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POEM ii.
/PERCY'S POV/
There's something disconcerting about waking up in a bed that isn't your own. You feel out of place in such a foreign setting, especially when just regaining consciousness. The room floods with unfamiliar light, illuminating the area with a soft, gentle aurora, but there is still something cold about the way it clings to the walls.
Blinking away the previous night's fatigue from your eyes, the surroundings seem to settle in. There is no comfort. Instead of feeling held by the blankets, you are confined. You are obscuring something that was never yours to touch. You breathe in an unfamiliar scent, in an unfamiliar world, devoid of consolation. That was how Percy felt waking up for the first time within the Hermes cabin.
He frowned. Everything was just wrong. The bed, the campers strewn out on the floor, the absence of his mother's sweet, sugary scent. And most noticeably, the smiling face angled above him.
"Good morning, Perseus."
Percy blinked once. Then twice. "Icarus." Was all he said.
"Perseus." The boy in question continued grinning.
