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There was a guy sitting on his beach with jeans on. Jeans. At the beach. His beach.
And okay, it wasn't technically his beach, it was his dad's. And his mom's too. But, to borrow a word from Annabeth, that's just semantics.
“Yo, man,” said Percy, totally normally, as if he hadn't just come out from the ocean fully dry or anything.
It's not like the guy saw him, his nose stuck in a book as it was. He figured the Mist could take care of the rest.
At Percy’s voice, he looked up.
Percy thought he was maybe his age, eighteen or nineteen, but there was something almost older in his eyes. That was strange, but not unheard of, for a mortal. People had lives and stuff happened in those lives.
It didn't excuse the jeans.
“You can't just be sitting here in jeans on my beach,” Percy told him. “It's rude, dude.”
Jeans Guy didn't even crack a smile or anything. That was also rude but Percy was used to rude. Nothing said fuck you quite as much as someone trying to kill you for being born.
Then he spoke and Percy had not expected him to be British of all things. England had terrible beaches, rocky and miserable, so that could explain some of it.
And, sure, Montauk was a little rocky too. But the water rocked also. It had nothing to do with the fact that his dad's power didn't really reach the ocean across the pond or whatever. Maybe a little bit.
“I don't see a sign telling me what to wear,” British Jeans Guy said, not even looking at him anymore. And what was so interesting about reading, anyway?
Percy put his hands on his waist, looking down at him, perplexed. “I mean, it's kind of common knowledge that denim doesn't go with water. Y'know, cos it gets all stiff and gross?”
The fact that he swam with jeans on all the time didn't matter because his clothes never got wet unless he told them to.
He quickly looked down at what he was wearing. He sighed in relief to see that, yes, his clothes were dry but they were at least beach-going clothes. Shorts and flops, nothing to raise eyebrows at and call him a hypocrite for.
“Thanks for the info,” said Mr. Beach Jeans in a way that seemed polite on the surface but actually meant ‘i don't care so shut up’. “But, as you can see, I'm on the sand not the water.”
“Not the point, but sure, my guy.” Percy eyed his position, becoming more affronted the more he looked.
Blue jeans, grey hoodie, battered sneakers, sat on a red and gold-- What the hell even was that, a silk sheet?
Percy pointed at it. “Okay, what's up with the fancy bedding? You are so going to get sand everywhere when you go home. Trust me, bro.”
“Harry,” said Fancy Sheets Guy.
“Huh?”
He looked up at Percy, almost exasperated, which was a look he'd been on the receiving end of from anyone who had ever met him. This guy was ahead of schedule.
“My name's Harry,” he said poshly. “So you can stop calling me dude and bro, thanks.”
“Okay, not going to happen, man, but cool,” Percy said, laughing a bit at everything about this guy.
Not like in a mean way or anything but you had to admit it was kinda funny how serious he was. Even his name was very British.
“Percy,” he introduced himself because his mom would probably yell at him if she knew he hadn't.
And because Harry seemed like the type to appreciate it, he leaned down with his hand out.
They shook hands, Percy trying very hard to keep his face straight. Harry's grip was a bit firmer, almost on the side of bone crushing, than he had expected.
Cool, Percy could respect that.
“So, Harry.” Percy pointed behind him, towards the water. “You gonna hop in or anything?”
“No, thanks, I'm alright,” said Harry, going back to his book.
Harry said thanks a lot and Percy was beginning to suspect he didn't actually mean it how normal people meant it.
Percy shifted in place. This was getting awkward.
He wanted to go back into the water but Harry was the only one around and it was kinda sad for him to sit and read on the beach like a boring kid of Athena.
Annabeth would smack him and call him names for that thought but she wasn't here and, as smart as she was, she couldn't read minds either. At least, he didn't think she could, but he had been wrong before.
Whatever, he wasn't wrong about this -- Athena kids could be boring sometimes. Ask anyone.
He decided, fuck it, he was going to show Harry just how great the beach could be. Before he could think better of it, he kicked off his flops and ran straight into the ocean.
Percy hit the water and sent a prayer to his dad at the same time: Please let me look normal and not like your kid who doesn't get wet. There's a mortal watching me be cool but not that cool, okay? Love you, bye.
The ocean felt amused, almost, but it did what he asked because when he stood up he was fully drenched. Awesome.
He shook his head, throwing droplets everywhere back into the sea. No wasted water here, he was nice like that. You're welcome dad, also thanks for the help.
Almost as though he were really listening, the water surged around him and dragged him back under like the world's biggest and wettest bear hug that he returned with just as much enthusiasm.
He flipped and twisted around in a whirlpool under the surface for a bit, doing cool tricks that no one could see, coming back up when he only slightly passed the World Record for longest breath held under water.
Which, fun fact, was only about eleven minutes and thirty-four seconds without oxygen assistance. So totally normal and not weird and, maybe even a little bit impressive, for him to be under for about twelve minutes.
He looked over his shoulder to check if Harry had noticed.
He was still reading.
What the hell?
Okay, so it's not like Percy had told him to watch him or anything. He wasn't expecting him to like, look at him like a god of the ocean (he's not stepping on any toes with that one.)
But still, you'd think the guy would have thought literally anything about Percy just disappearing into the water like that. Like, you didn't see that everyday.
Well, obviously Percy did, but definitely not this guy who doesn't even know not to wear jeans on the beach.
Fine.
He crashed back into the water and a giant wave came up to meet him, lifting him up. He swam against it, toward the shore, intent on riding it back like boogie boarding without the board.
He whooped loudly, never being able to get used to the feeling of it.
This was one of the reasons why he loved the water so much, besides the obvious power stuff that came with it. It was fucking fun, okay, and he didn't get many moments like that.
Now if he had been alone he would have really gone all in with board-less surfing, which in his experience was always a blast. He couldn't though, so he just told the water to cool it in front of the mortal before it got too out of hand.
Unfortunately, as was his life, it was too late. He could see and feel the wave heading for Harry.
“Oh, shit--”
Both he and the wave crashed back onto the beach, and Percy could feel the force of the wave's trajectory launching him toward Harry.
Operating on the instinct that knew where the water was moving at all times, Percy reached out and pulled Harry to his chest, shielding him from the impact of the water.
It was over in a matter of seconds.
Percy was up just as quickly, hovering over Harry, searching for any injuries. There was an old scar shaped like lightning at the top of his head which almost had him stumbling back before he reminded himself that Zeus couldn't possibly have another demigod kid they didn't know existed.
His luck, as limited as it was, couldn't be that rotten.
There was also something he couldn't make out on the back of his hand, words swimming and flipping around as usual. Something dark twisted in his stomach at the idea of words carved into skin.
What the fuck?
Before he could decipher them, Harry's eyes opened and he blinked at him for a moment. He didn't look concussed, his pupils seemed normal and his irises were startlingly bright, way greener than his own.
Percy released a breath he didn't know he was holding, which was weird because he never had to hold his breath in water like that before.
He would have really felt awful if he had knocked the scrawny guy out full-force, ocean-style.
Cool, that was good, right?
He still felt terrible though because the look on Harry's face almost made Percy want to crawl back into Tartarus.
It lasted just a second before Harry started sitting up, releasing the hand he didn't realise he was still clutching. Percy scrambled back and stood up.
Woah, how did he not realise how close he was? That's embarrassing.
“You good, bro?”
He didn't know what else to say. He didn't think, “Hey, uh, sorry I knocked you over with a wave, I was hanging out with a family friend, he's a bit temperamental--” was going to cut it. And that was just his first thought.
“Well,” said Harry, bypassing Percy’s hand to help him up, standing up as if he'd been knocked down by worse before. Percy wondered what this guy had been through to just shake off what was essentially a baby tsunami attack.
“Thanks for the save. Would have been awful if you hadn't, since I can't swim.”
Percy was, not gonna lie, actually impressed at his composure. Then also kinda horrified.
It's one thing to not fear drowning when you were the son of Poseidon.
Harry was staring back at him, something strange passing over his face. It wasn't really awe at being saved or anything like that, thank the gods.
“What? Do I have something on my face?”
“The opposite, actually,” said Harry.
A bad feeling came over him. Followed shortly by the realisation that he couldn't feel the water on him anymore.
He looked down. Shit, he was dry.
Percy was aware of the ocean retreating back, almost hesitantly like, ‘Don't mind me, I'll just head out.’ The fucking traitor.
He couldn't exactly tell it to come back, the damage was done.
He was so going to send a stern Iris Message to Poseidon about this. Really, dad? All those lies about me being your favourite son and you embarrass me like this?
He looked up and Harry was inspecting his own very dry hoodie and jeans (luckily for Harry) -- oh no, Harry was dry too (unluckily for Percy) -- the same weird look on his face.
He figured it was the look of someone seeing something that shouldn't have happened.
Fuck, okay, it's cool. It's cool, right? He just saved the guy's life -- forget who started it -- and he has plausible deniability here.
Harry's eyes had closed, so he could just be like, ‘oh yeah you've been knocked out for hours.’
That could work.
“So…” said Percy, “Man, I thought you were a goner for a while there.”
He watched to see Harry's reaction. The dude had been scary calm this whole time.
He hoped he wasn't super clear sighted. That would suck.
After all, it was how he met his friend Rachel, a mortal who can see through the Mist. Even she had freaked out at him for a while there.
Although, to be fair, there had been monsters involved that time. Relatively, this was actually a very minor situation. He could just run back into the ocean and never come back out.
Wait, could he?
No, Jackson, he told himself firmly, you're a hero not a coward.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Right. Is the ocean always like that here?”
He said ‘here’ like he was referring to more than just Montauk, specifically. Normal enough question for a tourist, except for the fact that it was kinda a weird question.
As with everything though, Percy went with it.
“Uh, yeah,” said Percy, mind scrambling. “That asshole of a wave totally knocked us both out. The ocean's a dick sometimes.”
The tide came in and splashed his leg rudely.
You're proving my point, he thought. Bitch.
He kicked the water, and the earth rumbled faintly.
Okay, dad, I know that one was you this time. Petty, much?
“Case in point,” he said. “East Coast weather is weird, man.”
“Right,” said Harry, looking around at the carnage of all his stuff scattered around. His bedsheet was hanging off a tree branch and his book was basically papier mache.
Percy winced and started patting his pockets.
“Sorry, I'll, uh, pay for your stuff.”
Nope, he only had a sand dollar and two golden drachmas in his shorts. He stuffed them back in his pockets smoothly, hoping Harry would just dismiss them as novelty items.
Harry said nothing, just patted his own pockets, a brief look of relief crossing his face.
“Uh, my dad will pay for your stuff.”
It was his fault anyway. The ocean said nothing, that meant he agreed and no take-backs.
“And dude, I'm sorry, but I don't think your silk sheets are going to make it.”
It was true. He couldn't remember who, maybe it was Piper -- point is, someone once told him silk shouldn't mix with saltwater otherwise it might like, implode or something.
He was aware he was rambling. He couldn't stop though, he did this sort of thing when he panicked, okay?
“S'alright,” said Harry, pulling the sheet down and inspecting it closely. It looked wrecked. “And it's not a bedsheet. It's, er, curtains.”
“Oh,” said Percy, then backtracked. “Wait, what?”
Harry avoided his eyes, which actually made the fact that he was beet red more obvious than he probably wanted.
He should be embarrassed because curtains were actually worse and funnier than bedsheets. It would be like if he brought his skateboard to a restaurant and said, ‘Yeah, so this is my chair. No, that's not weird, I can sit on it just fine.’
“Okay, dude, you can't just drop that bomb and not explain,” said Percy. And he was really trying not to laugh, okay?
“Shut up,” Harry mumbled, hunching protectively over the curtain.
That made Percy feel like an asshole – but equally, it was a little sweet.
So he was emotionally attached to the curtains, even Percy wasn't dumb enough to miss that. That was fine, just like it was fine that he preferred to eat blue stuff because it made him happy. Big deal.
He was still pretty curious about the not-sheet though. He stepped closer to peer at it and Harry allowed him to, handing over a corner for him to inspect. There were lions embroidered in gold all over the red material. It was kinda sick actually.
“Wow,” said Percy. “I'm really sorry it got ruined, man.”
Maybe Annabeth could look at it. And he said that not because she was a girl but because her mom was also the goddess of weaving.
Almost as though he could read his thoughts, which he really hoped he couldn't, Harry said, “Don't worry about it, mate. I know it looks fucked but I can fix it myself.”
Percy frowned at him, not liking the tone of his voice. Like he was used to having his stuff destroyed. And worse, like he was used to doing things on his own.
“It seems pretty important to you though,” Percy insisted. “Seriously, I have connections. Trust me, they owe me big time.”
He probably shouldn't be saying stuff like that about the gods to a mortal. Or at all.
But screw it, they did owe him big time. Even if they thought they were off the hook, the Fates usually came and plopped him right back into the thick of it anyway.
Harry sent him a look like he thought Percy was hilarious but wasn't going to say it. Which was so unfair because Percy was always hilarious and no one ever gave him his dues for that.
Harry shook out the sheet -- it still looked like a sheet to him, so sue him -- and laid it on a miraculously dry patch of sand. Percy avoided looking at it too obviously.
And seeing it laid out had him relieved. It actually looked a bit better than he had thought. Drier too. Weird.
Harry sat down on it, picking up the sopping wet book as he did. Okay, yeah, there was no fixing that one. But he hoped it was at least cheaper to replace.
Not really knowing why, Percy dropped onto the empty spot on the sheet, careful not to do so too aggressively.
A breeze picked up and Percy shivered, goosebumps spreading all along his arms. He belatedly remembered that he was basically half naked right now. Which was fine, because they were on the beach.
A warm weight dropped on his shoulders and he looked up in surprise. Harry had draped his unzipped hoodie on him.
They made eye contact and something almost defensive entered Harry's eyes. “If you're going to sit here, you may as well not chatter in my ears like that.”
Okay, what the hell? This was his beach, he'd shiver and chatter his teeth when it fucking suited him.
“Excuse me, Prince Harry,” said Percy, shoving his shoulder. Maybe a little too roughly, oops. For a skinny mortal, he took it like a champ though, catching him off guard just a little bit. He declared undeterred, “I do what I want.”
Harry gave a small huff of amusement and when Percy still didn't take the hoodie off, he just reached over and lifted the hood over his head.
Percy raised his eyebrow at him from under the – lip? lid? rim? – edge of the hood. Was it getting hot in here or something?
“You have no clue how bloody hot it is here compared to England, I swear,” Harry said, turning back to face ahead of them. “You're doing me a favour actually.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Percy. “What brings you here then?”
Harry went silent again and he immediately regretted asking. Him and his big fat mouth. Classic combo.
“Sorry,” Percy said, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie, wondering if he could pull a Nico and bury himself in it entirely.
“I dunno,” Harry said after a while.
Percy glanced at him from the corner of his eye -- he was looking off into the horizon.
He had to bite his lip before he blurted out something stupid again. Man, was he curious, but he wasn't going to push.
The silence went on a bit longer, which was usually torture for a demigod. But the ocean was calm and the sun was beginning to set, bleeding pink and orange across the shore. It was pretty.
Percy supposed he could share his beach, just this once, even if the guy could at least take his shoes off.
“Take your shoes off, man,” said Percy, unable to take it anymore. “You're distracting me.”
Which wasn't very hard to do, if he was being honest.
He got distracted easily but this was maybe the most distracting thing of all. They weren't even flipflops, which would be okay, they were sneakers. Which was like the biggest sin you could commit on the beach.
Besides the jeans, of course, which he had reluctantly made his peace with considering Harry couldn't actually swim. The hoodie was something else; it was unreasonably warm for the beach, just saying.
He would know seeing as he was wearing it. He also couldn't picture himself giving it back just yet. It smelled like cold air and cheap soap and underneath it something electric, like the sky before a storm.
It made him want to bury his face into the material and also throw the hoodie into the ocean at the same time.
He did neither.
Harry gave him a flat look, which he had fully anticipated. It was very British of him.
“Where I come from,” Harry started, something mysterious pulling the corner of his mouth up. “You have to at least ask a bloke out first before asking to see their feet.”
Percy, who had never stopped for gods or giants or whatever chthonic entities wanted to see him dead, stared, mouth hanging open dumbly.
Harry laughed, a full body thing that opened his whole face up and-- woah. He was like, beautiful actually. And that was saying something, coming from Percy who had met the literal goddess of beauty.