THALIA GRACE

Your love life is a disaster.

You don’t say that out loud, of course. You refuse to give it that kind of power, refuse to admit that maybe—just maybe—you are the common denominator in a long line of questionable decisions.

Instead, you call it bad luck.

Because that sounds better.

Because that sounds like something temporary.

Because that sounds like something that isn’t your fault.

Unfortunately, Thalia has never been one to let you get away with that kind of denial.

“You have terrible taste,” she says flatly, not even bothering to look away from the television as she says it.

You scoff immediately, digging your spoon aggressively into the now half-melted tub of ice cream in your lap. “I do not.”

Thalia raises an eyebrow, finally glancing over at you. It’s not a judgmental look—no, it’s worse. It’s knowing.

“You absolutely do,” she replies.

You huff, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, ignoring the way the cold bites against your tongue. “This one was different.”

“That’s what you said about the last one.”

“And the one before that,” Thalia adds, almost helpfully.

You glare at them, though there’s no real heat behind it. Not tonight. Not when you’re too emotionally drained to commit to anything stronger than mild irritation.

Tonight had been… bad.

Not the worst breakup you’ve had—there have definitely been worse—but bad enough that it left that familiar hollow feeling in your chest. The kind that makes everything feel a little heavier, a little more exhausting than it should be.

You had genuinely thought this one might work.

At first, they had seemed decent. Charming, even. You remember thinking, finally, someone normal.

That thought had lasted all of two weeks.

After that, the cracks started to show.

Poor hygiene.

Rude to literally everyone.

Petty in ways that made arguments feel like full-scale battles.

And don’t even get started on the fashion choices.

You shudder slightly at the memory, scooping up another spoonful of ice cream just to distract yourself.

“They weren’t that bad,” you mumble, though even you don’t sound convinced.

Thalia snorts. “You’re right. They were worse.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch dramatically. “Can you not?”

“No,” Thalia replies without hesitation. “Because this keeps happening.”

You turn your head just enough to squint at them. “Wow. You’re so supportive.”

“I am supportive,” Thalia says, nudging your leg lightly with their foot. “I’m just also honest.”

There’s a pause.

The television drones on in the background—some show you had both put on out of habit rather than interest. Neither of you has paid attention to it for the past hour.

Girls’ nights used to be louder.

Busier.

Silena would be here, laughing too loudly at something ridiculous, probably texting Beckendorf every five minutes. Annabeth would be half-watching the screen, half-explaining the plot holes like it personally offended her. Clarisse would be sprawled somewhere, pretending not to care while very obviously listening to everything.

But tonight, it’s just you and Thalia.

And honestly… that’s not the worst thing.

You sigh, sitting up a little, setting the now-empty ice cream tub on the floor beside the others. “I don’t get it,” you admit quietly. “I try. I really do. And it just—keeps going wrong.”

Thalia doesn’t interrupt.

That’s one of the things you appreciate most about them. For all their bluntness, they know when to just listen.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for something impossible,” you continue, gesturing vaguely. “Just… someone decent. Someone who doesn’t make me regret everything after a week.”

You huff out a small, humourless laugh. “Is that too much to ask?”

Thalia leans back against the couch, arms resting loosely at their sides. “No,” they say simply.

Another pause settles between you.

You glance over at them, expecting more. A lecture, maybe. A list of everything you’ve been doing wrong.

But instead, Thalia just watches you for a moment, their expression unreadable.

Then they sigh, running a hand through their hair.

“If boys suck so much,” they start, their tone almost casual, “why don’t you give a chance to girls?”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

You’re not sure what you expected them to say, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“…What?”

Thalia shrugs, like they’ve just suggested ordering a different flavour of pizza. “I’m serious.”

You stare at them, trying to figure out if this is a joke.

It doesn’t seem like one.

“You’re just… throwing that out there?” you ask slowly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s your solution?”

“It’s a solution,” Thalia corrects. “At least it’d be something different.”

You open your mouth to respond—something sarcastic, probably—but the words don’t come out.

Because…

Well.

It’s not like the idea has never crossed your mind before.

You just… never really entertained it.

Not seriously.

Not in a way that felt real enough to consider.

But now, sitting here, with Thalia looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world—

It suddenly feels a lot more real.

You shift slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t know,” you mutter.

Thalia tilts their head. “You don’t know, or you’ve never thought about it?”

You hesitate.

“…Both?”

Thalia hums softly, like they’re considering something. “You don’t have to figure it out right now,” they say after a moment. “I’m just saying—maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place.”

You let that sink in.

The room feels quieter now, the weight of the conversation settling into something softer. Less sharp than before.

You glance at Thalia again, studying them in a way you hadn’t really allowed yourself to before.

Noticing things.

The way they sit—relaxed, but always ready to move if needed. The faint crease between their brows that never fully goes away. The way their voice, even when blunt, never feels uncaring.

They’ve always been there.

Through every bad decision, every failed relationship, every late-night rant and impulsive regret.

Always there.

You swallow slightly, looking away before the thought can fully form.

“Even if I did,” you say, your voice quieter now, “it’s not like it’d magically fix everything.”

Thalia huffs out a small laugh. “Obviously not. You’d still be you.”

“Wow.”

“I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips now.

The heaviness from earlier hasn’t disappeared completely—but it’s lighter. Manageable.

That’s what Thalia does.

They don’t fix things.

They just… make them easier to carry.

You lean back into the couch again, exhaling slowly. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Thalia replies easily.

Another pause.

Then, after a moment—

“…But you’re not wrong,” you admit quietly.

Thalia doesn’t react immediately. Doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

They just nod, like it’s no surprise at all.

And for the first time that night, you feel something shift.

Not a solution.

Not an answer.

But maybe—

A different direction.