Archive of Our Own

He springs out of bed, bouncing on his heels as he picks his way across the maze that is his bedroom floor and into the small bathroom attached to his room. Three years of university and he can finally call a bathroom his own. In this economy? Even the annoyingly aggressive landlord couldn’t pry him away. There is no sound in any other part of the apartment. His roommate is three thousand miles away, on holiday with his boyfriend. Montauk, Jason remembers dreamily. Oh how many dreams can come true on a little beach in the summer? If he could he would have packed himself into Leo’s suitcase and made himself at home in the little cottage Percy and Sally owned. But no matter, because he is here and it is finally, finally the day. And even if the stars exploded he’d be the brightest thing in this universe.

The shower is too cold, with winter crawling towards them. His coffee is stronger than his punches. His jersey has a hole under the arm. But he is alive and he is existing in this strange time and he can’t be even slightly concerned for what these little things could make of him.

“Grace!” he hears a banging on his door just as he shoves the last bite of peach into his mouth. “You better be ready, I have shit to do today.”

Thirteen years of friendship and not once has he been able to tame the filthy sailor mouth of Annabeth Chase. In fact in the time he’s known her it’s really only gotten worse. She knows four languages and can swear in five of them. She says it's the cornerstone of language. Everyone has different ways of saying mom, love, beautiful, i respect you, but we all say “fuck” the same way. He thinks it’s just the cornerstone of her. He could kiss that potty-mouth, if he didn’t think it’d get him socked right in his own.

“I'm coming, Chase,” He yells back, “Get your boxers out your ass before you chafe on your own impatience.”

“Shut up Grace!” She swings the door open, grey eyes as wonderfully blunt as fresh concrete. “I’ll chafe your balls if you don't hurry your ass up.”

He’s about to spew another line when his phone starts vibrating incessantly on the counter. He levels a look at his best friend as if to say ‘we’ll continue this soon’ and then, “It’s Grace.”

“Why do you insist on answering the phone like you’re in the godsdamn mafia?” The smooth low voice of Thalia Grace crackles through his ear.

“Technically i am part of the mafia.”

“I told you mom featuring in ‘Tragic Crime’ when you were born doesn't automatically make you a mafia kid.” He can hear the eye roll in her voice and it makes him giggle like a little kid.

“She was literally the mafia boss,” He can't help but rib his sister. Loves her exasperation towards him. Things far and lost when they were young. She was shipped off to boarding school for 11 months of the year and he was coddled and cradled but nannies as detached as fallen butterfly wings. Now, at twenty two years old, he's making up for all his lost time.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck for today,” She has moved the conversation along and it makes him smile. Never one to waste time. “You're going to absolutely kill it. I'm so proud of you!”

“Thank you Lightning.” His sincerity is born and bred from fires of love and hurt and a longing for family he is finally having. “I'm excited!”

“I know,” Her laughter pops against his speaker, “I can hear it in your voice. Is Annie there?”

He looks up at his best friend, who's currently shoving half a jar of peanut butter and a slice of bread into her mouth. She is so messy and beautiful.

“She is.”

“Tell her I said good luck for today too.”

“I will.” Will this smile ever get smaller? His cheeks doth protest. His heart is Icarus if he had been successful.

The Grace siblings say their goodbyes and then Jason and Annabeth— still choking down a breakfast— are stumbling out of the house and into the streets of this busy, lazy; bright, soft city.

They reach their university and the colours that bombard them makes his ears ring. He thinks this is what shrimp feel like all the time. He can't imagine having that many colour receptors wouldn’t make your vision swim. He thinks he's got at least half as many now.

“I'll meet you back here at lunch?” Annabeth is staring up at him. Her blonde curls falling all over her face as the breeze pushes them forwards, backwards, up, across.

“Yes.” He wraps his arms around her. She sinks into him. They've always fitted like this. Like they had been born as a set and cracked apart.

“Don't forget to strap the knee.” She doesn't let go of his shoulders but pushes her head back so they're staring at each other. Eye to eye. Blue sky meets grey ocean. Grey sky meets blue ocean. Lightning meets the storm.

“I won't.” He flicks her nose at all the fussing. “You don't forget to strap your ankles.”

“We're a bunch of disasters aren't we?” She giggles.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

And then they're off to class. Just a few more hours.

Th r ee

T wo

One

And finally finally finally:

“IT'S FUCKING GAME DAY!” Travis Stoll screams. And the entire lecture hall goes up in flames. Body heat rising. Anticipation cracking. This is the day the whole university has waited for.

Jason Grace practically falls into the next few minutes. One moment he's packing up his drawing tools and the next he's standing in a locker room with silk shorts on and squeaking shoes racing over the linoleum.

“Meet you out there Grace?”

“Just gonna go talk to—”

“Annabeth.” He gets a fond eye roll, a soft smile. “Yea, we know. Hurry up.”

And with that he's gone. Sprinting across lockers, down hallways, and into the university quad.

He sees her.

And his whole world tunnels.

Caves in on him.

There is no way he exists in this image.

There is no way he sees what he does.

Annabeth Chase stands on the opposite end of the quad in white and purple. The t-shirt, a bold and bright colour against her suntanned skin. And her white shorts only making every other colour she is made from stand out more.

He looks down at his own light blue shirt, the matching white shorts. He fears he might get married in this. It's too perfect for any other kind of union.

She sees him.

And she's running.

He meets her.

And he's full of life.

“You look good in my colours.” They burst at the same time.

The flavour they leave behind is the very first ice-cream they shared as kids.

He's laughing and she's laughing and could they be any more Jason and Annabeth in that moment?

“Can't believe we've never done this before.”

“Can't believe I lived this long not seeing you in my purple.”

“My blue.” She fiddles with his shirt.

He tugs at hers.

He's staring so much he thinks his eyes might be glued to her.

She's staring so much he'll die if she looks away.

“So you're gonna join the weightlifting team?” She smirks up at him.

“So you're gonna join the basketball team?”

“Maybe we should just create our own team?” She does the thing where she's thinking. Head titled slightly to the right. Eyes changing every shade of morning dew. Thumbnail slips between her lips in three...two...bingo.

“We’ve had our own team since we were 11.”

“But we've never made it official.” And now she's looking at him with a different sort of grey. Like watery sunshine. Full of curiosity, hope.

“How would we do that?” He thinks he knows and the entire flock of sparrows in his chest are trying to fly him into a new galaxy.

She looks up at him. He looks down at her. Their bodies are f i v e f our three inches apart. She takes his face in her hands. He takes her waist between his fingers.

“I think this will be sufficient Grace.”

And then she kisses him. His mind goes quiet. And he kisses her. His heart goes still. And she pulls herself closer. He begins writing new languages with these feelings. And he wraps himself around every inch of her that he can. His body clicks back into place with hers.

When they break apart, the universe is drifting inside their eyes. Aren't they young gods?