Chapter Text
ANNABETH
Deadlines were something Annabeth had trained herself to manage in small, compartmentalised doses. Like a monster she couldn’t beat, she spent the better part of her teenage years strategising lines of attack, swerving and parrying and leaping. No matter what she tried, the monster always came back the same, month in, month out. The choreography was exhausting. She felt like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up his cursed hill, only for it to roll back down again. Her smarts, which adults praised her for, could not rewire a neurodivergent brain.
To add insult to injury, Annabeth had also struggled with reading from a young age, in spite of her love of books. With some effort, she could push her way through the fog of words on the page, but every new text required her to unscramble and reassemble the letters in her head, like her settings were broken. This fact she never told anybody, even the counsellor she’d worked with briefly in middle school. Especially not the counsellor. She built enough walls masking her ADHD, she couldn’t add this to the teetering structure. So she simply bit the bullet.
It was mostly pride that got her through her tumultuous adolescence. And it was pride that made imposter syndrome rear its ugly head, a new beast to reckon with. The arena that was the education system never ceased to thrust another challenger her way. Freshman year had been brutal; Annabeth had entertained fantasies of dropping out, were it not for Thalia and Piper, who took turns coaching her through her meltdowns. She’d felt like a dead weight the entire time and clung onto them harder. Now Hazel and Silena were roped into the task, as well. At its worst, her ADHD demanded all hands on deck. She was a high maintenance friend, she knew it. Her trail of failed relationships was proof.
Nobody, really, could ever witness the monologue she engaged in on a daily basis — the negotiations she had to make with herself, the compromises, broken promises. The way her mind was at war with itself, restless and divided. She only had herself to blame. The last person who made her feel seen in some small, fleeting way had also run away with her heart, and Annabeth was still learning to live with this new absence, this old ache. He’d texted her that summer, as if half a year of radio silence had not lapsed and turned time into clay. Hey, Beth, like it was nothing. Wanna go on a joyride like the good old days? She’d shut him down, but not before her heart, a faulty, neglected engine, sputtered in protest. If Thalia learned about this, there would be hell to pay.
By the end of deadline week, Annabeth had honest to God forgotten the plans she’d made the following weekend, and all the weeks after that. She stood on the treacherous edge of a spiral, bent over her essay assignment and draft designs for a reimagined Empire State Building, which her groupmates refused to come to a consensus about. She’d left her readings on the backburner, the mere thought of slogging through dry academic papers opening a pit inside her stomach.
On Saturday night, in a panicked jolt, Annabeth remembered she was supposed to meet Percy tomorrow. Her mind a scatter of puzzle pieces, she grabbed her phone and called his number. She didn’t even stop to think or be nervous.
“Hello? Is this Percy — ”
“Annabeth? Are you okay?”
His voice on the line — staticky, warm, concerned — made her chest constrict.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can make it tomorrow. Anymore. I’ve just got a ton of stuff to deal with, and, assignments, I mean, I couldn’t get them done this week — ” Annabeth could feel the tears rising like a tide, her breaths stuttering in her throat. She hated the wretched physics of her anxiety, fighting her at every turn.
“Hey, slow down, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’m listening. Take a deep breath.” Percy’s voice, filtered through the radio waves, was soft and resonant, like the earth. Annabeth nearly whimpered, but she followed his instructions. Breathe. In. Out.
He guided her through the slow, opening space of her breaths, her body grounding itself to their rhythm. Percy murmured encouragements in her ear, affirmations of That’s right, You’re doing good, Find something solid to hold onto.
When Annabeth came back to herself, the world no longer a swirling moshpit, her hand trembled against her phone.
“Feeling better? Talk to me, Annabeth.”
“I — I’m better. I’m okay. Thank you.”
A beat of silence, then, “I think you should still come over. Or I could go to you. Or — ” Frustration made Percy start again. “If you’re comfortable, I mean. It’s just better to have someone there, physically. To bring you out of it.”
Annabeth knew her dorm was empty. It was a Saturday night, people made themselves scarce. She would have joined them, but had reassured her friends she needed to get some work done that evening. Great timing, as always.
“It’s too far out. You’re in the city, and — ”
“I’m at the bookstore. We’re doing inventory tonight, the shopfront’s closed. I can take Mum’s car and be there in twenty minutes.”
“Percy, you don’t have to — ”
“Are you alone for the night?”
Annabeth didn’t know what to say. She had not intended for this call to turn into an appointment. Granted, she had not expected Percy to ease her out of a panic attack, either. Her brain was still frazzled, her body wrung out like a wet towel.
“I — they’ll be back late.”
“Text me your address.”
Annabeth was still dazed when Percy hung up. She looked at the clock on the wall: 8:15pm. How long had she been on the phone? Trying to shake her nerves, Annabeth opened her chat with Percy and sent him her address. It dawned on her that he was coming here. To her dorm. In twenty minutes. For what? Schoolwork. Which she could have done, and was usually able to do, like a normal person. A new fear spiked in her chest. She tottered to the shared bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She wore her frayed college hoodie and sweatpants. Hunger had suppressed her mood and likely contributed to her near-meltdown.
Twenty minutes passed in a haze of anxiety and anticipation. Annabeth couldn’t think straight, couldn’t bother to do anything but wait. Eventually, a text pinged on her phone.
I’m here.
Annabeth stood up unsteadily, padded to the door, headed down two flights of stairs, and found Percy standing by the glass entrance to the dorm. His chest moved like he’d been running. His brow was creased — in worry, not anger. When he saw her, his body language shifted, an instant loosening that made Annabeth’s heart skip. She walked as if in a trance, buzzing the door open for him.
Their bodies, like planets, found each other’s orbit, ruled by a force as inevitable as gravity. Percy still had that frown on his face — Annabeth would have thought it cute, were she not so distracted by everything else. His hair tousled like waves and green eyes that seemed to take in all of her. The puffer jacket he was wearing, exposing the curvature of his neck.
“How are you feeling?” he asked tentatively.
His voice was clearer, deeper, in person.
“Can I hug you?” The words were out of Annabeth’s mouth before her rational faculties kicked in.
Percy’s face flashed with surprise, then something like softness. He nodded.
Annabeth stepped closer and wound her arms around him. It was strange. She was used to having her guard up, standing behind ramparts she had designed for the express purpose of keeping people out, herself in. A barrier against the world. The integrity of who she was, who she needed to be, relied upon this barrier never being breached. As Percy’s arm came to rest gently along her shoulders, Annabeth tried to figure out when she had crossed the threshold into the world outside, where nothing but doubt — fledgling, modest — stood between her and Percy.
He was redolent of the ocean. It was a natural scent, like he had just returned from the beach. The warmth of his skin radiated through fabric, enveloping Annabeth in a cocoon. The pressure of his arm on her back was light but firm. His thumb had started drawing absentminded circles on the slope of her shoulder. She could feel the ghost of his touch through her hoodie.
It was a lot to hug an almost-stranger, so Annabeth released her grip. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Wouldn’t. Her face was unseasonably warm.
“Better?” he asked. Tenderness etched his voice, a slow tide.
Annabeth nodded. “Better.”
Percy smiled. Annabeth had missed that dimple.
“Do you…” she hesitated. “Do you want to come up?”
Percy demured, then relented with Annabeth’s tug on his sleeve. They could use the common room. The girls wouldn’t be back for another two hours. If Annabeth wanted to take him somewhere more private, that was her business, and her business alone. She imagined the state of her room. Maybe, if he didn’t mind a mess.
“Do you drink?” Annabeth asked as Percy found a seat at the dining table.
He shook his head, expression unreadable.
“Cool, me neither.”
She brought out two Coke Zeros from the fridge and plopped down opposite him. Outside the window to the east, the campus was quiet and rustling. Annabeth felt loneliness press into her heart like a fist. The fluorescence of the stark, unadorned room created dissonance with the night.
“Thank you again for… just now,” she said, cutting the silence. “The phone call, I mean.”
Percy nodded. “No problem.” He uncapped his drink with an index finger and put the can to his lips.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“I wanted to. Seems like you’re the only one here tonight.”
“Yeah, everyone’s out having a life.”
Percy chuckled. “Wise girl’s not cutting herself any slack, huh?”
The nickname made Annabeth’s cheeks flare. She looked away and shrugged. “It gets like this sometimes. I know I should be at the club.”
“You really should. Though we’re both here now, so it’s fine.”
Annabeth glanced at him. The ceiling light cast shadows under his eyes, darkening their colour. They reminded her so much of the ocean, its changing moods.
“It sounded like you had experience with anxiety attacks. Do you come across them often in your line of work?”
It was Percy’s turn to shrug. “Lots of kids deal with anxiety, depression, neurodivergence. They really struggle because the education system is not designed to accommodate them. Doubly so if your family situation sucks, if you’re poor, if you’re of colour. I think reactivity is normal, given the circumstances.”
Annabeth recalled her own childhood. The fights at home, burning the midnight oil, stepping on everyone’s toes because she didn’t understand how to not be herself, how to put on a performance. She learned the hard way what having ADHD meant as a girl, the perfection people expected from you. Classmates who drew lines of battle with her on the other side. Teachers who loved her only when she did well in class. A father who didn’t know what to do with a raging, complicated daughter. The hours she spent burrowed under her blanket, practising her reading comprehension with a torchlight.
“ —beth? What’s wrong?”
Percy’s voice brought Annabeth out of her memories. He was looking at her with that cute crease in his brow.
Annabeth breathed a laugh. “I was just thinking about how much I actually struggled in school, despite the fact that I was getting good grades. In hindsight, it was a miracle I didn’t break down in class and get expelled.”
Something flickered in Percy’s eyes, sadness, or anger, Annabeth couldn’t decide.
“I had issues with reading too, but they weren’t severe, so I could get by with practice. Kept thinking I was crazy, though, for not getting things as quickly or easily as everyone else did. It was the psychological aspect that really threw me off.”
Percy studied her, so focused that Annabeth squirmed in her seat.
“Can I ask you something? Do you have a paper you need to read that you can share?”
Annabeth blinked at the sudden request. “Um, sure I do, but what — ”
“I want to test a theory.”
Annabeth eyed him. She got up and went to her room, rifling her desk for a printed article on structural supports. On the way out, she plucked her prescription glasses from her bedside table.
Percy leaned forward as Annabeth positioned the paper in front of him. She stood to his side awkwardly.
“Should I… Would it be easier for me to sit beside you? So we can read the paper.” Annabeth shuffled her feet.
“Obviously,” Percy said, looking up at her like a cat.
Annabeth sat to his left, sliding her glasses on. She peered at the muddle of words in front of them. Percy’s breath audibly shifted, and she could smell the ocean on him. She refused to avert her eyes, to find him only a few inches apart. Their arms were parallel, their knees almost touching. The room felt close, funnelled to the gap between their bodies.
Percy lifted his finger and pointed to the first sentence on the page. “Can you try reading along?”
Annabeth tried. Every word demanded conscious effort. Reading was a physical activity, not a mental one. Slowly but surely, with years of muscle memory behind her, Annabeth made her way down the page. Certain lines took longer, and she had to start from the top multiple times, but Percy was patient, waiting for her to pick herself up, brush herself off, and try again. When she stumbled, he brought up the rear. Throughout the process, Annabeth was self-conscious, but not ashamed. This, too, was a strange feeling — her schooling had mostly been a trial by fire, a war of wits against power. She couldn’t count the number of times an adult’s intolerance had made her feel small. It bled through her days like rain. And some part of her had absorbed the wetness, damp and waterlogged like a moulding house.
Time slowed to keep pace with Percy’s low voice, a buoy in a sea of words. Annabeth could tell he was also exerting himself, though he did a good job of hiding it. At one point, she paused and said, “Should we take a break? I know this isn’t easy for you.”
“I’m trained to do this. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Annabeth was unconvinced, but Percy smiled at her. “Trust me. I’d tell you if it was too much.”
They forged on, side by side, in a three-legged race. Annabeth could hardly believe Percy, who shared her condition, was leading her through this task they both struggled with. She was impressed, if not a little envious of his ability. She also encountered an inexplicable ache in his open, willing companionship — so ready to give, it almost hurt.
When they reached the end of the article, Percy grinned at Annabeth. “Great job. You were amazing.”
Annabeth blushed at the compliment. She felt inordinately proud, and also slightly ridiculous, like a kid getting candy at the doctor’s.
“And I’m pretty sure you’re dyslexic, like me,” Percy added, sitting back to stretch his arms.
“Oh,” Annabeth said. It made a lot of sense, but somehow she’d never registered the fact. Of course, as a child, she hadn’t known the name, or existence, of the condition. Her learning difficulties were a private, nebulous cloud she carried with her everywhere. It never occurred to her to get a diagnosis.
“I’m guessing you’re not on medication for ADHD?” Percy asked.
Annabeth shook her head. “I’m not even diagnosed.”
“Wow, you’re really out here raw-dogging ADHD and dyslexia.” Percy tilted his chair back so he was looking at her from an angle. “I can’t say if I’m impressed or concerned.”
“Let’s go with impressed.”
Percy laughed, and Annabeth felt accomplished for eliciting that reaction from him. She wanted to make a study of his laughing form, all the tension evacuating his body, replaced by delight.
“What about you?”
“I go on and off medication, on account of the side effects. Makes me depressed and irritable, like, more so than usual. And very sleepy.”
“But it helps?”
“More or less. I only take it when I need to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
Annabeth played with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve asked a lot from you, without thinking about the position it might put you in.”
Percy regarded her with a softness — a sadness — she didn’t think she could bear. “It’s okay to ask for help, Annabeth. I’m here to help.”
“But it’s not your job to take care of me.”
“I’d do it anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because I choose to.”
Annabeth held his gaze across the table. There was something unsayable in it, the air between them thickening with silence. A growing hole, or a seed. She followed the curve of his eyes, down to his nose, cupid’s bow, the bud of his lips. Down to his jaw, his neck, the muscle and bone. She knew he was watching her roam. She lifted her eyes.
Another beat passed before Percy said, “I should leave you to your work. Unless there’s a really boring academic paper you need help with.”
“That’s all there is, unfortunately,” Annabeth said, biting back a laugh. “I don’t want to fry your brain.”
“Most of the content goes over my head anyway.”
“Same.”
Percy laughed, full-bellied, at this, which made Annabeth grin. It was a bright, breezy sound, a ripple from his throat.
“I think you need to be teaching me your wise ways, O enlightened one,” Annabeth said solemnly. “I will be your humble disciple.”
Percy nodded, affecting a sage look. “I gladly accept your apprenticeship.”
In truth, Annabeth didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him in her room, distracting her with jokes and chatter. As they retraced their steps downstairs, she was already missing him. His wind-blown hair, his dimpled grin. The way he held her like it cost him something.
They lingered at the threshold which would take Percy into the night.
“Drive safe,” Annabeth said. “Text me when you get back.”
His gaze on her, enigmatic, like he didn’t know if he should speak. Annabeth waited, uncertain of what she was hoping for.
“Goodbye, Annabeth,” he said, finally. “I’ll see you again.”
And then he was gone.