They were sitting in Rachel's room, drinking hot chocolate from enamel mugs.

Rachel was sitting in one of those beanbag chairs, and Octivan was sitting on the edge of her bed.

The entire room was multicolored, paint splatters everywhere. She had no carpet, instead it was a hard oakwood floor, but there was a shag rug under her bed that covered the corner of her room.

A loft is a better word. Octivan thought.

And it was true. Rachel's room was the size of a loft, and it even had industrial lighting. Freaking nuts.

"So, how come your parents aren't around?" Octivan asked.

Rachel shrugged.

"They don't like to spend winters in New York. Mother says its to cold. So they go to our beach house in California until spring. I used to go with them, but the last two years or so I've stayed here. Closer to Camp Half-Blood in case I, you know, start spouting prophecies. New York is my home, anyways. And its not like I'm alone. Thomas is my personal chauffer, the cleaning ladies come in every Friday, and the cook is on speed dial." Rachel explained.

"I take it you don't like them much?" Octivan asked.

Rachel grimaced, but nodded.

"Yeah. You can tell, huh? They want me to be this perfect, schoolgirl with perfect grades that dresses impeccably and is the academic success they want. They sent me to a finishing school for girls, actually. But that's not who I am. I go to protest rallies and love to paint and draw. I hate money and the rich life we live. I know that they don't like it. But I'm okay with that. I honestly am."

Octivan nodded.

"I know you wount believe me, but I understand. I grew up from a wealthy family of legacies of Apollo. They were all rich and powerful figures in Roman society. If you weren't successful and rose to a high place in the Legion, you were a disgrace. From when I was a babe in arms, the thought and goal was driven into my mind that, I had to become praetor. I had to be rich. I had to be powerful. If I didn't succeed, then I would have disgraced my family and be disowned. I was taught money could buy everything, even friends and allies. But look how wrong that turned out to be." Octivan said and looked down at his Legion tattoo with disgust. He traced the torch absent mindedly.

Octivan looked down at the floor, unable to meet Rachel's gaze.

"I did disgrace my family. I have been disowned and cast out from the only home I ever knew. And I deserve it. I'm a weakling. I let Gaia posses me and start this war. She didn't just whisper in my ear or corrupt me. I was already corrupt. That's why she could possess me so easily. I'm a monster. I'm nothing." Octivan said, the venom in his voice startling Rachel.

Rachel had been right. The hateful, arrogant, snarky, hateful front was just that. A front. A mask.

Nobody had ever known who Octivan really was. Nobody bothered to care about him.

Well, Rachel knew how that felt, and she wasn't going to stand for that.

She set her now cold mug of hot chocolate on the bedside table before reaching over and gently prying Octivan's fingers away from his mug. She set it next to hers.

Then she did something so foreign to him, Octivan took a minute to realize what she was doing.

Rachel hugged him.

And Octivan let himself be hugged, and he cried.

He cried for the first time he could ever remember, until he fell asleep.

Then Rachel tucked him into the bed, and watched him as he slept, determined not to let anything else hurt the boy she loved.