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The bookstore only sold secondhand books, mainly relying on customer donations, which Nico had to check for missing pages or overly damaging coffee spills.
He liked his job. He occasionally found an underlined word or phrase, a doodle, a leftover bookmark. Based on the quality, he would assign a price and then the book would go on the shelf, nestled between other well-loved, dog eared volumes.
It was a little monotonous, but the routine was nice. It was a little boring, but the occasional secret left on the pages made him smile.
At least, they used to be occasional, until a Mr. Perseus Jackson started donating his books.
The first time, Nico wasn’t there when Mr. Jackson dropped off his books. There were about six, none too long, all a bit different from each other in style and content. He only knew his name from the neat little label maker sticker on the inside of the cover. He picked up the first one, intending to thumb through it quickly and keep an eye out for sticky pages or big tears, but only a few pages in, the annotations started.
Phrases circled, little arrows connecting pieces of dialogue, an occasional “this!!” or “yeah right”. Sometimes, snarky comments or yelling at the characters, and once, while the love interest was being ranted about, a little heart doodle.
He ended up spending the rest of the afternoon absolutely falling in love with the unknown donor and reading every single thing he wrote.
And he thought it would stop there.
The first time he saw Perseus Jackson he had no idea. The mop of dark hair and green eyes and crooked smirk were just a brief little distraction, his full attention on the new (well, not exactly new) books he had dropped off. He flipped through the first one, until the all too familiar scrawl caught his eye and he put two and two together.
He reappeared at the register with a trilogy clutched in his hands, and asked a question Nico was so used to hearing he had formulated an automatic response.
“Could I swap the books I donated for these?”
Nico was a second away from his usual spiel about bartering, but he bit his tongue just in time.
“Sure.”
That smile nearly knocked him out.
“Thank you! Thank you, I’ve been wanting to read these for forever!”
It became a little routine. Percy, who had corrected him sternly when Nico tried to call him Perseus, came in every second Monday with a new piece of himself scattered throughout the pages of whatever book he had picked up the last time. Nico would spend the next week reading them carefully, laughing at the stupid puns and innuendos and random tangents Percy’s terrible handwriting took him on. He knew so much about him and yet so little. They’d barely spoken a word to each other and Nico knew his friends (“Basically Annabeth” “Grover would love this!” “I can practically hear Frank’s voice when I read this” “!!! Show Thalia!!”) his likes and dislikes (“Gross” “That’s my soulmate, he likes blue almost as much as me” “Mayo and pasta is a sin he deserved to get stabbed”) even some of his fears, hints of his past and glimpses of his daydreams. He knew Percy’s taste in music based on the song lyrics jotted down in the margins, his favourite characters, his sense of humour.
Part of him wished he knew all of this because Percy had shown him himself.
They had started talking more by the time the fated romance novel circled from Percy back to the bookstore, chatting mostly about recommendations, arguing about open endings or swapping theories. It was fun.
Then, that romance novel.
It had been hidden between some sci-fi novels when Percy first took it, apparently, because Nico would have mocked him (in a flirty way) about the obnoxious cover art. In typical trashy romance novel fashion, the swooning busty blonde was draped over her tall, dark, and handsome love interest with the setting that made each one oh so different placed haphazardly in the background.
Nico almost didn’t want to read it.
Until the first paragraph of chapter two, the typical, drawn-out description of the mysterious and sexy newcomer was circled boldly and under it, in the most desperate looking print, “That’s literally him!! It’s literally bookstore guy!!”
Things only got better from there.
Percy shamelessly drooled over the love interest, and by extension (he hoped) Nico too. Occasionally, he would point out the differences, little scribbles of “his eyes aren’t green though but geez they do the exact same thing to me wow” and “bookstore guy wouldn’t, he’s too nice” (he was).
Mainly there were just passages underlined, little exclamation points, and one scene that had apparently earned a dogear. Nico read the scene a grand total of once and wanted to wash his eyes with soap.
Either Percy had no idea Nico read through the books he dropped off, or he was dropping the most massive hint ever, and either way, Nico decided it was time to come clean.
“You know I have to check them for quality right?”
Percy frowned, before a look of utter terror washed over his face. Judging by how bright red he was turning, he did not.
“How-how in-depth do you-”
“Oh, normally I just skim, but I made an exception when I read one of your notes,” he said, feeling like a horrible person but not caring.
Percy dropped his face into his hands.
“I can never come back here. You read… all my notes?”
Nico decided to stop being mean. He smiled, leaning forward. Maybe he was being a bit mean.
“Why do you think I keep letting you swap books? Normal customers have to pay for them, you know? I just...” Oh, great, now his confidence had decided to run out. “I just really liked the person I was getting to know through those dumb scribbles…”
Percy had made eye contact again, still flushed but definitely less red than before.
“Did you like the last book?”
Nico smirked. There was no way he couldn’t take this absolutely golden opportunity.
“Almost as much as you did, apparently.”
He could see Percy worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before the green eyed boy blurted, “Can I take you out for coffee?”