Chapter Text
The next afternoon, the sky was perfectly clear.
Which, ironically, made me more anxious than yesterday's thundercloud did.
I'd spent the morning glancing at every shadow, listening for footsteps, half-expecting Oliver to pop up from behind a bush and say something smug like "Emotional stability: it's a group project, and you're failing."
But he didn't.
No texts.
No subtle "meet me after class" glares from across the quad.
Just... absence.
Too much of it.
And when I walked past his usual lunch spot and found it empty—no book, no thermos, no jacket folded with precision like an origami war tactic—I knew something was off.
So, I found him leaning against the railing outside the philosophy building like he was posing for a painting he thought the world owed him, I was already raw.
Of course he looked good. It was a condition of his existence, apparently. Wind-kissed hair, smug mouth, boots that probably came with divine cushioning. He had one earbud in and was half-scrolling, half-glowing, like Olympus had personally given him a playlist and a superiority complex.
I didn't hesitate.
Didn't circle.
Didn't strategize.
I walked straight up to him and said, "Keep your hands off my guy."
He looked up, one brow arching like I'd just handed him a mildly interesting crossword puzzle.
"My guy," I repeated, sharper this time. "Oliver."
That got his full attention.
He pulled out his earbud and gave me a once-over—slow, lazy, blatantly theatrical. "Huh," he said at last. "Cute when you're feral."
"I'm serious," I snapped. "I don't care what bloodline you're from or what divine cologne you stole from a myth—don't touch him."
A beat passed.
Then he laughed. "Oh, kid. That's adorable. You think this is about flirting?"
"Isn't it?"
He shrugged. "I flirt with everyone. Nature of the brand."
"Not with him," I said. "Not when he smiles like—like—"
"Like he used to smile with me?" he finished smoothly. "Yeah. That was the idea."
My stomach twisted. "Used to?"
He pushed off the railing. Taller, now. Not physically—just... taller. His posture shifted from laid-back to blade-edge, the grin still there but tighter.
"We trained together," he said. "Long before this place. Back when we were back at Olympus."
"I'm not here for your tragic backstory."
"Maybe you should be," he said, stepping closer. "Because while you were busy summoning storm clouds out of raw emotion, Oliver was busy saving your ass."
I blinked. "He stopped it. It didn't hurt anyone."
"Barely," the guy snapped. "Do you even know what he did to cancel that storm?"
I frowned. "He nullified it."
"Yeah. From inside the suppression shield."
"...So?"
His voice dropped. "So, genius, Oliver is the one holding that shield up. The entire campus—every square meter—is covered by a containment net he built and sustains alone. It's one of the strongest magical constructs I've ever seen. And he's powering it constantly. Drip-feeding his own energy, every second of every day."
The words knocked the air out of me.
I tried to think. "He never told me—"
"Of course he didn't." The Hermes guy cut in, sharp now. "Because he didn't want you to feel bad. Because he's too strong to admit he's not invincible. Because that's who he is."
I reeled.
He wasn't finished.
"I didn't even know the shield was up yesterday," he said. "Thought he was being clever, watching him cancel that raincloud like it was nothing. Only this morning I realized—he didn't just stop it. He had to override it. From within a shield that's already draining him. Do you know how hard that is?"
I shook my head. Slowly.
He continued, relentless. "Nullifying a storm you summoned—emotional, magical, spontaneous—wasn't just difficult. It was dangerous. For him."
He paused as if to let the words soak into my bones. "The suppression shield works on him too. It makes him weaker to be inside it. And yesterday to revert that storm he had to break through his control, he had to let his powers amplify and overflow through the very containment he created. For you it might not mean anything, since you power is unrestrained but he was trained to control. But because of you he had to let his magic clash with his own. So in simple words it was like Oliver vs. Oliver, both equally powerful and both equally damaged. When control is lost."
He looked me dead in the eyes. "A price is paid."
My stomach turned over.
"I went to check on him this morning," he said quietly. "He didn't answer the door. His strength lines were thinned out. The suppression field was flickering. I found him in bed. Burning up. Could barely keep his eyes open."
I swallowed. "He's sick?"
"He's drained. Magical sickness. He's not dying, if that's what you're about to panic over," he said, rolling his eyes. "But he's definitely not okay. And pretending he is doesn't make it true."
I stared down at the pavement.
The Hermes guy lowered his voice. "He's holding up the weight of a fortress. And he used the other reserve he had left yesterday—for you."
Silence stretched between us.
The quad bustled in the distance. Someone laughed too loudly. Leaves rustled overhead like they were trying to tell me something I already knew.
I thought of Oliver's hands—steady even when his breath stuttered. His voice calm when mine cracked. The way he covered my magic without even blinking.
And I?
I'd nearly knocked him over the edge.
"I didn't know," I whispered.
"Now you do."
I looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
He held my gaze. "Because you clearly care. But if you're going to be in his orbit, you need to learn to keep your own gravity in check."
I nodded. Once. Jaw tight.
He stepped back. "You want to protect him?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Then stop being the storm he has to stop."
And with that, he walked away—easy and infuriating—leaving me standing under a painfully blue sky with the weight of everything I hadn't seen before pressing down on my chest.
If I was going to stand beside Oliver—
I had to stop being the reason he broke.
And learn how to hold my power like a promise.
That evening, I stood outside his door.
Not knocking. Not pacing. Just... standing.
The hallway smelled like old paper and floor wax, lit only by sunset streaks slanting through the high windows. My heart felt like it had hands, and they were gripping my ribs from the inside.
I hadn't messaged.
I hadn't called.
I'd just come.
The Hermes boy gave me the address. Didn't smirk when he handed it over. Just looked me dead in the eye and said, "He doesn't do this for just anybody. Don't make it worse."
I hadn't asked what this meant.
I figured I'd find out.
Now, standing here, I wasn't so sure I was ready.
I raised my hand to knock.
Stopped.
Because part of me still thought—what if I didn't deserve to be here? What if I was just another variable in the equation Oliver had to constantly solve? Another unpredictable force in a life already defined by control?
And then, as if summoned by guilt and reckless hope—
The door clicked open.
He stood there.
Barefoot. Hoodie. Glasses. Pale in the dim light. Like someone had drained the color from him just enough to make everything else too sharp. His hair was rumpled. His eyes—not glowing, but alert in that unreadable way he always carried.
And yet—
He looked tired.
Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind of tired that comes from weeks—months—of magic bleeding from your core into something you swore to protect.
He didn't blink. Just studied me. Quietly. Like he already knew I'd be here.
"Are you going to stare dramatically," he rasped, "or come in?"
His voice was hoarse. Not from sleep.
From effort.
From power.
I stepped in.
The door clicked shut behind me, gentle as a sigh.
His room was low-lit, scented with lemon balm and something faintly electric. His desk was cluttered with sigil scrolls and unfinished magical equations. A cup of tea sat untouched. The bed—half-made, blanket pushed aside.
I stared at it. "You're still maintaining the shield."
"Of course."
"Even now?"
He didn't look away. "It doesn't turn off just because I'm tired."
A beat.
I looked at him. Not shy. Not teasing.
"I know how long you've been holding it up."
Something in his shoulders shifted. Not defensiveness. Not surprise. Just... resignation.
"Christopher? I mean Hermès boy?" he asked.
I nodded.
"He shouldn't have told you."
"You weren't going to."
He didn't deny it.
There was a silence then. Not awkward. Just wide. The kind that lets truths echo.
"You didn't have to take on my storm yesterday," I said, voice low. "You didn't even know it was mine when you stopped it."
"I guessed."
"You didn't know."
He stepped past me. Sat slowly on the edge of the bed. Not graceful. Not deliberate. Just... exhausted.
"It was breaking through the suppression field," he said. "And there's only one other uncontrolled demigod inside the suppression. In case you forgot. I'm Athena's heir. Even my guess has logic in it."
"You rewrote the weather that I summoned," I said. "From inside the shield. That's—"
"Difficult," he finished. "Yes."
"Dangerous."
He glanced up. "I've done harder things."
"That doesn't mean you should have to."