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Things have been different between them. And while not necessarily a surprise in itself, it is most definitely there - and it does, in fact, hurt the same.
In truth, Grover had assumed that things would be fine after Percy's introduction to Camp Half-Blood. After a few days of activities, ranging between archery and sword practice, surely the boy would have come round into accepting his apology. But when Percy had instead chosen to trail after Luke Castellan - the camp-appointed walking Adonis - well... Like Grover had already admitted to himself, it hurt.
Still, Percy couldn't have ever hoped for Grover to accept that distance. He'd follow the boy to the ends of the earth if given the choice. So when Percy had been claimed, the event of such reading every bit as traumatic as it had been dramatic, well... Grover hadn't been capable of ignoring it.
And it's every bit due to the fact that Grover knows Percy - that he knows that he needs to remind the boy that he's still there for him. That anyone is there for him really.
At Yancy Academy things hadn't been all too bad. Certainly, on the most lenient of days, they had actually been quite good - but then there had been those nights. Those incessant stirrings that would haunt Percy - bringing doubt and turmoil to the forefront of his mind, the gnawing of his soul that would completely undo him from the inside out.
He'd cry, truth be told - to himself and away from prying eyes. For Grover, the knowledge of such had come to him accidentally. He had found Percy in a deserted hall, balled in the corner just behind the drapery of an upstairs window.
"I'm not crying," Percy Jackson had said to him firstly - his fists clenched tightly as he had then pulled his knees in close.
To which, "I know," Grover had said in turn.
The satyr had become wiser to the half-blood following that night. He'd begin to note the shifts for instance - could pinpoint the arrival of the dark clouds that would take hold of Percy's sun, tainting his natural strokes of gold into ravenous black.
Back then, it had almost always been about his loneliness. About his yearning to belong - of finally having something that he could keep, and be kept by.
Tonight... - well Grover could feel it in his bones that Percy would need him.
Effortlessly - almost comically even - Grover had crept into the Poseidon cabin. The only obstacle in place being that of his own creations.
He knew of the intrusions - knew the rules against such things. He could practically hear Mr. D reprimanding him for daring to be impertinent. And perhaps Percy Jackson had simply grown on him. Perhaps he had even distilled Grover with a particular stride of personal stubbornness too. A true testament that could only be best described as a yearning to be loyal, to be the absolute that the other boy so desperately needed.
He had heard Percy before seeing him. And likewise, Percy had risen to strike before knowing it to be him. Sitting up in bed, his curls had been in shambles - the previous outbursts of his sobs having thusly turned cold, his face suddenly too sullen - too sheltered to be anything but a frightened child of a meager twelve years.
"G-Grover?" The broken accusation had come then, followed closely by - "what are you doing here?"
The satyr hadn't followed suit. Not by words, or by his usual reserve of soft regulation. Instead, he had moved to the boys side - taking idle care of Percy's outstretch legs to kneel against the bedding as best he could.
"Grover?" The boy had repeated.
The kiss, if one could really call it that, had been fairly chaste. Nothing, really. A token that riddled just neatly above the line of Percy's brow. Still, it had festered in honest severity - reading far much more than anything that Grover could have actually said to his friend.
He hadn't meant to give Percy a kiss - not now, nor that very first time at the academy. The act had simply seized hold, taking shape by way of Percy proclaiming what Grover now knew to be his one self-deprecated truth.
"I'm trouble," Percy had told him, and - "dad doesn't want me. Mom doesn't know what to do with me. Maybe no one wants me."
Grover's heart had shattered into a million pieces that night. And here, beneath the endless corals and golden barnacles of the Poseidon cabin, that very same shell of his heart had chiseled off. He had followed that very frown of endless grief - had felt along the expanse of skin just beneath seafoam bedding - his finger, all the while, lightly tracing a trident into Percy's bare arm.
"It's a lot," he had decidedly said by way of a single breath, "I just - I wanted to make sure that you were okay."
Percy hadn't responded to that - much like Grover before. Instead he had pulled the taller boy in by the neck - his cold hands seeking refugee, searching for familiar warmth and finding idle satisfaction in the crook of his friend's shoulder.
It had ricocheted, like the trembles of an earthquake - a tidal wave of sobs that had taken to Grover's chest like the surf to the beach.
"It's okay," he had assured him then - his voice leveling out and into strands of sickly sweet honey, "I'm here, Percy. I'm always here."
It's a declaration, he knows. One that might not be so simple as an act of being there for his friend. It isn't as innocent - not as it once had been. And perhaps that was wrong. Perhaps Grover shouldn't have ever come to be this attuned to his half-blood.
But that was just it in itself. To him, Percy was exactly just that - his. And he was, forever in turn, Percy's protector.
And - … Well, Grover would have likely accepted any role that the boy had needed him to be beyond that. And perhaps that was sad - maybe even a tad pathetic. Still he'd come to him. And each time, should Percy have needed it, he'd kiss him - there, just squarely on his forehead, or against the dip of his sweat ridden temples.
"I'm sorry," Percy had whispered into his neck - and, "I've missed you," he had said, his fists never once letting up on their hold. "So much, Grover. Too f-fucking much."
"I know," Grover had said. "It's - I've missed you too."
Percy smiled - an honest to Hades sort of smile - with a flutter of a breath that had prickled against Grover's skin. It measured hot - layering like a second skin. Still Grover had pulled the boy in close, daring the press of his mouth to reach soft curls once more. He hadn't, even if he so desperately wanted to - instead igniting a puff of air onto the crown of the boy's head, bowing with abashed shame as he had done so.
To his imminent surprise, however - Percy had turned, his lips curling into a dissatisfied whine before doing the unthinkable and pecking lightly against the corner of his mouth.
"Can you stay?" The question had immediately risen then - and... Well, Grover should have never come to begin with. And it'd be detrimental to try his luck any further, though - "it'd be like a sleepover," Percy had continued, familiar babble coming to a head, "I know we're not supposed to, or whatever - but you're already here, dude. And what's the worst that they'll do? I'm the son of a sea god. There has to be greekomatic immunity in that, right?"
"No," Grover had almost laughed, flushing only by the rushed absurdity of it all. Especially by that overtly term of mortal endearment - of 'dudes' and what have yous. Because even as a Satyr he knew that they were toeing a particular line. And by the Gods was it nowhere near the very basis of 'dude'.
"But... I guess as long as I'm out before anyone else wakes up-"
"Is that a yes then?"
"Yeah - yes," Grover bobbled - his nerves besting him over, burning his cheeks into a delectable patch of carmine. "It's never not a 'yes' when it comes to you, Perce."
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