✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Juno Luciano wasn't sure why she agreed to this. She wasn't sure why Leo looked at her like they were old friends instead of two people who had barely spoken, and she definitely wasn't sure why Piper's gaze kept flickering toward her like she was something to be solved.
Leo plopped onto a bench with a dramatic sigh. "Gods, I swear if they made tofu surprise again, I'm gonna—" He peeked over at the Hephaestus table. "Oh, thank Hephaestus, it's normal food tonight."
Piper sat across from him, barely listening. Her attention was on Juno, studying her the way someone might study a puzzle with a missing piece.
Juno ignored her. She grabbed a plate, muttered a quiet thanks to Hecate, and focused on her food.
Leo nudged her with his elbow. "So, how's camp life treating you? I mean, other than being a total combat prodigy and lurking in the shadows like some tragic antihero."
Juno didn't even look up. "That's a lot of words just to say how are you."
Leo grinned. "Yeah, but it's more fun this way."
She rolled her eyes but took a bite of food instead of snapping back. It was hard to be snarky to someone so.. Leo.
Piper finally spoke. "So, you knew eachother before camp?"
Juno tensed. She wasn't surprised by the question, but she hated the way it made her feel—like a thread being pulled too hard.
Leo answered for her. "Not knew knew. We were just in the same place at the same time, right?" He shot her a questioning look.
Juno nodded once. "Yeah. Just a place."
Piper didn't look convinced.
Juno shoved another bite of food into her mouth, chewing slowly. She wasn't about to explain herself—not here, not now.
The conversation shifted after that. Leo started rambling about Argo II upgrades, and Piper let him. Juno let herself fade into the background.
But every now and then, she caught Piper looking at her. Looking at her with those eyes she couldn't decode.
Juno didn't know what the fuck was going on, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
The conversation drifted around her, something about celestial bronze plating and fireproof rigging, but Juno wasn't really listening. She picked at her food, feeling Piper's gaze on her again, heavy and searching.
Juno had spent most of her life being looked at in two ways: with suspicion or with indifference. But Piper's eyes held something else. Not quite distrust, not quite curiosity—something in between, like she was trying to map Juno out before she could disappear.
Juno did not care for being figured out.
"So," Piper said suddenly, voice light but deliberate. "How did you and Leo meet?"
Juno barely glanced up. "Does it matter?"
Piper tilted her head. "Maybe not. But it's interesting, don't you think? Out of all the demigods out there, the two of you just happened to end up in the same place before camp?"
Leo, oblivious, just shrugged. "Eh. Weird stuff happens all the time. Besides, it wasn't that big of a deal."
Juno shot him a look. Wasn't that big of a deal? He had no fucking idea.
Piper's fingers tapped against the table, tilting her head slightly. "What was it like?" Those eyes. Her eyes.
Juno stiffened. She didn't need to ask what it was. She knew.
For a moment, her mind flickered back—to cold concrete walls, to dim orange streetlights buzzing overhead, to the stale air of a place meant for kids without homes, without families, without futures.
She pushed the memory away. "Like every other place that's not here."
Piper didn't look satisfied with that answer, but she let it drop.
Leo stretched his arms over his head. "Anyway, what's next for you, Juno? Besides lurking in the shadows and generally freaking the shit out of people?"
Juno smirked. "That's a full-time job."
Leo grinned. "Fair, fair. But seriously, you sticking around camp after this whole prophecy thing, or do you have some life plan mapped out?"
Piper's eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Juno's grip tightened on her fork. She didn't respond. The idea of a prophecy, a mission, or even just being tangled in something bigger than herself—it made her skin itch. She had spent too long running from things she couldn't control. She felt unavoidably stuck.
"Not everyone has big plans to be a hero, Valdez," she muttered.
Leo nodded enthusiastically but didn't argue.
Piper, though—Piper was still watching. Still peeling back layers Juno didn't want to acknowledge.
And for some reason, Juno let her.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
Later that night, long after the pavilion had emptied and campfires had burned low, Juno sat on the steps of the Hecate cabin, staring out at the darkened woods. The air was thick with summer heat, but the shadows around her were cool, brushing against her skin like something familiar.
She didn't want to think about the way her past kept clawing its way back to the surface, no matter how deep she tried to bury it.
Footsteps crunched against the path. Juno didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Piper stopped a few feet away. "You don't sleep much, do you?"
Juno let out a short laugh. "Neither do you, apparently."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Leo's right. You do lurk a lot."
Juno smirked. "Occupational hazard."
Piper snorted, then sat down beside her. Not too close. But not far, either.
Juno didn't move away.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched between them, something comfortable, something fragile.
Then Piper broke it. "You don't have to tell me anything," she said. "But I just... I recognize the way you look at this place. Like you're not sure where you're supposed to be."
She leaned back on her hands, tilting her head toward the stars. "I felt like that for a long time, too."
Juno didn't answer.
Because the truth was, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to be here.
And the more Piper looked at her like that—like she saw something worth knowing—the harder it was to keep running.
After a while, Piper shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest. "You ever wonder about the stars?"
Juno shot her a side glance, slumping against the door. "That's a pretty broad question."
Piper huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is." She tilted her head back, eyes tracing the constellations. "I used to make up stories about them when I was a kid. My dad traveled a lot for work, so I'd lie awake at night and tell myself that no matter where he was, we were under the same sky. It made me feel less... alone, I guess."
Juno didn't say anything at first. The words, I killed my dad, burned at the back of her throat like bile. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. She'd never had a habit like that—no comforting stories, no imaginary connections to distant lights in the sky.
She had only ever counted the stars to pass the time, to remind herself that no matter where she ended up, the universe didn't care.
Still, something about Piper's voice—soft, distant—made her stomach twist.
So instead of ignoring it, Juno surprised herself. "I used to count them."
Piper turned, a ghost of a smile misting over her face. "Yeah?"
Juno shrugged. "Back when I moved around a lot. It was something to do. But I always lost track."
Piper smiled, the kind that barely curved her lips. "Well, there are a lot of them."
Juno huffed. "No, I mean—I'd lose count because the sky was always different. Some nights were too cloudy. Some places had too many lights. I kept trying to make it add up, like if I could just hold on to the number, I'd... I don't know. Make sense of it."
She regretted saying it the second it left her mouth. It was too much, too close to something real.
But Piper didn't laugh. Didn't give her some wise beyond her years bullshit.
She just nodded. "Yeah. I get that."
Juno swallowed, glancing away. The wind stirred the trees, and for a moment, she let herself believe that maybe Piper did get it—that maybe she wasn't just humoring her.
They sat there like that, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, the night stretching on around them.
Eventually, Piper spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "I don't know if it ever really adds up."
Juno frowned. "What?"
"The stars. The universe. All of it." Piper exhaled, staring up like she could wrestle an answer from the sky. "I used to think everything had to mean something. That if I just looked hard enough, I'd figure it out." She shook her head. "But I don't think it works like that."
Juno paused to consider that. She had spent so much of her life trying to make sense of things—her past, her outbursts, the way people looked at her like she was an unfinished equation. She had spent so much time trying to solve herself.
Maybe Piper was right. Maybe there was no specific answer.
Maybe that was okay.
Juno exhaled, slow and steady. "That's kind of depressing."
Piper snorted. "Yeah. Sorry."
Juno smirked. "It's fine. I'm good at depressing."
Piper glanced at her, a quiet challenge in her eyes. "I noticed."
Juno didn't look away. Neither did Piper.
The moment stretched, something unspoken settling between them, delicate but there.
For once, Juno didn't feel the need to break it.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
a/n
short dialogue chapter :>
oh my god i am actually obsessed w this chapter bye
THE SLOWBURN IS FUCKING BURNING
leo and juno brotp they both think they killed their parents they get eachother i love them
jason where are you !! (i forgor 2 write him in)
they finally leave next chapter! oh boy!
ok goodbye :7