Chapter Text
“That’s a nasty gash,” Percy said conversationally, leaning on the wall, as if said gash wasn’t on his own torso, going from his left hip to below his right pectoral. “Might leave a mark.”
“Are you for real?!” Kyler, the young demigod they were sent to fetch, screeched as he looked around. “You’ve lost at least a pint of blood already!”
Kyler didn’t want to think what would happen once the guy’s scary friend, Nico, found out what happened.
“Maybe your dad really is Apollo,” Percy kept going, to the point Kyler feared he was going delirious. “If so, you won’t like me much once you’re at camp.”
The young boy ignored him, just glad that the fight had happened inside his mom’s workplace, which happened to be a freaking blood bank (Percy Jackson must be very favored by the gods he didn’t know existed 5 hours ago)
“I need to know your type,” he said. Percy winced.
“Just for the record,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault they broke up. Despite what anyone says, I didn’t know they were fighting or that what I did could be seen as flirting!”
“Your type, Percy!” Kyler said impatiently.
Percy looked around confused.
“Not here,” he answered.
“What do you mean ‘not here’?! Every type is here!” If the blood loss didn’t kill Percy, Kyler would be the one to finish the snake woman’s job.
“Not mine,” Percy said, melancholy. “You know it’s funny. You never really think about these things until one day, you look at someone who used to watch over you but doesn’t anymore, and you realize 'damn, I have never wanted anything more than to have that back’.”
Kyler stayed quiet. His first instinct was to press Percy for his type again, but something about the mood made him shut up. Percy could be uttering his last words, and it would be rude to interrupt him.
“And… people see you and wonder if something’s wrong with you, and there is, but… only because you took like seven years to realize it.” Percy chuckled a little bit, only to since at the movement. “And you realize you do have a type. You love the acidic sense of humor, the roguish smiles, the sense that you can both protect and be protected by someone you’ve known for so long, who will never give you up, let you down… Or desert you.”
Kyler blinked, perplexed. Was this demigod… Rickrolling him?
“I MEANT YOUR BLOOD TYPE, YOU MORON!”
“O Positive,” a new voice spoke. Kyler jumped as Scary Demigod AKA Nico seemingly materialized out of a corner and looked at him unimpressed. “Why is no one pressing against his wound?”
Kyler’s face dropped in shame as Nico approached the ailing demigod and inspected his stomach.
“My type is here!” Percy exclaimed happily. Kyler’s eyes bugged out. Nico? The guy who looked like he would kill first, ask questions to your ghost later?
“You’re lucky you got slashed, or a rag is what I’d be pressing against your mouth.” While his voice was as even and threatening as ever, Kyler noticed how his expression softened and he smiled softly. “That would stop you from emotionally scarring children.”
“Aww, babe, no need to be embarrassed,” Percy gushed. “And the kid will hate me anyways once his cabin counselor talks to him.”
“Forget the blood. The wound is superficial,” Nico said. “There’s a bag with squares of food in my backpack, give me that and something for him to drink.”
Kyler yelped and obeyed quickly. He felt like an intruder on the scene, as Nico whispered stuff into Percy’s ear, making him smile.
“So, what’s your type, handsome?” Percy asked, looking at Nico. The other demigod rolled his eyes.
“Not sure, I’m debating if he has a death wish right now.”
Percy guffawed for half a second, only to groan and hold his stomach in pain right after.
Nico looked pleased with himself.