I have a headcannon that Percy spent like an hour discussing with Annabeth about how he wasn’t Nico’s type.
"what does he mean I’m not his type?"
"Is there something wrong with me?"
"I’m your type, right Annabeth? Annabeth?"
*Meanwhile Annabeth is dying with laughter*
The dragon pitched sideways and catapulted Leo face-first into the sand.
So much for a heroic entrance.
Leo spit a piece of seaweed out of his mouth. Festus dragged himself down the beach, made clacking noises that meant Ow, ow, ow.
Leo looked up Calypso stood over him, her arms crossed, her eyebrows arched.
“You’re late,” she announced. Her eyes gleamed.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” Leo said. “Traffic was murder.