Hearing words in the silence

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I am not Rick Riordan. Know what that means? I don't own Percy Jackson and his friends.

Chapter 7

Percy's head is bent forward, his chin tucked in to his chest to avoid the cold. His fingers clutch his jacket to his thin frame tightly, and his scarf whips around his neck in the wind as he pushes forward. He's shaking, shivering, and he hates the fact that he has to put a hand out in front of him to open the large glass door. It's heavy, and Percy struggles with it for a moment before he finally gets it open, practically throwing himself inside.

He takes a moment to readjust, straightening his scarf, pulling the jacket tight again. The receptionist is eyeing him with somewhat of an amused smile, and he resists the urge to glare at her as he shuffles towards the desk.

"Ugliano..." she muses, tapping away at her keyboard for a moment before, without looking at him, she points to a seat. Percy bites back a laugh and does as he's ordered, gratefully collapsing into the plastic chair.

Still shivering a little, he brings his hands together and holds them in front of his mouth, blowing hot air onto his numb fingers. Once he can feel them again, he sits back, his foot tapping a random tune on the linoleum. He's breathing in, out, watching the way his hot breath hits the cold air in small puffs when he hears his name.

"Perce!"

He turns his head sharply to see the same boy jogging across the foyer towards him. He can't help but smile a little, his eyes taking in every inch of the familiar boy greedily. His cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold, and Percy thinks it's the most adorable thing he's ever set eyes on.

"Hey," Nico smiles as he sits down beside the other boy, and Percy gives a small wave in response.

"So, how are you today?"

The question takes Percy a little by surprise. He's not used to anyone other than the damn therapists asking him that. He shrugs, and well, it's the truth, because Percy isn't really all that sure how he feels.

His mother woke him that morning with a firm instruction that he was to go straight to the therapist after school. He remembers the bitter edge to her voice and he flinches a little, seeing the frown that wrinkles Nico's brow.

"It's Nico. You know, we uh, we met yesterday?" the boy throws out there, and Percy smirks, nodding a little to show that yes, he remembers.

How could he forget, really?

"Are you here a lot, then?" Nico asks, and Percy gives a short nod, trying to fight the blush threatening to blossom across his cheeks.

He doesn't entirely understand why - He's never been ashamed of it before, but there's something about Nico that makes him want to keep it all a secret. He doesn't want Percy to know that he'll be here every day, simply because his parents don't know how to deal with him anymore. He doesn't want him to know that his own mother is ashamed to be seen with him in public. He wants Nico to see him as normal... or as normal as he can be seen. He already seems abnormal enough in Nico's eyes because of his refusal to speak. He doesn't want him to know that he comes from a dysfunctional family that doesn't want him anymore.

Because if not even Percy wants to deal with his family, why should Nico?

"You didn't bring the notebook and pen, I see," Nico teases, and Percy puts his head down, expertly avoiding the other boy's eyes.

He also doesn't want to have to explain that it's not the talking Percy hates, it's the entire concept of words.

Percy doesn't trust his own mind. He's afraid of what words might spill from his lips, or onto a piece of paper if he allowed them to. He's seen the effect of words, and Percy knows that it's damn fucking true what they say about the pen being mightier than the sword. Only Percy doesn't think it's such a wonderful thing.