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Percy doesn’t play the guitar very often. It’s not like he’s had much time—you know, between saving the world a few times in a row, almost dying more times than he can count, and then taking the SAT so that he can go to fancy demigod college with his girlfriend. But he does play—he took lessons in middle school (mostly so he had something to keep him out of trouble—guess how well that worked) until Smelly Gabe broke his guitar and Percy’s mom couldn’t afford to get him a new one.
All this to say—Percy doesn’t play the guitar very often, and he hasn’t played it in a long time, but right now, he’s hiding out in his cabin with an acoustic he borrowed from one of the Apollo kids and a scattered pile of crumpled up drafts. Because his birthday’s coming up. Which means his anniversary is coming up. That seemed like a good thing at the beginning—only one date he has to remember. But it also stresses him out a little bit, because he knows Annabeth is gonna go all out to celebrate both occasions, so he feels like he has to get her the best present each year to compensate. So here he is, twelve failed drafts into a song currently titled My Wisest Girl.
He doesn’t hear the door open, nor anything even resembling a knock, but all of a sudden Annabeth’s voice says, “Whatcha working on?” from right in front of him, and Percy jumps.
“Annabeth!” he yelps, scrambling to grab his papers off the bed and attempting to hide the guitar behind his back (it doesn’t work). “What—what are you doing in here?”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because now Annabeth’s grinning mischievously at him, and before Percy can stop her, she darts forward and grabs the latest draft right out of his hands. “Come on, Seaweed Brain, share with the class,” she teases. “What is this?”
Percy’s face is burning hot, but he admits, “It’s your anniversary present.”
Annabeth’s eyes widen, and she glances from the paper in her hand to the guitar Percy’s still failing to conceal, and then up to him. “Percy…” she whispers. “You wrote a song for me?”
“I… am writing a song for you,” Percy corrects. “Slowly. And badly.”
“Oh, Percy.” Annabeth places the paper gently on the bed and leans in to kiss him. “I’m sure it’s perfect. You’re too sweet to me.”
“You deserve it,” Percy says without hesitation, meaning it a hundred and fifty percent. They’ve been through so much together, and always managed to find their way back to each other. She deserves the world, without having to hold up a single solitary ounce of it.
They kiss for a few minutes, but eventually it gets too uncomfortable, Percy seated on his bed with a guitar in one hand behind his back and Annabeth leaning over him. Plus, he was kind of in the middle of something, so he reluctantly pushes her away. “Now go away so I can finish this. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”
Annabeth winks at him. “I’m holding you to that, Seaweed Brain.”