Float on ok
Title:Float on ok
Rating:pg-13
Warnings:Isn't a happy story >_>.
Genre:Slice of life, AU.
Summary:Time heals no wounds, just an interval in which to adjust.
Disclaimer:I hold no ownership over Percy Jackson.
Float on ok
The first few weeks, he spends isolated in his tiny flat. It seems bigger to him. Mostly, he’s on the couch, TV shut, bed made, refrigerator empty.
The weeks following he stocks up on food and makes use of the king-sized bed in the middle of his one room apartment. He picks up the remote-controller at some point, flicks the box on, skimmers through the channels, and realizes that mostly, there are only sport channels.
The morning thereafter finds Percy butchering the bed into two with a mace Tyson shouldn’t have bought him for his nineteenth birthday. The phone is on speaker and the cable guy can’t hear Percy’s ramblings about sports and track with noises he suspects himself of being delusional for, because they sound like something getting mauled.
He stops using the bed altogether and gives away the square box to an overjoyed Tyson, early birthday present he says.
He still pays for cable TV.
At the end of May, he attends classes again. There are bug eyes, gaping mouths, but really, nothing’s changed, because as those first five seconds pass in which Percy steps into a classroom when he hasn’t for almost a month, everything returns to how it’s always been. People keep prattling and Percy keeps not listening, and that term, Percy flunks most of his classes. Few take pity and let him pass.
It leaves him feeling ill.
Bills pile up, rent, cable TV, all pricy matters, and so he returns to work, knowing that the only reason he hasn’t been fired, like he should have been after not having checked in for more than a month without having taken leave is because it’d (seemingly) be too cruel of them. They take pity.
June’s at the door, summer break, and Grover has this wicked idea, and Percy goes along with it, because if he doesn’t, they’re just going to worry about him, inquire about his declination, and it’d all be a nuisance that could’ve just as easily been avoided. And so he spends his twenty-second summer skysurfing with Annabeth, Grover, and a somewhat reluctant Tyson. He can’t have been any more adamant to it than Percy.
July finds him back on the couch.
The phone rings, he doesn’t know of the passing days, how long he’s been lying there, what day it is, or if there’s been a knocking on the door for days, hours, an extended period of time, or if that’s just his throbbing head.
He picks up the phone.
He hangs up soon after, a short conversation with a woman he’s never had the pleasure of meeting before. She seems nice though.
He goes back to lying on his back; it’s had to endure a lot these last couple of months. He laughs somewhat bitterly into an empty flat, too big for him alone, that it’s taken him almost three months.
It’s pathetic of him that he doesn’t stop crying for another month.
Four months, and the nice lady calls him again during that span of time, information to give and such. She sounds tired, worn; a parent can’t remain a parent with no child to fuzz over.
Percy doesn’t attend the funeral, changes flats, something even smaller, still pays for cable TV, has no TV, and regrets not having met the woman who’d given birth to Luke.
She seemed nice over the phone.
Rating:pg-13
Warnings:Isn't a happy story >_>.
Genre:Slice of life, AU.
Summary:Time heals no wounds, just an interval in which to adjust.
Disclaimer:I hold no ownership over Percy Jackson.
Float on ok
The first few weeks, he spends isolated in his tiny flat. It seems bigger to him. Mostly, he’s on the couch, TV shut, bed made, refrigerator empty.
The weeks following he stocks up on food and makes use of the king-sized bed in the middle of his one room apartment. He picks up the remote-controller at some point, flicks the box on, skimmers through the channels, and realizes that mostly, there are only sport channels.
The morning thereafter finds Percy butchering the bed into two with a mace Tyson shouldn’t have bought him for his nineteenth birthday. The phone is on speaker and the cable guy can’t hear Percy’s ramblings about sports and track with noises he suspects himself of being delusional for, because they sound like something getting mauled.
He stops using the bed altogether and gives away the square box to an overjoyed Tyson, early birthday present he says.
He still pays for cable TV.
At the end of May, he attends classes again. There are bug eyes, gaping mouths, but really, nothing’s changed, because as those first five seconds pass in which Percy steps into a classroom when he hasn’t for almost a month, everything returns to how it’s always been. People keep prattling and Percy keeps not listening, and that term, Percy flunks most of his classes. Few take pity and let him pass.
It leaves him feeling ill.
Bills pile up, rent, cable TV, all pricy matters, and so he returns to work, knowing that the only reason he hasn’t been fired, like he should have been after not having checked in for more than a month without having taken leave is because it’d (seemingly) be too cruel of them. They take pity.
June’s at the door, summer break, and Grover has this wicked idea, and Percy goes along with it, because if he doesn’t, they’re just going to worry about him, inquire about his declination, and it’d all be a nuisance that could’ve just as easily been avoided. And so he spends his twenty-second summer skysurfing with Annabeth, Grover, and a somewhat reluctant Tyson. He can’t have been any more adamant to it than Percy.
July finds him back on the couch.
The phone rings, he doesn’t know of the passing days, how long he’s been lying there, what day it is, or if there’s been a knocking on the door for days, hours, an extended period of time, or if that’s just his throbbing head.
He picks up the phone.
He hangs up soon after, a short conversation with a woman he’s never had the pleasure of meeting before. She seems nice though.
He goes back to lying on his back; it’s had to endure a lot these last couple of months. He laughs somewhat bitterly into an empty flat, too big for him alone, that it’s taken him almost three months.
It’s pathetic of him that he doesn’t stop crying for another month.
Four months, and the nice lady calls him again during that span of time, information to give and such. She sounds tired, worn; a parent can’t remain a parent with no child to fuzz over.
Percy doesn’t attend the funeral, changes flats, something even smaller, still pays for cable TV, has no TV, and regrets not having met the woman who’d given birth to Luke.
She seemed nice over the phone.