𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙩, 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.
SECTION TWO: DREAMING—0002.

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THE NIGHT BEFORE THEY SET SAIL FOR THE SEA OF MONSTERS, PERCY HAD A STRANGE DREAM. It was a memory of the time before he discovered the truth about being a half-blood. He found himself waiting outside a devastatingly familiar brownstone building, holding a gallon of water in his hands and one of his spare uniform shirts tucked away beneath his arm. He didn't get any time to orient himself before a voice called out from behind him. Even without turning, he knew that it was her.

Wilmarie sprinted towards him as if the devil were in pursuit, her long black hair streaming behind her as her mother yelled from the front entrance of the building. With unrestrained laughter, she raised her middle finger to Yulissa before seizing Percy by the hand, dragging him along as she interlocked their fingers together; It felt real—perfect, just as it always had, even though the memory itself was so long ago that it felt like a different lifetime. Considering all that has transpired for him since he was accused of being the lighting thief, it essentially is.

Nearly two years have passed since he last saw Wilmarie.

He knew it wasn't real. Her infectious laughter, preserved in his memories, still held the childhood rasp that he had loved, though—it urged him to join in, even as he unexpectedly felt tears welling up.

He refused to cry. Instead, he allowed his first friend to pull him along, saying a prayer of gratitude to Hypnos as they ran together.

It's the nicest dream Percy has had in a while.

They came to a halt at the spot where they used to wait for the bus every morning, back when they still attended the same middle school. Wilmarie dropped her bag carelessly on the sidewalk, removing her jacket and tying it over the back of her skirt before she craned her head over the storm drain. When he remained still, overwhelmed by the rush of affection—because he hasn't forgotten, exactly, but he had never quite realized how bizarre they must've looked each day doing this—she gazed up at him through her lashes, a mischievous glint shimmering in her brown eyes.

"Hurry, Ojitos!" She rushed him, her accent adding a playful lilt to her words. "We'll be late for the field trip if we don't leave soon!"

His heart raced within his chest; he remembered the trip to the New York Aquarium.

It remained in his mind like a bruise that never faded, persistently lingering no matter how much time had passed.

They were going to be late no matter what, missing the bus because they got caught up chasing a stray cat through the neighborhood just before it arrived. They ended up taking the subway instead, sneaking in at the last minute.

During the tour of the shark pool, Wilmarie pecked his cheek when the guide mentioned that sharks experienced basorexia, an urge to kiss each other due to their sensitivity to touch. Percy had freaked out so much that he accidentally hit the wrong lever on the catwalk, resulting in an unplanned swim for the entire class.

He had gotten expelled that day; his mother had enrolled him at Yancy Academy by the following week. Percy never saw Wilmarie again.

His smile dimmed.

With shaking hands, he uncapped the jug of water. He poured it over her head, just as he had done for years at this point—her long, straight hair cascaded down over the storm drain like a waterfall of ink. As she always did back then, she shivered dramatically in response to the sudden coldness, but then erupted into laughter, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as Percy massaged her scalp, ensuring every one of her locks was fully soaked.

"Ahora sí!" Wilmarie exclaimed, beaming with delight.

When the last drop of water had been poured, she gathered her hair in her hands, squeezing out the excess. Ringlets formed as her fingers twisted and twirled the damp strands, replacing the previous neatness that her mother insisted on with curls that wrapped around her face.

Her drenched uniform shirt clung to her shirt, enough to show her stupid Spongebob-themed bralette through the white fabric, and she shivered like a wet puppy the entire time Percy stood covering her body as she changed into his spare uniform shirt in the corner of an alleyway—and he knew that her hair would dry into a frizzy mess after a lifetime of heat damage, but she looked so radiant and confident in that moment that he couldn't help but feel a surge of—of longing and want, and hurt—because Percy hasn't seen Wilmarie or thought of her in so long that it rendered him breathless, unable to focus on anything else but how much he missed her.

"Do I not look so much prettier now?" she asked him, radiating like a concealed treasure finally unearthed.

He could feel his heart resonating in his ears—a rhythmic thump, thump, thump.

"You always look beautiful, Wils," he replied sincerely.

Her laughter rasped with triumphant joy, as if she had just claimed a victory, regardless of the fact that Percy had been telling her the same thing since he first grasped the meaning of the word, no matter if she had her natural curled hair or the strengthened locks from the salon her mother dragged her to every week.

Yulissa was also so harsh with her. Percy wondered how she had been holding up in his absence. Either way, regret seized him like the claws of a hellhound, tearing at his skin and gnawing at his heart.

Standing there, the edges of the dream distorting by the imperfections of remembrance, Percy wondered how he had allowed her to slip away all those years ago—how he had let Wilmarie fade into the background of his life when she had once been the center of it; how he managed to survive without her presence.

But Wilmarie sought his hand once again, weaving her fingers into his without hesitation. They joined together seamlessly, as if their hands were never meant to be apart; it felt like one of those myths his mother used to whisper to him as a child—a tale about two halves finding each other and merging together to form the singular soul they were always meant to be before Zeus cruelly tore them apart.

"Let's go, let's go!" She told him, unrestrained in her brightness—and Percy remembered that they were going to wait for the bus, truly, but a faint meowing reached their ears now just as it had then, and Wilmarie turned to him with prayerful chocolate-colored eyes.

And, well, Percy could never forget that day, or the scent of Wilmarie's cherry lip balm and the way it felt as her lips lightly brushed against his cheek.

When he woke up the next morning, his entire body ached.

He hadn't noticed the dullness that had crept into his world without her presence until now; he felt it, though, like the emptiness that stung his palm from the absence of her hand in his.

On the night before the start of her eighth-grade year, Wilmarie found herself unable to sleep at all. At first, she assumed it was Hasiel's sickly breathing that kept her awake; the four-year-old still hadn't recovered from his cold. He needed someone to hold him and comfort him throughout the night since Yulissa had gone out for the weekend, and Alvie didn't like exposing Hasiel to the stench of weed that emanated from Ilaria's room. Wilmarie hadn't minded, assuming that she would've fallen asleep easily once Hasiel settled down. But the hours ticked by, and she realized it was something more—she just couldn't figure out what it was. She tossed and turned, her mind racing with erratic thoughts that leaped from one worry to another.

When she woke up in the early morning to help her youngest brother use the bathroom, she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Her body ached, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as she headed to the kitchen for a cup of water. Alvie was making breakfast, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flipped pancakes with practiced ease.

Yulissa hasn't returned, then.

"Morning! Excited for your first day, dulce?" Alvie looked at her with a warm smile, but the skin beneath his eyes was dark and puffy, evidence of a sleepless night.

Knowing him, he must've stayed up late worrying. She had tried to tell him that Yulissa wasn't worth it; she couldn't understand how Alvie could love someone who could abandon their own child as if they were nothing more than a burden. But her brother continued to be too kind and forgiving, always seeing the best in people, even when they didn't deserve it.

"Morning," she said quietly, burying her face against his back as she hugged him tightly. She wished she could protect Alvie; in another lifetime, it would be great if she could assume the role of the older sibling. "I called Hasiel's kindergarten. They know he won't be coming in today. He still has a fever."

Alvie breathed out wearily; he rubbed her hands gently and replied, "Thanks for taking care of that. I'll ask Conchita to buy more Tylenol after class." He kept mumbling to himself, listing all the things he needed to do before the day came to a close. He was in the midst of pursuing a Ph.D. in systems engineering, juggling his studies with taking care of Hasiel and managing household responsibilities. He shouldn't be, but he is.

Wilmarie hated her mother more than any other person in the world.

"Con calma," she reminded him. "We can handle it together."

Alvie laughed, flicking off the stove; he rubbed his face tiredly, knocking his glasses against his forehead. "I know, I know," he said, readjusting his frames. "Want to eat together, dulce? Dios sabe it'll be too loud to have a calm meal when Gogo and Conchita wake up."

They sat together in the dining room, uncaring about the dust gathering on the table. Alvie told her about linear algebra in engineering, and finite element modeling, and a bunch of other technical subjects that she struggled to understand. Still, Wilmarie ate her pancakes with a grin; she didn't mind if they were a bit burnt.

When Thiago woke up, he had no time to join them without risking being late. He rushed down the stairs, still wearing his pajamas bottoms with a random hoodie, hair disheveled, and pillow creases marking his face as he apologized for oversleeping. Alvie had laughed, handing him a granola bar and a bottle of orange juice; he pressed a kiss to Wilmarie's cheek, and the two of them ran to the subway station.

"I should've listened to Ilaria," Thiago complained, trying to catch his breath after they barely managed to enter the crowded car before the doors closed. "She told me about morning lectures, but I didn't think they would deadass make me suicidal."

"Drop out," Wilmarie suggested; her brother rolled his eyes, knocking against her temple with his knuckles playfully.

"And let Alvie Mio be the only one with a degree in the family?" He widened his brown eyes dramatically, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "No way! Mami would never let me live it down. I'm graduating, even if it kills me. Besides, I can't let Conchita be right about everything."

Wilmarie laughed at her brother; he grinned back, handing her one of his ear buds.

"Here, listen to this new song I found," he told her, pressing play on his phone. As rap music filled her ears, with her brother's arms protecting her from getting pushed around each time the subway jerked to a stop, Wilmarie had forgotten her exhaustion.

In that instant, it felt as if everything would be okay, even if just for a moment.

Naturally, that's when she opened her eyes and found familiar sea-green eyes gazing back at her.

It felt like a nightmare—like a cruel twist of fate, because Wilmarie hadn't been able to stomach the sight of the color turquoise since the local news called her childhood best friend a terrorist, and she had forced herself to shed all the affection she held for him alongside all of the tears that threatened to drown her when he never came back. She threw away photographs and sneakers with written initials on the laces; she burned hoodies and written notes, shattered CDs and art sculptures they had made together ; she swapped schools; she grew to hate chocolate chip cookies regardless of the color; and she was fine—she was finally okay, waking up and falling asleep without thinking of him. She figured out how to live without him.

Wilmarie is finally fine.
She just didn't know why it felt like a lie as she sprinted out of the subway station, attempting to outrun the ghost of Percy Jackson.

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𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

wils is so real for just running i would too LOL

sorry for the short chapter, i've just been super busy. I'll try to write more, but school and working? awful fr.

thank you for reading!