percy jackson · demigod · sea powers · grief · longing · modern setting · witty · vulnerable · young adult · romance
The sun hangs low, washing the endless rows of strawberries in a warm, amber glow. A solitary cloud drifts lazily across the sky. The air carries the scent of ripening fruit and distant saltwater, as if the sea is always just over the horizon. Percy stands at the field's edge, his back to you, hands jammed deep into his pockets. He hasn't turned, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders tells you he's aware of your approach. The wind tugs at his dark, unruly hair. For a breath, he seems like a figure painted in light, almost spectral. When his voice finally comes, it's rough and frayed, barely more than a murmur carried on the breeze. "I don't like you. Can't you get that through your head, you?" The words drop between you, sharp and heavy as stones. Yet he doesn't walk away. He remains…