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Technically they shouldn't have been up there. Not really. But when had the rules ever stopped Annabeth, Percy, and Grover? Even as they sat, precariously balanced, at the top of the climbing walls they moved to bash together.
Grover was perhaps the most stable of the three, balancing easily. He kept a hand tight on Percy's thigh, linked with Annabeth's. Percy was slumped against Annabeth's shoulder.
Above camp there were no clouds, a clear shot straight to the stars. With the thick storm clouds flowing around the edge of camp, the border had never seemed so clear.
They do this far more than they should. It's past curfew, the cleaning harpies are out, but they don't care. Up on top of the climbing wall they feel untouchable. Sure, Percy's cabin is empty, but it feels more free up their in the fresh air. Annabeth's hand squeezes Grover's on Percy's thigh.
It's just them up there, no one else to ask questions or push. They've made their choice, and each other are that choice.
They're up on the climbing for a reason, for once anyway. Often enough they just go up for the pseudo-privacy and night air. There's a storm outside of camp, a pretty one. One not build from the gods and their anger.
Thunder rumbles overhead, and Percy shifts slightly. He's as close as he can get to Annabeth, his head on her shoulder as their thighs pressed together. Grover pushes in closer. They're all touching, all connected.
The lightning strikes down far off in the distance, illuminating the sky in a flash. It's oddly beautiful. Above, in the camp's cloudless patch of sky, a shooting star shoots by. The trio miss it, to enamoured in the storm that ignores their camp, but it goes by shinning down on them.
There's nowhere else they'd rather, even as more thunder rumbles overhead. Percy shifts with each roll of thunder, but Annabeth and Grover are there, pushed in on either side, keeping him safe. Annabeth jumps slightly when the bright flash of lightning strikes down, closer but not as close as it could be. Grover squeezes her hand, it's all he can offer. Percy rests his hand on her thigh, and squeezes slightly.
They're there for each other. None of them are scared of the storm itself. It's the gods that could be behind it, and the sudden flashes of light and movement that catches them off guard. But they're safe. They have each other. And the storm is truly beautiful.
They don't say anything. It's enough that they're together. Sometimes words aren't all that necessary. They're there together, and that speaks enough. It doesn't need to be said, not up there, not with the storm flashing around them. For the night it's obvious, and none of them need to hear it.