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Clarisse wiped her brow, narrowing her eyes.
“You’re getting slow, Clarisse,” Percy grinned. It took great effort to smile in the sweltering arena, muscles actively fighting against the humid air. Even the floor seemed to soften, the rocks ground down to flecks of sand and grit.
Clarisse jabbed her spear; Percy met it easily with Riptide, a soft clang falling flat. “And you’re getting fat,” she growled, glancing at his torso, jaw clenched.
His shirt was by his kit bag, some few yards away. In all fairness, Clarisse had flung her shirt off first, claiming Apollo was on a mission to burn them all. And maybe if they weren't in the middle of a sparring session, roasting in the arena, he would’ve been affected by her lack of attire: just a pair of leggings and a maroon sports bra.
In fact, he barely noticed. Maybe he’d gotten a bit slower, and perhaps dazed, but it was all to do with blistering heat, and the dull throbs pulsing through his forehead, just a small headache for now. And far less annoying than his shirt, clinging to him, and rubbing and skin sweat whenever he so much as breathed.
It wasn’t long before he’d followed suit.
“It’s called muscle,” he said, waving Riptide at her. “Looks like College might’ve starved you.”
Clarisse grunted, spear faltering, the shaft dragging across the floor, kicking up yellowed dust. She threw it to the side, pulling out a short sword strapped to her leggings.
She swung it around a few times, as if gauging its balance.
Percy arched his brow. “Too heavy?”
Clarisse ran a hand through her hair; a couple of strands fell in front, covering her eye. She pushed them back with such force, Percy couldn’t help but wince.
“Shut up, Princess.”
Her knuckles were white, gripping the hilt for dear life. Percy wasn’t sure how the thing hadn’t slipped out; sweat and metal didn’t go well together. It was like trying to walk on an oily slide, readjusting every few seconds because the sword refused to stay–
A silver blur shot through the air, sailing past him, clanging as it hit the ground.
“How’s that for slow?” Gods, did she sound smug.
She still held the sword.
Huh?
Percy glanced behind, and there, by the straw dummy, lay a throwing knife. He smiled wryly. “You missed.”
“Did I?” She nodded his side, a thin trail of blood trickling down, the dark red splattering to the floor. “You’re not invincible anymore, Jackson.”
“It’s barely a scratch,” he shrugged. And as if to make a point, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Water break?”
“You can’t live with a scratch?”
“It’s boiling out here.” It was as if the arena had been filled with lava from the climbing wall, each step was like walking on burning coals.
Clarisse shrugged, hair sticking to her shoulders, and opened the cool box.
Percy grabbed a bottle and yanked the cap off, the condensation retreating the moment his hand made contact. He poured it over himself, accidentally crushing the bottle in the process, ice-cold water hitting his face. He ran his tongue over his lips catching the stray droplets of sweet cold water.
“Of course you’d waste water in a drought,” Clarisse scoffed.
A faint burning smell filled the air, smoky and barbeque, with a hint of earthy spice. Nauseating in weather like this, where the only thing he really wanted were ice creams. At least a dozen of them.
“I’m not wasting-” Percy rolled his eyes. “Since when have you become the morality police?” He took a deliberate sip of his water, a droplet spilling down his lip, and onto his chin. He could feel Clarisse’s gaze following the drop as it landed on his neck.
“You’d think a Son of Poseidon would know how to drink water,” she said, her eyes still trained on his neck.
He wiped it off, and Clarisse looked away quickly, inspecting her bottle, tearing the label.
“Another round?” He offered.
“Yeah, whatever.”
This time, she actually used the sword, pushing against him, launching counter attacks with some actual substance. But she was still sluggish, as if the energy had been zapped away from her, and really, she seemed to be running on auto-pilot, every dash and jab premeditated. Visible to anyone miles away.
He easily feinted away from her strikes, recovering to slash at her, the daughter of Ares barely managing to avoid the blow. Any slower, and it would’ve nicked her shoulder.
“Stupid,” she growled, and flung the sword at a pair of straw dummies, impaling the one with the bright blue shirt.
Percy smiled. “Ouch.”
Clarisse just narrowed her eyes, and grabbed her spear again. And before her other hand took hold, she charged forward, the dull tip, blackened with age, and use.
And whilst Percy could’ve sidestepped, whilst he could’ve stopped her with Riptide, whilst he could’ve done literally anything else…
He swept her leg.
Clarisse fell to the ground, her spear rolling away.
“You can’t just-” She threw her arms up, skin gleaming with sweat, “it’s unfair.”
“Life’s unfair.”
“Gods, why do you have to be such a child?” she said through gritted teeth.
“Better than a-” his eyes fell on her, sweat beading on her forehead.
Her walnut-brown hair was plastered to her shoulders, hair tie having given up, and hit him he shouldn’t be seeing all this, and they were way too close – he could see a fallen lash on her cheek, for goodness sake.
“-a jackass,” he finished weakly. His throat was parched, and gods, he would’ve done anything for some rain. Even some wind.
Clarisse blinked, her face twisted with disgust. “Ew, get away from me.” She swatted at him for good measure.
And gods, it wasn’t as if he was going to kiss Clarisse. Even if she did look pretty, the way her eyes darkened, the colour of oak lined with moss, her pink lips glistening as her tongue darted out, her cheeks flushed with perfectly red-pink circles, the planes of her stomach gleaming. Percy swallowed thickly.
It was all so dumb.
If someone walked into the arena, and they were seen like this, half-naked, Clarisse with her drenched sports bra, and leggings, and Percy with just his training joggers, shirts strewn about the arena–
His heart raced painfully in his chest, because no one would be stupid enough to train in the heat, and maybe – no, absolutely not.
Percy flinched back.
At least he tried to. His legs wouldn’t move. They were sort of… trapped?
“Maybe if you moved your legs,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Clarisse scrambled away, as if she’d been electrocuted. “My legs aren’t anywhere near you,” she hissed.
And if he hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed how her voice wavered on the ‘anywhere’. But he was, and it was a terrible place to be. He was not willingly paying attention to Clarisse of all people.
He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Rematch tomorrow?”
Clarisse had already thrown her shirt on. “Gods, I hope not.”
Wonderful.