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This love is so illogical; mythological
Want you to tell me I'm your favorite mistake
I'm a mortal, but you think I'm magical
You take my hand and say let's get away
You look at me and say I'm your favorite place
•─────⋅☼ ༓ ☼⋅─────•
“What’s the worst thing you ever did at school? Like, on purpose. Stuff that happened because of monsters doesn’t count.”
Annabeth hummed, thinking. “One time in eighth grade Thalia and I broke into every teacher and dean’s office and stole their middle desk drawer and replaced it with someone else’s.” She let a low whistle, “Monday morning was chaos. But they had it coming. They were all such assholes that past week.”
Percy blinked, uncomprehending. “Did you ever get caught?”
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Who do you think you’re talking to right now? Hat or no hat, they would’ve never known it was me.”
Percy held his hands up in surrender, lips twitching in mild amusement, “Remind me to never cross you.”
“I thought you already figured that out a long time ago.”
“I did, I did,” he acquiesced. “But every time I think I’m close to finally figuring you out, you end up surprising me.”
“I’m an enigma,” she said simply, shrugging.
“I’m an enigma,” he mocked in a poor imitation of her voice.
She laughed, head thrown back, shoulders shaking. “Shut up.”
“Never.”
With that, he launched himself from his position on the couch, landing on her body with a thud. He reached for her stomach, fingers dancing across the skin where her shirt had ridden up, a devious little smirk growing on his face as he heard her tell-tale shriek of laughter. One would say her fatal flaw was pride, but if you asked Percy, it’d have to be her ticklishness. She’d denied it—a little too vehemently—when he’d first asked her if she was ticklish, which was enough to raise his suspicions and get him to try and tickle her the next time they cuddled. He was merciless but Annabeth thought it was quite easy to get him to stop with the threat of revoked kissing rights hanging over his head.
“Percy,” she giggled, digging her fingers into his side to make him squirm, in a weak attempt to stop his attack. “S-stop.”
Her head was turned to the side, buried into the couch cushion, muffling her laughter. He took the opportunity to press sweet kisses to the column of her neck, behind her ear, along the line of her jaw—a sharp contrast to his ruthless assault on her stomach.
“I’m—I’m going to kill you,” she wheezed, pulling back her knee and hovering it above his crotch as a threat.
“Murdering the love of your life on your monthaversary? Romantic and a great way to get TV exposure. Maybe you’ll end up on Dateline if you’re lucky,” he teased, face resting in an easy grin.
Her mouth dropped open in indignation and he paused his attack in hesitation. “I am offended you think I’d get caught. Have you learned nothing? We both know no one would suspect me. And planning is my middle name.”
“Wow, planning is your middle name?” his eyes widened in faux-admiration, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s so badass.”
“More badass than the time you hung off a billboard in Times Square half naked in those boring blue boxers,” she sniped back, lightly kneeing him in his most sensitive spot and taking advantage of his momentary release on her body to flip them over and hold his arms above his head with one hand.
He let out a huff of surprise. “A little eager, don’t you think? I thought we could wait until tonight to use those new handcuffs but at this rate—”
He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, chest rising and arching at the movement of her fingers at the small of his back. It had always remained sensitive, particularly to her touch, and he trusted her to not use her knowledge for evil but sometimes she wasn’t immune to the appeal of payback.
“That’s not fair. I did not tell you about that for you to use it against me.”
“Says the man that literally tickled me for a minute straight.”
“Touché.”
Her lips pulled up into a smug smile, that enchanting glint in her eye directed at him in a way that never failed to suck the breath out of his lungs, and he knew there was no such thing as losing with her. The idea that he’d be sprawled out on the living room couch, the love of his life grinning down at him, the smell of her favorite rose candle wafting through the air, all within the confines of their apartment—a place sacred to the love for each other that clung to their skin like an eternal armour—the idea would’ve been so pathetically laughable to his fifteen year-old self. But here he was, by all odds, his lifeline now a pleasant weight on his chest, and he knew that this was what he was built for. Loving and loving and loving until he couldn’t love anymore. She makes it so easy, he thought.
Annabeth shifted her weight atop his torso, leaning back at the faraway look on his face. “What?” she raised an eyebrow. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” his lips rested in a gentle smile, fingers slipping underneath the hem of her his loosely-fitting Fall Out Boy t-shirt to slide over the smooth planes of skin he had memorized long ago.
“You look like you’re daydreaming—” she paused for a moment, then laid her body flat against his, placing her head atop her overlapping hands that rested on his chest, “Or remembering.”
His grin widened as he pulled her closer to him in response, until it felt like there was no room for the smallest molecule of air to pass between their bodies. She turned her head and let it fall, her cheek pressing against the faint thrumming of his pulse.
“I just—I have rotten luck.”
She laughed—a beautiful sound that sent warmth curling through his body, from his cheeks to his toes—and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his chin. “Understatement of the century, baby.”
He grinned wryly. “Maybe, in some ways. But no one can deny I’m one of the luckiest sons of bitches out there.”
“How do you figure?” she asked, eyes trained on the sleeve of his shirt as she fiddled with it. She knew. And he knew she knew.
“I’ve had the weight of the world on my shoulders,” he began, moving one hand up to brush through her curls, “in more ways than one. And you have, too. Often times worse than I did. But I have something to call home.”
“The apartment isn’t that gorgeous.”
“I wasn’t talking about the apartment.”
“Oh.” She went silent.
He relished in the dusting of pink across her cheeks. “I get to walk through that door and come home, everyday. I have an amazing mother, sister, step-dad, and—” he took a shaky breath, gently pushing the hair back from her face. “a best friend and partner rolled into one who just so happens to be the most important person in my life and the entire reason I’m laying here right now. It doesn’t get better than that.”
She’s quiet for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, a little surprised by his sudden touching words. He fills in the resounding silence, continuing, “And I guess I’ve just been thinking,” he finds her hands and clasps it firmly within his, “that people like us aren’t supposed to get lucky. So many of us didn’t. Jason, Beckendorf, Silena, Michael—” he swallows roughly. “Luke, in a way. And that’s not all. We’ve arguably been through the worst of it and made it out on the other side. Together.”
He pulls their intertwined hands to his mouth, peppering sweet kisses on each finger, lingering on her ring finger. “There’s a lot to be angry about, a lot that we can never forget, a lot that we can’t undo no matter how much we want to. But I was lost, and you were lost, and we found each other. And the best part is we got to stay.” He tried his best to blink back the water that blurred his vision. “It’s so hard to wrap my head around sometimes, to believe all of this isn’t just a foolishly hopeful daydream—a figment of my imagination. But it’s real. It’s really real, and I’m forever indebted to the universe for that. I know I should’ve gotten used to it after all this time, but I haven’t.”
She let that sink in for a moment, breathing him in—his words, his scent, the love emanating from his touch. “Fuck, you can’t just do that,” she whispered, voice cracking, as she turned her head away.
“Do what, baby?” he asked gently, hand reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear and cup her jaw so that she face him.
“That! Be the most romantic guy on the planet out of nowhere. You gotta give me time to prepare for these things.”
“Sorry,” he apologized in a matter anyone would’ve thought was sincere if not for the little quirk of his lips. “I’ll be sure to email you my calendar of big romantic gestures before the next time.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything for you. So you still wanna risk ending up on Dateline?”
“Shut up,” she weakly laughed, burying her damp face into the crook of his neck. “That little speech definitely rivaled your proposal, by the way. Your vows have a lot to live up to.”
“Oh, man,” he sighed, head plopping back onto the arm of the cushion. “I think I’ve used all my material.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“Sounds like a you problem,” he mimicked again, blowing a raspberry into the skin of her neck he could reach.
“Percy!” she pushed him away, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe away the saliva he’d so maturely left at her throat. “That’s it, we’re getting a divorce.”
“We’re not even married.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, shoving his chest. “We just won’t get married, then.”
“That big rock on your finger says otherwise.”
“I am keeping the ring, it’s prettier than you.”
“Is this the treatment I get for sweeping you off your feet on a Tuesday evening?”
“All you’ve done is tickle and insult me.”
“Wow, you have really selective memory,” he responded, squinting his eyes in scrutiny.
“I’m known for my memory, actually.”
“Is that why you couldn’t remember the last line of that prophecy that one summer?”
“Shut up, I just chose not to tell you.”
“Because you were in love with me,” he teased, fingers toying with a loose curl hanging in his line of vision.
“A very regrettable decision it seems,” she muttered, drily.
“You’re being awfully mean today.” A pause. “It’s hot.”
She rolled her eyes. “You keep talking and I will actually take this ring off.”
“We both know you’re all talk.”
“Yeah?” she got up off him and slipped her ring off. “What if I just flush it down the toilet?”
“It would end up somewhere in the sea and I’d just find it and put it on your finger again.”
Annabeth’s eyebrows scrunched together in that way he loved as she pondered, twisting the ring between her fingers. “Could you actually?”
Percy quickly got up and plucked the ring from her hand and placed it back on her finger, pressing a kiss to it. “Baby, we are absolutely not trying that.”
“You must not be confident in your abilities then.”
“Don’t goad me,” he warned, reaching his arms out as if to tickle her again.
“But it’s fun,” she said innocently, closing the distance between them, and the press of her lips against his momentarily vanquished any train of thought running through his mind. That’s one thing that hadn’t changed after six years together.
“I’m glad you get off on torturing me,” he pulled away after a minute and whispered against her mouth. Her eyes twinkled mirth and were somehow even more mesmerizing up close.
“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.” She captured his resounding laugh with her mouth and he decided he wanted her to make fun of him every night.
•─────⋅☼ ༓ ☼⋅─────•
So I'm coming with you, wherever you go
I don't care where we end up, Apollo
I'll sing you a love song, read me a poem
Take me to Greece or take me to Rome