there to ask a question emmie sent him to ask but promptly freezes in the doorway when he sees the expanse of thigh leo has on display, basketball shorts riding up the leg thrown over a cushioned arm of the chair. 

“hey,” leo says, throwing his head back over the other arm as he turns his head to look at jason, and the long line of his neck glistens yellow under the lights. 

“it’s hot in here, huh,” jason chokes, and which makes jo laugh.

“some of us feel the heat more than others.” something in her voice makes his face burn red and forces him to tear his eyes away from leo. she’s staring at him with eyebrows raised, smirk twisting her lips. 

“um.”

“come in, come in! em sent you for something, right?”

“well, yes, but, i-” jason burns red again, “-forgot. i don’t remember what it is.”

jo laughs again, loud and booming, and leo laughs with her. jason watches the smile carve up his cheeks and his head roll towards the ceiling as his eyes squeeze shut and his nose scrunches. he raises his hand and lightly covers his laugh, and something urgent in jason’s stomach wants to pull his hand away.

“c’mere, jase,” leo says, still chuckling lightly. “sit down. you’ll remember in a bit, probably. probably not, actually, you should definitely go and ask emmie again.”

jason makes his way to leo and sits down on the ground anyway, next to the armchair, leaning his head against the armrest leo has his leg over.

things go back to silence for a few minutes, him struggling and failing to turn his gaze away from leo. he still has his head thrown back so jason can’t see his face, just the smooth underside of his chin, the line of his jaw like an upturned v, the curves of throat as they connect to his shoulders. his hands as they fiddle, arms sometimes raising so leo can see what he’s doing without having to lift his head. his adam’s apple bobbing as he hums. time feels slower, thick like honey, and jason swallows, almost tastes it as his gaze falls to the foot resting on the floor, next to jason’s thigh. his ankle, the surprisingly sharp curve of his calf, his prominent knee, a shadow of a vein just barely emerging on its side, travelling up leo’s thigh and under the hem of his shorts.

leo’s foot nudges his leg and jason blinks. he frowning at jason now, nodding his head questioningly.

“nothing,” jason says, his voice hoarse. “just wondering if that position will get enough blood into your head to cure your debilitating case of idiot disease.”

he hears jo snort, but is too busy trying not to laugh at the feeling of leo shoving his foot under jason’s thigh and wiggling his toes. “big words, coming from the number one head trauma patient in the world. you feeling normal, or did your perpetual concussion heal for once? need me to smack you over the head with a brick to make it all ok again? i’ll do it. gladly. and hard.”

jason grins and grabs leo’s ankle, yanking his foot and attempting to pull him off the armchair. he’s sitting up now, yelping and grabbing onto the back of the chair with both hands, and then he’s laughing again, just as brilliant as always, sharp and barking. jason doesn’t realise when he slows down and stops pulling, still leaning his head against the armchair, watching leo snicker as he runs his thumb over the warm skin of leo’s ankle. he vaguely registers the steady pulse under the pad of his thumb - just behind leo’s ankle bone - and presses harder, chasing the feeling of it against his skin. the pressure makes leo’s laughter falter, and suddenly he’s staring at jason with a fading smile and shining eyes.

jo clears her throat from across the room. “you better go back to em and figure out what she wanted from me.”

“yes ma’am,” jason bolts up and stumbles towards the door hastily, trying desperately to hide his embarrassment. his hand still burns as he makes his way back to emmie, thumb still tingling, the phantom beat of leo’s heart making his skin pulse. he almost brings his hand to his mouth to suck on his thumb like it’s an an open wound, before he catches himself and shoves it in pocket.

there’s a few other times he steals glances of leo around the waystation, each as overwhelming as the next, and he wonders if pothos cursed him through his dream or if he’s just starting to notice his brain is always this distracted when it comes to leo valdez. he wants it so badly to be the former, but jason fears that if he doesn’t admit to himself what’s really going on pothos will haunt his dreams forever, showing up as the boy he’s trying not to think about.

dinner is an awkward affair. calypso is back from school and jason really hates being around her, something he’s sure she can tell, because she doesn’t engage with him and focuses mostly on leo. that’s just as shitty as him having to interact with her himself, because from all the residents of the waystation, he’s focusing the most on leo too. leo’s not focusing on him nearly as much, too wrapped up in conversation with calypso. lityerses is sitting right next to jason, and though there’s no bad blood between them, it’s still weird to talk to the guy he turned to gold for a solid minute. it all just sucks.

it gets worse when towards the end of the night. jason is quietly doing the dishes with a few other people when leo bursts into the kitchen.

“jason, man, we have a problem.”

jason puts the last plate into the rack and wipes his hands dry, frowning when he sees leo’s frame all springy as he wrings his hands together. “what’s up?”

“just-” leo shakes his head. “come with me.”

they make their way through the winding halls and to their bedroom - oh - and jason’s heart drops to his stomach when leo opens the door to reveal one singular, massive bed in the centre of the room.

oh, this is horrible , jason thinks. this is horrible, and it’s all my fault - because’s he’s pretty sure he’s giving out some weird, creepy vibe the waystation is picking up on.

“i spoke to jo about it,” leo says quietly. “she says there’s nothing she can do, because the waystation seems to be refusing to conjure up another room or change this one. i think it’s a bug or something.”

jason stays silent for a moment, pursing his lips together. “i’ll sleep on the floor,” he manages eventually.

“what?” leo says, turning to face him. “nah, man, i can fit on the couch in the living room, easy. i know my big, muscular frame might not hint that, but i’ll survive.” he smiles at jason, and jason’s heart drops further, down to the floor. leo is uncomfortable.

“no,” jason insists. “just- trust me. i’m taking the floor, and you’re not going anywhere. it’s just one night, right? you and jo can get it fixed tomorrow. i can handle the floor for one night.”

jason lays his palms on leo’s shoulders - trying not to feel disgusting about it the entire time - and steers him towards the bed. “no couch for you.” as soon as they reach the bed he pushes leo onto it, making the boy face-plant with an oomph.

“ugh,” leo’s head rises and his eyes squint as he stares at jason, thoroughly put-out. “you self-sacrificing piece of shit.”

jason doesn’t really know how to respond to leo calling him that, so he excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

once in there, he desperately tries to create a rainbow. four attempts later and he’s tossing in a drachma, asking iris to show him nico di angelo.

“el- oh fuck-” nico, clearly startled, falls off his bed as shiny cards go flying everywhere. a head of curly caramel hair pops out from nico’s numerous blankets.

“oh, hey jason! nice glasses.” hazel smiles at him. jason smiles back and tries not to feel uncomfortable. he’d love to talk to hazel, but right now, it’s difficult enough having to approach nico alone.

“hey, hazel. thanks.”

“fuck you, grace,” nico grumbles. 

jason rolls his eyes. “we’ve discussed this, nico. calling people by their last name makes you sound 90.”

“i am 90.”

“yes, but it still isn’t flattering when you sound like it.”

hazel giggles and nico scowls.

“can i help you?” the question sobers jason up. 

“uh, actually…” jason glances between nico and hazel, and hazel holds up her hands.

“i get it, and i’m really sorry, but i can’t leave. the harpies…” hazel frowns, looking genuinely apologetic. “i can go into the bathroom?”

“no!” jason stutters, “that’s- it’s fine. i’m just… going to start talking.”

nico looks at him expectantly, clearly attuned to just how distraught jason is feeling.

“i…” jason inhales. “remember how i set up the temple of the erotes at temple hill three days ago?”

nico frowns, “yeah?” hazel is bustling around in the background, trying to busy herself, but the cabin isn’t nearly big enough for her to not be listening.

“i, um. i got a… dream. from- from pothos.”

nico’s mouth drops into an o, before he scowls, looking more like the son of hades than ever. “was it like eros and the palace? did he bother you?”

“kind of- i just. i’m lost,” jason pushes out. “i don’t know what to do. he… implied some things. about me. and- and certain people. around me. and now i can’t stop thinking about it. it’s driving me crazy.”

hazel has dropped all attempts to stay away from the conversation, which jason appreciates, because it’s better than the three of them pretending she isn’t there. both nico and her are about to say something when there’s banging on the door.

“yo, are you alive? is superman just battling the big bad ibs monster or do you need actual help?”

jason flushes deep. “what the hell, leo,” he mutters making his way to the door and yanking it open. “i’m just talking to nico and hazel.”

leo’s eyes brighten, and as he shoves past jason, every point of contact between their bodies tingles hot on jason’s skin. the most it burns is right on his stomach, where leo pressed his hand as he tried to squeeze in between jason’s body and the doorframe.

jason, too winded from that minimal a moment, hears leo enthusiatically greet the two demigods through the IM. leo and hazel chatter for a few minutes, and as jason steps back into the call, nico shoots him a look of exasperation. he barely responds, his eyes drawn back to leo.

he’s painfully aware he’s being obvious but he also cant stop himself, drinking in the sight of excited leo, his hands gesturing, his eyes wide and happy. his long eyelashes that flutter when he blinks quick and hard, squeezing his eyes tight shut every time, a little habit that makes jason’s chest heat up. again, the way his adam’s apple rolls under his skin. the way his hair bounces as he moves his head, the tip of a curl landing around the corner of his eye and making him blink hard again. the lighting reminds jason of his dream, except that he knows if he reached out this time, for leo’s hand or neck or heart, he’d feel the pulse under leo’s skin, because this really is his leo: human and vibrant and warm beside him. jason’s thumb throbs once more, and he swallows thickly.

“-ason? jason?” nico is calling him, and when jason finally breaks, turning his head to respond, he sees nico grinning. “earth to jason.”

“yeah,” and his voice is hoarse again. “what?”

“something important you wanted to talk about, right?” nico asks, and he’s teasing. it makes jason fidgety.

“wait, you wanted to talk to death breath about something important? is everything ok?” leo slaps his forearm, and then presses his palm against jason’s head, fake-checking his temperature. jason’s brain short-circuits. they’re standing too close to each other.

“no, yeah, it’s fine,” jason croaks, looking into leo’s sparkling eyes. 

“fuck you, valdez,” nico says, but when jason catches his eye, he’s still grinning, looking between him and leo. 

“kill yourself,” leo says to nico in the sweetest voice jason has ever heard, and it makes him laugh. turning back to him, leo asks casually, “you’re okay right?” and ah, it’s not casual. he can see the dormant worry in leo’s eyes, trying not to jump out too far. his heart stutters painfully.

“yep,” he reassures, tapping his knuckles on the back of leo’s hand, which is now resting on his arm. “i’m good, don’t worry.”

“okay.” leo begins to leave, turning around at the last second and shooting two middle-fingers in nico’s direction. “bye, haze!” and then he’s gone, and the bathroom is cold.

there’s a beat of silence.

“yeah, there’s no need to elaborate,” nico says. “i have a fairly good idea of what that dream was about.”

jason turns red, but before he can defend himself, hazel jumps in. “yes, i think jason is cursed.” she sounds worried.

“cursed?” nico turns to her, frowning.

“well, yes,” hazel motions vaguely in jason’s direction. “you know- with the-” she flushes a deep shade of pink. “this… leo thing.”

nico grins, first at his sister, then at jason. “what do you think, jason? you cursed?”

“i… um.” jason’s mouth is dry.

“look, hazel,” nico says, touching her lightly on the arm. “you haven’t been around us for a while. jason’s been like this since his knight in shining armour pulled him out of the underworld.”

jason feels like he’s going to die with the amount of blood rushing to his head.

hazel’s eyebrows raise impossibly high. “oh… wow. it’s not a curse?”

nico huffs a small laugh. “more like crisis, but definitely not a curse. unless, what was the word will used?” he scratches his temple, then pushes a hand through his hair, still smiling. “biphobic? yeah, i’m sure it’s biphobic to say bisexuality is a curse.”

bisexuality.

bisexuality.

jason mouths the word, tasting the way it feels on his tongue. 

“and this is not…” hazel hesitates. “it’s not because he saved you right? because i know leo would hate that.”

“no!” jason almost yells, then glances at the door for a second, hoping leo didn’t hear that. “i mean, no. it’s not. i had a conversation with annabeth, and we figured… you know, that juno had- she had messed with piper, leo, and i. even during the argo ii. that our connections were never fully true. i think that’s changed.”

“right,” hazel squints. then she smiles. “this is good. this is cute.”

“please stop.” he feels like the skin on his face is going to burn off. his stomach is churning.

“jason…” nico’s voice is soft, and when their eyes meet, he isn’t teasing anymore. “i’m sorry you had to experience… whatever it is that you experienced with pothos. you know i know how terrible it is.”

“no, that’s not-” jason shakes his head. “i think any way that i would’ve realised would’ve been just as shocking for me. i guess…” he breaks eye-contact and leans against the wall behind him heavily, gaze blurring as it fixes on the floor. “this is yet another thing i didn’t know about myself. i’m sick of discovering my own brain like it’s uncharted territory.”

hazel makes sympathetic sound. “take it from two senior citizens, jason. it’s pretty normal to not know things about yourself way into your old age, let alone when you’re a teenager. i- i know your experience is worse, considering everything, but still…”

nico pipes up. “you know now, right?”

jason hums, looking back up at his friends. “bisexuality, huh?”

nico tilts his head in question, quirking his eyebrow. that motion alone lightens up the atmosphere, and jason feels a rush of gratitude. “you tell me.”

“i think…” jason breathes. “it makes sense.”

nico and hazel both smile at him, and suddenly, jason’s heart swells. then stutters, when nico’s smile turns evil.

“and leo?”

“you know, i really miss the times you didn’t grin like this.”

nico points as jason accussingly. “so what i’m hearing is you hate me and despise me-” hazel’s laughing, “-and want me to retreat into my depressive cave of isolation, despair, agony-”

“al-right, nico, hazel,” jason rolls his eyes and raises his arm, swiping at the IM. “i’ll talk to you guys later.”

“you owe me three drachmas!” nico yells as the IM begins to fade. “i kept the call connected when you were mooning over-”

silence. jason looks at himself in the mirror, still red, smiling despite everything.

his smile fades as he makes his way back to his room.

leo is already burrowed under the blankets, but only on one side of the bed. 

“c’mere, superman,” he mutters sleepily, and jason’s entire ribcage rattles as his heart bangs into it repeatedly.

“what?”

“i know something’s wrong.” leo’s words are heavy with drowsiness. “you’re not sleeping on the floor. s’okay, the bed’s big enough that we won’t touch.”

its true, but the thought of sleeping next to leo has jason feeling all kinds of things regardless.

“i- just-” he knows he’s floundering, and it makes leo raise his head from the pillow and frown. 

“it’s fine if you don’t want to.”

jason doesn’t know where to begin. before he can stop himself, the words burst out of him. “apparently, i’m bisexual.”

that evidently snaps leo awake, by the way he sits up in bed. “oh.”

“yeah.”

they stare at each other. jason’s knees wobble, so he sits on the corner of the bed furthest away from leo.

leo has an unreadable expression on his face. eventually, his mouth opens with a click, and he says, “cool. i’m gay. if you’re uncomfortable, you can sleep on the floor. otherwise, i think you should just get into bed.”

“uh…” jason’s brain is still stuck on the first part of what leo said. it feels slow, slower than it’s ever been, forming one thought a minute. leo silently waits the entire time. “you’re… gay?”

“yeah.”

“oh.”

“yep.”

more silence.

gradually, jason gets up from his spot on the bed. he’s trying very hard to hide how much he’s shaking, but doesn’t think he’s doing a good job, judging by the way he can feel leo watching him carefully as he pulls his glasses off and places them on the nightstand. grabbing the poorly-aligned corners of the sheets on the empty side of the bed, jason peels them back and gets in slowly.

a few minutes later, they’re both staring at the ceiling, breathing deep.

“um,” jason begins, and his voice is so wobbly it’s pathetic. “did you find out when… with- i mean- calypso?”

“oh my gods, dude,” leo gasps. “we never got that far. definitely not.”

“oh.” a few more minutes of silence.

“jase…” leo starts softly, and his voice washes over jason. “is this what you were talking to nico about?” 

jason gulps. “yeah. i just- i had a dream. last night.”

leo chuckles. “i figured. your sheets weren’t tucked in when you woke up, which i know is a sign of severe psychological distress in killer child soldiers because i have multiple doctorates in psychology. and also - you’ve been staring at me weird the whole day.”

jason snaps his head to leo. “what?”

leo tilts his neck to look back at jason. “yeah. it makes sense now. you were figuring out a way to tell me you’re bi, right?”

oh. “right.”

jason gazes at the lock of hair resting on leo’s browbone for a bit. his fingers itch where they lay intertwined on his stomach. “how did… you know?”

leo snorts. “you first. what was your dream? was it percy jackson, or some other, equally ripped, myth-accurate hero? frank, maybe? that dude from camp jupiter with the giant arms? yum. oh my gods, was it paulo?”

jason blushes, but doesn’t look away from leo. he can’t. “pothos, the god of desire. they basically gave me a lecture about accepting myself or something.” he manages to smile when leo grins and scrunches his nose in mock-disgust. “it was super embarrassing.”

“that’s rough.” 

“yeah…” jason breathes in deep. “what about you?”

“let’s not talk about me. it’s more embarrassing.”

“i want to know, if you’ll tell me.”

the way leo looks at him as he says that makes jason think of the moment leo called him ‘earnest’, voice brimming with awe. it makes jason flush from his scalp to his toes.

“i…” leo starts slowly. “realised i was into men when i… met this guy. and i felt- felt-” leo breaks eye-contact with jason, staring up at the ceiling before squeezing his eyes shut. jason watches his profile move under the moonlight as he speaks, the curve of his nose, the glint of teeth between lips. “i felt so strongly that i thought i was jealous of him. you know, how hot, and good, and nice, and amazing he was. but turns out that’s called a crush. in its mildest form. and i’d never felt anything like that for any girl, even calypso.”

jason’s heart grows talons and crawls up into his throat. “who was it?” his voice is barely a whisper.

leo turns to look at him again, and this time, his eyes are wet. jason’s whole body tenses as he fights the urge to squeeze the boy in front of him between his arms, among other things. how could anyone, ever, make leo cry?

“it’s,” leo says hoarsely, “it’s paulo.” and then he grins as jason lets out a startled laugh. 

ah, paulo. it’s probably not paulo, but it feels like a spear in his heart all over again when he realises that whoever it is, it’s not jason. he turns to look back at the ceiling.

“you spoke about girls a lot,” jason tries to tease, and it works, because leo huffs indignantly. “i thought you fell in love with every girl you saw.”

“i thought i did, too. calypso says i was overcompensating.” leo huffs again. “she was the one literally falling in love with every guy she saw, so i don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. to be fair, i’m pretty sure she’s actually aro.”

jason doesn’t know what the means, but he lets it hang in the air for the time being. both of them are lying in silence now, and eventually jason hears leo’s breath start to even out.

he inhales deeper, finally able to relax his body so it can tremble the way he’s been wanting to the entire time. his breaths sound shaky even to his own ears. he wants to turn and look at leo, stare at him forever, but knows that in this moment, that would probably break him.

a tear runs down jason’s temple.

he doesn’t know how long he spends staring at the blank ceiling. he wishes he was in any other room, away from leo, escaping this- this fire that consumes his body, his heart, his soul. he wishes the room was like georgina’s, at the very least, with a ceiling that wasn’t blank enough to force him to think.

a movement next to him startles him, and he sucks in a sharp breath, arms tensing.

“you know…” leo says quietly, and jason can see out of the corner of his eyes that leo’s laying on his side, facing him. “my mother would run her hands through my hair and massage my scalp when i refused to go to sleep. something about murderous babysitters and earth monsters giving me nightmares, i don’t know. i was a freak child.”

jason attempts to laugh, but it comes out shaky. 

“jase,” leo tries again. “do you not want to sleep?”

“sleep isn’t my favorite thing,” jason says. “nightmares, and stuff.”

“do you…” leo’s own voice shakes, and it forces jason to look at him. “dream of… it?”

“what?” jason whispers, though both of them know what they’re talking about. 

“you know.” leo pushes his arm out upwards in a dramatic motion. “krrpoof.” a beat of silence, jason’s stomach churning. “i dream of my death. almost every night.”

oh gods, jason wants to sob. he settles for whispering quietly, “i do, too.”

“shit, man,” leo mutters. “dreaming of being punctured by a killer roman ghost king has to suck.”

jason doesn’t have the heart nor the guts to tell leo that’s not the death he dreams of. 

this is the face of your grief and your desire.

jason turns so he’s laying on his side, resting his hand on the bed between them. he wants to keep it to himself, and he wants to press his fingertips into leo’s neck and fall asleep to the feeling of leo’s heartbeat pulsing into his own body. feeling the warmth radiating off leo and onto his hand as it lays passive, palm down, is a compromise.

leo’s staring at him again, eyes flitting between jason’s. eventually, he says, “do you want me to run my hand through your hair?” 

it makes a tear run across the bridge of jason’s nose and fall noiselessly onto his pillow, which leo notices, but says nothing about. he thinks of lupa, his little wolf siblings, the way their paws would beat against the ground in delight as he ran his fingers through their fur. he nods slightest nod he can muster.

and then, oh, leo’s hand is running through jason’s hair, warm and nimble fingers scratching at his scalp. he rests his arm extended across their pillows so he has to move the least possible amount - of course he’s lazy and efficient about it. jason’s hand balls into a fist between them. 

his eyes begin to droop against his will. he tries to keep them open, look at leo longer as leo’s eyes run over the room because he’s horrible at any kind of extended eye-contact, watch the line of leo’s shoulders rise and fall. feel the heat from leo’s body, from his hand still moving in jason’s hair. trace the dip of leo’s waist with his eyes, a curve that makes a hot flame snap somewhere in jason’s belly. 

this is the face of your grief and your desire.

half-asleep - braver than he ever is fully awake - he drags his hand up from between them and wraps it around leo’s wrist, pressing his thumb against the inside. leo’s heart is alive, beating. jason hums contently, finally drifting off. 

when he wakes up in the morning, sun shining through the window, he’s sweating. he and leo are still facing each other, as close as they could possibly be without touching, except - 

except jason has his fingertips on leo’s throat, and barely awake, he can feel leo’s pulse send steady waves through jason’s whole body. for what is the first time in his life, he closes his eyes, and drifts back to sleep. he’s going to have to shovel griffin poop when he wakes up, but it’s worth it.