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The war was over. The camps were united. And somehow, that meant they were all expected to attend a mandatory “cross-camp integration seminar” in the amphitheater of New Rome.
Percy sat next to Jason, slouched so low his chin almost touched the wooden bench. Reyna was droning on about “synergistic tactical formations.”
“I’m going to die,” Percy whispered. “From boredom. My tombstone will have to read: He died at 17, in a cross-camp integration seminar.”
Jason snorted quietly, then covered his mouth. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re only saying that because you have the attention span of a carved statue. Very noble. Very still.”
Jason shot him a sidelong glare. “At least I’m not making stupid jokes under my breath.”
“They’re not stupid.”
Reyna called on a daughter of Vulcan to share her thoughts on pincer movements. Percy groaned. Then, an idea sparked—a terrible, brilliant, Seaweed Brain idea.
“I bet you won’t kiss me,” he murmured, barely moving his lips.
Jason went rigid. “What?”
“Right here. In front of everyone. I bet you won’t. Because you’re too proper.”
“That’s not—Percy, that’s insane.”
“See? Proper.” Percy grinned, then leaned over and planted a quick, loud, smacking kiss on Jason’s cheek. It was fast, almost aggressive in its casualness. The kind of kiss you’d give a grandma at a family reunion.
A few campers in the front row turned their heads. Leo, three rows back, let out a whoop.
Jason’s face went scarlet. “You’re a menace.”
Percy settled back into his slouch, hands behind his head. “And you just lost the bet.”
“There was no bet!”
“Exactly. I win by default.”
Reyna cleared her throat loudly. Jason spent the rest of the seminar pretending to take notes while his ears stayed pink.
They’d been tracking a chimera nearby camp for three days. Three days of rain, bad trail mix, and Percy asking “Are we there yet?” every half hour just to watch Jason’s eye twitch.
When they finally cornered the thing in a cave, it didn’t go quietly. Jason went flying into the wall, and Percy got pinned under a fallen tree on fire. They both emerged singed, exhausted, and bleeding from a dozen small cuts.
The chimera dissolved into golden dust. The rain finally stopped.
Percy stumbled over to where Jason was sitting against the wall, holding his ribs. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” Jason wheezed. “My lungs are on the wrong side of my body.”
Percy dropped to his knees in front of him. His hands were shaking—from adrenaline, from cold, from the fact that for about thirty seconds, he’d been sure Jason wasn’t getting up again.
“You absolute idiot,” Percy said, voice cracking. “You jumped in front of the chimera. For me.”
Jason blinked up at him, water dripping from his blond hair. “You would’ve done the same.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the point?”
Percy didn’t have an answer. So instead, he grabbed Jason’s face with both hands—dirty, scraped, trembling—and kissed him square on the forehead. Hard. With purpose.
Then again on his temple.
Then again on his cheek.
Three quick, desperate kisses, like Percy was trying to convince himself Jason was still solid and warm and alive.
Jason sat very still, eyes wide. “Percy…”
“Shut up,” Percy said, but his voice came out thick. He rested his forehead against Jason’s. “Just… don’t do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Be heroic. It’s my job.”
Jason laughed, then winced, then laughed again. “Deal.”
They were sparring on the deck—just a friendly match, or so Percy had thought. But Jason had gotten competitive. And when Jason got competitive, he got focused. Blond hair falling into his eyes, sword spinning in a perfect arc, feet light as air.
Percy was losing.
Badly.
Jason feinted left, then struck right. Percy parried just in time, but his back hit the mast. Jason pressed the advantage, gold coin flipping into a gladius, tip hovering an inch from Percy’s throat.
“Yield,” Jason said, not even winded.
“Never.”
“Percy.”
“Okay, fine.” Percy dropped Riptide and raised his hands. “I yield. You win. Congratulations. You’re the big hero.”
Jason lowered his sword, looking suspicious. “That was too easy.”
“Maybe I’m just gracious in defeat.”
“You’ve literally never been gracious in anything.”
Percy grinned. Then he stepped forward, grabbed the front of Jason’s T-shirt, and kissed him.
Not on the cheek. Not on the forehead. On the mouth.
It was brief—less than two seconds—but it was definitely a kiss. A deliberate, warm, closed-mouth kiss that landed slightly off-center because Jason flinched in surprise.
Then Percy let go, picked up Riptide, and said, “Your form’s still too rigid, by the way.”
Jason stood frozen, gladius half-dropped to his side. His face cycled through a few emotions in rapid succession: confusion, shock, something softer, then back to confusion.
“Was that—did you just—”
“Distract you,” Percy said, already walking toward the stairs below deck. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“The match was already over!”
“Who cares?”
Leo, who had been pretending to polish a bronze lever nearby, gave Jason a slow, solemn thumbs-up.
It was three in the morning. Jason had found Percy in Bunker 9, sitting on a workbench, kicking his heels against the cabinet doors.
“What are you doing?” Jason asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Thinking.”
“Oh no.”
Percy patted the spot next to him. Jason hesitated, then climbed up. The bunker smelled like oil and old metal. Somewhere in the dark, a stray automaton whirred softly.
They sat in silence for a minute. Then two.
“I’m bored,” Percy announced.
“It’s three a.m.”
“Exactly. Prime boredom hours. What do normal people do at three a.m.?”
“Sleep.”
“Lame.” Percy turned to look at Jason. The dim emergency lights caught the edges of his face, made his eyes look darker than usual. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
Jason blinked. “What?”
“I’m bored. You’re here. It’s dark. It’s a Tuesday.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Even better.” Percy leaned in and kissed the corner of Jason’s mouth—lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Then he pulled back and yawned.
Jason stared at him. “You kissed me because you were bored?”
“And because you were available.”
“That’s the worst reason anyone has ever kissed anyone.”
“Probably.” Percy grinned and stretched his arms above his head. “Wanna do it again?”
Jason opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You’re impossible.”
“Is that what you think?”
Jason didn’t have an answer for that. He also didn’t move away.
It was the first truly hot day of summer. Camp Half-Blood shimmered in the heat. Percy had spent the morning in the lake, because of course he had. Jason sat on the dock, feet dangling in the water, reading a dog-eared copy of The Iliad.
Percy surfaced right in front of him, shaking water from his hair like a dog. Jason sighed and held the book higher.
“You’re getting Hector wet.”
“Hector can handle it.” Percy rested his arms on the dock, chin on his forearms. Water beaded on his lashes. His t-shirt was plastered to his shoulders. “What are you doing all the way up there? Water’s perfect.”
“I’m reading.”
“You can read in the water.”
“The book will get wet.”
“I’ll hold it for you.”
“You’ll drop it.”
“Fair point.” Percy tilted his head, studying Jason’s face like he was trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. The sun caught the gold in Jason’s hair. A dragonfly landed on his knee. He didn’t notice.
And Percy—Percy didn’t think.
He just pushed himself up, water streaming down his arms, and kissed Jason.
It was soft. It was slow. It was nothing like the other times. No joke. No excuse. No audience. Just Percy’s lips against Jason’s, warm and a little salty from the lake, lasting just long enough to mean something.
When he pulled back, Jason’s eyes were wide. The book had slipped from his fingers and landed in the water. (Hector was, indeed, doomed.)
“Percy,” Jason said. His voice was quiet. Different.
Percy blinked, like he’d just woken up. “Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—”
“You keep saying that.”
“What?”
“‘Sorry.’” Jason set the sodden book aside. He leaned forward, braced his hands on the dock, and kissed Percy back.
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t a peck. It was deliberate and sure, Jason’s fingers curling into the wet collar of Percy’s shirt, pulling him closer. Percy made a small, surprised sound against his mouth—then melted into it, one hand coming up to grip Jason’s wrist.
The dragonfly flew away.
The lake lapped softly against the dock.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing a little harder. Percy’s face was flushed—from the sun, from the water, from something else entirely.
“Okay,” Percy said, dazed. “That was…”
“Long overdue,” Jason finished. His ears were red, but he wasn’t looking away. “You’ve been kissing me for eight months, Jackson. Eight months.”
“In my defense,” Percy said weakly, “you never told me to stop.”
Jason laughed—a real laugh, bright and startled. “I’m telling you now.”
“To stop?”
“No.” Jason kissed him again, softer this time. “To stay.”
And for once, Percy didn’t have a single joke to make. He just smiled against Jason’s mouth and pulled him into the water.
(They both got wet. Neither of them cared.)