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Thirteen years gone
Present day
“How did you survive the blip?”
It’s a weighted question, the memories pressing down on Percy like an uncomfortably heavy blanket. He’s not entirely sure why this new camper decided to ask him about that of all things.
The truth is, he didn’t survive. Not really. Living in a world without Annabeth—and half of his friends—for five years was equitable to death—but he doesn’t think it’s exactly appropriate to dump all of that on a thirteen year old, so he just shakes his head with a soft smile. “Dunno,” he says, shrugging.
The memories that threaten to overwhelm him are heavier than the sky—and he of all people feels like he can say that—so he glances off to the side and mumbles something about needing to go. Even now, over a year after he’s gotten her back, thinking about how he felt when she was gone is almost more than he can handle.
Are you real?
Seven years ago
“Percy! Stop! ” Annabeth shrieks as she laughs so hard that Percy doubts she can breathe. He’s tickling her feet with bubbles at the surface of the lake, and she kicks water at him as she continues giggling. “You’re so insufferable, did you know that?”
They’re so blindly, irrevocably in love, that everything Percy sees is through the frames of rose colored glasses. He’s only seventeen, but he can’t imagine the rest of his life without Annabeth. She’s his other half.
“It’s my goal,” he teases her, but he stops the bubbles anyway. The smell of strawberries and salty ocean air, ever present at camp, wafts across the lake, and the setting sun kisses their cheeks while casting thousands of sparkles onto the surface of the water. It’s such a perfect moment; Percy wishes he could freeze everything about it—but a camera wouldn’t capture what makes it so beautiful.
It’s been six months since Apollo defeated the emperors, and the mood at camp has been a mix of relief and excitement. Everyone is finally breathing easily again—for the first time in what seems like since Percy first arrived. His senior year is over (he did, in fact, pass the DSTOMP and his SAT, despite Annabeth’s worries) and now he’s enjoying his last summer at camp before moving to New Rome. He and Annabeth are the very definition of seventeen year olds in love—their days are a blend of intense color and smiles; a whirlwind of laughter and kisses.
Leaning over and wrapping her arms around him, Annabeth sighs contentedly and rests her cheek on his shoulder. “I love you so much.” She’s still vaguely breathless from her laughter, and Percy can feel her heart thrumming through her chest on his, like a hummingbird’s wings.
They’ve been together long enough that Percy doesn’t flush anymore when the four letter L word is used, and hearing it from her (and saying it back) is one of his favorite things. “I love you so much, too,” he tells her, running his fingers aimlessly up and down her back.
The sun warms their skin as it sets, and Annabeth’s breaths have started to slow back down to a normal pace. There’s a faint hum of life—crickets, maybe, and Percy can hear the ocean lapping at the shore from the other side of the trees while they sit in a contented silence.
“Are you even real?” She asks, her lips pulling into a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, sometimes I think I made you up.” She pauses tentatively, and her breath catches. “Like you’re too good to be true.”
Percy laughs a little; flustered. “Real as can be,” he reassures her as his cheeks tint pink.
“This is one of those moments that people write songs about,” Annabeth muses after a short pause, her gray eyes cast down at their feet. Her voice is humorous. “Especially country songs, with the childhood romance stories and all that crap.”
They both laugh, and Percy can’t imagine ever feeling more in love with the beautiful girl currently held between his arms. “We’re a pretty good childhood romance story, though,” she commented.
“I’d have to agree, Chase.”
His fingers trace one of the smaller scars on her waist, and her whole body goosebumps.
“That one’s not even from a monster,” she says, her lips twitching upwards. “Remember the Sirens? When I was swimming, before you grabbed me, something flew up and cut me, I think. I don’t remember super well, cause I was so focused on what I saw, but I just remember bleeding after. I think it was a shell.”
Her eyes are sad, and Percy remembers what the siren’s had shown her. She’d gotten what she wanted for the most part—but some things can’t be changed. Luke’s gone; her dream future will never be complete. He wonders absently if she’d rather have that future than the one she has now, with him.
“That’s so random,” he says, and she chuckles.
“I know.”
Annabeth’s stomach growls and it brings them back to reality. “We should probably go and get dinner with everyone,” she says, glancing back towards the main part of camp—but her voice suggests that leaving is the last thing she wants to do.
“I wish we could stay here forever.”
She sits up and grins, no trace of sadness left on her face. “Time by definition is fleeting. But that’s part of what makes it beautiful, isn’t it?”
Percy rolls his eyes. “No. It’s part of what stresses me out.”
Annabeth runs her hands through her hair while she laughs. “You’re such a Seaweed Brain. So callous.”
“I’m just glad that you think I know what callous means.”
“Percy!” she exclaims, slapping his arm. “I know you’re smart. Just because you can’t do physics doesn’t mean you’re mindless.” She pauses for a second. “Though you can be slow sometimes.”
Percy tilts his head like a confused puppy and smiles at her. “Like when I didn’t realize you liked me? For like half my life?”
Annabeth giggles. “Exactly like that.” She leans forward and presses their lips together for a few seconds before she pulls away with a grin. “Now come on. I’m hungry.”
Percy stands and offers her his hand. “M’lady.”
She giggles and accepts it, and with one last look at the lake, they link hands and walk away.
The first crack in the glass
Six years and five months ago
Something’s been bothering Annabeth lately, but she won’t admit it. Percy knows when she’s upset—after being best friends since they were twelve, there’s not a thing he doesn't notice. Everything about her is different when she’s upset; from the way she holds herself (usually confident, now uncertain) to the depth behind her eyes (usually fierce but now dull).
They’re sitting on the couch of their apartment in New Rome, which is bizarre enough in itself (Percy had never pictured himself living long enough to be old enough to rent property), and Annabeth is staring at a book. She hasn’t turned a page in almost five minutes, and Percy just can’t take it anymore.
“Annabeth?”
She stirs and looks up at him. “Mmm?”
“What’s wrong?”
She quirks an eyebrow, but that won’t fool him. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“You haven’t turned a page of that book in almost five minutes.”
Her eyes flick down to the book in her lap like she’s just now remembering that it’s there, her eyebrows furrowed together in discontentment. “Yes, I have.”
“You were literally staring at the page with your eyes glazed over,” he tells her.
“I guess I’m just tired,” she concedes, gently closing the book and putting it on the side table. Standing up and kissing him on the cheek, she walks over to their bedroom. “I’m gonna try and take a quick nap.”
Annabeth closes the door behind her before Percy can really contest it, and he’s left sitting there on the couch wondering what the hell happened to the girl he fell in love with.
Later that night, while they’re sitting at the dinner table and twirling spaghetti noodles around their forks, Annabeth’s eyes are still dull. It’s been this way for a couple of days, and Percy doesn’t want to be pushy and overstep, but he’s worried about her. They’ve said all of two words since sitting down.
“Annabeth, you’re starting to scare me,” he says as the silence drags on. “ What is wrong?”
She stares at the table and picks at her food. “I don’t know,” she mutters.
“Annabeth.”
She won’t meet his eyes, and for Annabeth, that’s the most abnormal thing she’s done yet. If she’s nothing else, Annabeth is someone who makes eye contact. She has steely eyes, and she knows it.
“Please look at me,” he pleads, his voice small and taut. She obliges, but there’s none of the usual steel in her gray irises. Instead, they fill with tears.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, Percy! Okay? I just haven’t felt like myself lately. I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Percy’s heart does a little cartwheel—sinking at what she said, but floating up too, because at least she’s finally talking. His expression softens, and his chest cinches as he tries to come up with a response. He hates seeing her cry; it doesn’t happen often, and when it does, he knows something is really up.
“Annabeth.” His voice is soft. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just want you to be okay. Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you wanna go back to camp and see everyone?”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel the same anymore without everyone..” she pauses, and her voice wavers. “Jason…Selina…There’s just so many , Percy. Every time I’m there I see nothing but ghosts of the people we’ve lost.”
Percy tries not to let his expression show how much her words hurt—mostly because she hadn’t told him any of this until now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His words come out in a pained whisper.
Annabeth’s lip quivers. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you, too.”
He stands up and wraps his arms around her, and when he pulls away to see her face, his shirt is wet. “Your feelings are so much more important than worrying that you’ll mess something up for me. Promise me you won’t keep something a secret just because you think it’ll hurt me? Especially if it’s hurting you to keep it in.”
Annabeth sniffs and nods, her cheeks and eyes red from crying. “Okay.”
Hugging her one more time, while her head is buried in his chest, he asks her. “So you do know what’s wrong.”
Her breaths are shaky while she thinks. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend to be a normal adult—” she laughs in disbelief, “—when half of the people I’ve ever known or loved are dead.” The end of her sentence is flat.
Percy crouches down so he can look her in the face. “You’re not a normal adult. You’re an adult who’s saved the entire world more times than I can count. One who recovered a statue of her mom that had been lost for centuries. Gods, Annabeth, our parents are gods . Nothing about us is normal.”
She laughs through the new flood of tears and nods her head. “Yeah, you’re right.” She reaches for Percy’s hand and threads their fingers together. “They just don’t write books about how to live after you’ve survived magical wars. It sucks. I can’t exactly see a therapist—they’d put me in a psych ward.”
They both laugh halfheartedly, and Percy pulls his chair over to where he’d been crouched in front of her. “I know you probably wouldn’t, but you can always talk to Mr. D. like Nico did. I think it helped him—he seems like he’s been doing well lately.”
Annabeth gives him an I’m-scared smile and he laughs. “It’s just a suggestion. But whatever you need me to do, I’m there. You know that.”
She smiles, and when she looks at him the way she is now, Percy feels like the luckiest guy in the world. “I do. I love you.”
“I love you. Now you’d better actually read that book.”
Smiling, Annabeth nods. “I will.”
The breaking point
Six years ago
Percy is asleep when it happens. His demigod dreams have subsided somewhat with age, but they still try to warn him about what’s going to happen—but they’re too little too late.
He doesn’t wake up in time—not that he would’ve been able to do anything—, and just like that, she’s gone.
It’s like his world has turned black and white. Who is he without Annabeth? At first he can’t even get out of bed. He can’t bring himself to eat—he isn’t strong anymore the way he was before. He thins; his eyes have dark circles; his skin pales without seeing the sun. He doesn’t laugh, smile, or talk anymore.
What makes him feel like the worst person ever, though, is that he barely even cares that Annabeth wasn’t the only person who was taken. Piper, Frank, Connor, Jake, Nyssa, and Lou Ellen among dozens others are gone too. But he can’t bring himself to care about anything other than Annabeth.
He doesn’t do anything. He simply exists without a sense of time; without direction. She’s not really gone, right? She can’t be.
His friends at Camp Jupiter try to cheer him up every once and awhile—but everyone lost someone—more than one—they loved in the blip. There wasn’t anything they could do.
A couple of weeks after it happens, things start to get back to normal. As normal as they can, given the circumstances. Classes resume. Activities are back on. It’s a slap in the face—how is he supposed to live in a world without the love of his life? Percy doesn’t know how to exist in a world without Annabeth. They’re a set. Together. You can’t have one without the other.
He doesn’t take his own life only because he’s certain that if he did, Annabeth would smack him so hard he’d see stars. Living without her is unbearable. But the second—and worst—part of this whole thing is this: Percy has no idea if Annabeth is dead or not. She’s simply gone. If he dies and she isn’t waiting for him in Elysium, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
And so he simply lives in a suffocating cloud of nothingness.
The reeling
Five and a half years ago
According to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the five stages of grief are classified as the following:
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Depression
- Acceptance
Denial is the shortest, for Percy at least. When you grow up as a half-blood, you can’t really deny things like death. You grow up with it. With Annabeth, though, the loss is so unthinkable that it can’t possibly be real.
Anger comes next. If he thought there was anything he could’ve done, he would’ve barged up to Olympus himself and demanded Annabeth back. He hates the gods for not saving her. He hates himself for being alive when she isn’t. Why is he the one who gets to live and she isn’t? She deserves it more than he does.
Then, bargaining. When he can’t take it anymore, when his rage is white-hot and he thinks he is going to explode, he goes to his father. He begs and pleads, offers everything he has. Percy falls to his knees in front of his father; who cares, but can’t do anything. It is out of his hands.
Percy would give his soul for just one more day with Annabeth. Just one more day; one more smile or laugh. He just wants to hug her and kiss her and tell her he loves her.
And when there was nothing that anyone could do, it leaves him in depression. The longest stage yet. Percy spent years of his life at Camp Half-Blood learning how to fight off death, but there wasn’t one lesson on how to keep on living.
Annabeth has been gone for six months, and Percy’s starting to get the hang of things—like how to work without completely shutting down. He’s not okay—in fact he’s about as far from it as he’s ever been—but he functions robotically. Wake up. Get showered and dressed, try to get breakfast down, and go to class. Stare at the board during the lectures; retain nothing. Go home, get in bed, and repeat.
Needless to say, he’s failing all of his classes. Annabeth used to tutor him, but that was when he actually wanted to learn. He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about anything anymore.
His mom tells him not to isolate himself, but the thought of being around anyone makes him nauseous. Thank the gods, both Sally, Paul, and Estelle survived. Sally offered Percy his old room, but he didn’t want to move back home. He wouldn’t worry his mom more than she already was—if she saw how little he functioned in person she’d definitely stress more.
Her clothes don’t smell like her anymore. Every trace of her that was any comfort to him is gone—he hates himself for not taking more pictures of her.
They say death is hardest on the living. It’s hard to say goodbye. You never really stop feeling the loss; it’s what makes things so bittersweet. Little things she’s left behind, like clothes, to remember her by even when she’s gone, make it impossible to forget how much it hurts that she’s not here anymore. A lifetime’s worth of memories, photos, and trinkets make it a feat of nature to walk in an apartment that she once lived in without thinking of her.
It isn’t just the death that Percy has to grieve. It’s life. It’s loss. It’s weddings and babies and growing old together that he doesn’t get anymore. It’s watching their grandkids play on the beach in front of their house on the beach. Things he didn’t even think he cared so much about until they were taken away.
“Adapt or die,” they say. But Percy wants more than to survive. He wants love and success. He wants to live, not just survive.
And it’s just when Percy has just gotten in the swing of how to pretend he’s functioning without her, when her birthday slaps him in the face. The entire month of July creeps up on him and he doesn’t leave his apartment for the entirety of it. His friends have given up on trying to cheer him up, and he can’t blame them—they all have their own losses to deal with. Everyone lost someone equally as special to them as Annabeth was to Percy.
On her birthday, he bakes a blue chocolate cake and lights 19 candles. She’d never been a big fan of her own birthday; not the biggest fan of attention, but he can’t help but think that she’d have loved this birthday. He brings the cake down to the beach and stares at the sky, imagining her looking down at him like Zoë Nightshade. “I love you,” he whispers, and then he looks back at the cake. The fire on the candles dance in the wind, like they’re close to being put out.
He blows them out one by one, and with each one he wishes for her back.
The remembering
The candles and the wishing becomes a tradition of sorts, and he does it every year on her birthday. It never gets any easier— she should be the one blowing them out and making a wish, not him—but it makes him smile a little. She’d have liked it.
After the first birthday without her, Percy spends it with his family and friends. Sally helps him make the cake now, and it’s actually edible. Annabeth would have loved that he made it with his mom—she always felt special when Sally treated her like the family that she was.
His heart hurts so badly he can’t breathe when Estelle starts talking and asks who Annabeth is.
Time flies in a way that’s almost incomprehensible to someone who hasn’t experienced it. Snapshot memories are all Percy remembers from the first year after the snap—painful ones.
The days have gotten a little easier, more bearable. Some of the weight that’s anchored him down eases while he’s with his friends and family.
Still, Percy feels like he’s a ghost of the person he once was. He isn’t a zombie anymore; in fact he’s even felt fleeting moments of happiness in short spurts. He starts to think he may be able to live without her. Not yet. He’s not living yet . But he thinks he might be able to.
Love is so short, he thinks. Forgetting is so long. He sees her in little things, like the sunset. It reminds him of the days they spent watching it at the lake together. The smell of lemons, like her hair.
Her things are still untouched in his apartment, though, and he knows he can’t truly move on until they’re gone. But he isn’t ready yet.
An upstate escape
One year ago
Annabeth Chase has been gone for five years. Percy can exist now without her. He still has bad days; days where he can’t get out of bed or eat—but they’re less.
The truth is, there’s no 5th stage of grief. It’s not a distinct step. You don’t suddenly become accepting that the love of your life is gone and not coming back. It’s not black and white—it’s greyscale. He’s going to be in the grey for the rest of his life. You can’t just decide to be done with depression and move on to acceptance. It’s not up to you.
He’s in Montauk with his Mom, Paul, and Estelle when it happens.
His phone starts ringing at 3:13 PM, and it doesn’t stop ringing for days.
The first call he gets is from Hazel Levesque. “Percy?” her voice asks, small, and he’s immediately tense. “You might want to come back to camp. Right now.”
She doesn’t elaborate before she hangs up, and Percy’s heart is racing faster than could possibly be healthy. “Mom?” he says, rushing into the kitchen where she’s been making dinner, “I need to take the car. Camp.”
Sally Jackson is the kind of person that you want with you in a crisis. She nods, her lips pressed together in a fine line, and gives him the keys. “You better take care of yourself,” she tells him, pulling him into a hug. “I made you from scratch, and you’d better not mess up any of my hard work.”
He manages a laugh and nods his head. “Okay, Mom, I know. I love you.”
Her eyes aren’t as practiced at hiding her fear as they once were, and so he can see it when she tells him, “I love you too.”
He’s at Camp Half-Blood in ten minutes. He remembers thinking it’s a miracle he wasn’t pulled over, but looking back on it, nobody would’ve been doing anything except running. Running back.
The crest of the hill that he’s seen more times than he can count since that first terrifying visit greets him with what feels like the calm before the storm. Peleus is standing with his back to Percy, staring at the valley. Percy’s feet carry him at light speed up the hill unconsciously, and when he finds himself next to Peleus and looks down, he’s met with chaos.
Campers are running around with looks of utter shock on their faces. Some are crying; one has fallen to their knees in shock. Percy glances back at his Mom’s car once before apprehensively making his way towards the big house. He can’t hear any specific conversations, but he hears clips of words.
“The snap—”
“It can’t be true—”
He doesn’t pay attention, his eyes laser-focused on the house.
Nico di Angelo is sitting on the porch of the big house with Will Solace. They’re both 18, so Percy isn’t really sure why they’re still at camp, but he’s grateful to see someone who can tell him what’s going on nevertheless. As soon as Percy makes eye contact with Will, he knows something’s happened that involves himself. Will’s eyes widen and he stands up, yanking Nico up with him.
“Um,” Percy shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hazel told me I needed to come to camp right away.”
Will nods, and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I had her call you. I don’t have your number.”
Percy glances at his pocket, where his phone’s resting. “Sorry.”
Will’s smile is tight, and he shrugs. “No big deal man. You’re gonna wanna come inside. I think there’s someone waiting to see you.”
They walk inside, and Chiron comes out from one of the doors on the back wall. “Percy,” he says, his old and familiar smile lines crinkling as he greets him, “come in here.” He steps away, and walks towards the door with Will and Nico in tow. “We’ll give you some privacy.”
Percy’s heart is racing as he reaches for the doorknob, and the cold metal triggers goosebumps on his arm. Pushing the door open, his heart falls into his chest.
In the big house’s spare room, on a checkered comforter, Annabeth Chase sits and looks at him. Her gray eyes are softer than he remembers, and she’s wearing the pajamas she was in the last time he saw her. Her hair cascades in loose waves down her shoulders, the way she usually wears it to sleep.
Percy can’t move. His lungs start to burn because he’s been holding his breath, and after he breathes in again tears flood his eyes. He takes a tentative step towards her, and lifts his hand up gently like she’s a hologram. “Annabeth—?”
His voice is strangled and he doesn’t even know if it sounded like her name, but it doesn’t really matter. She nods, and a tear traces its way down her cheeks as her doe eyes stare at him. “I’m really confused,” she says.
And then he’s laughing, because there’s no possible way that she’s real. This has to be some figment of his imagination; some cruel trick. Her voice is the same as he remembers it, her face sharper than in the pictures he had. “I’m losing it,” he manages through his hysterical laughter and tears. “I’m dying? Right? Or dead? Do I have a brain tumor? You’re not real.”
Annabeth’s face is tortured and she shakes her head. Her face is that of total despair. “I’m—” her voice cracks, and her lips wobble. “I’m real. I don’t know what happened. I went to bed in our apartment and then I woke up in this bed at camp.”
“No, that—it can’t be right—” Percy murmurs, and he takes the last step towards her. His hand reaches for her face and cups her cheek delicately, and he notices that it’s shaking. “You were gone. You are gone. You’re not real. Why can I feel you? I—” He breaks off to sob. “I shouldn’t be able to feel you if you aren’t real.”
Annabeth’s tears run from her cheeks onto his hand cupping her face. “I am real, Percy. I promise you.”
But he can’t believe her. It’s been five years of trying to accept that she was gone and now here she is, face in his hands.
He sits beside her on the bed, and leans into her hair, inhaling. “You smell like Annabeth,” he says.
His fingers trace her lips, cheeks, eyelids. “You feel like Annabeth.”
Percy squeezes his eyelids shut in agonizing pain. “But you’re—Annabeth’s gone.”
Annabeth’s hands are freezing where they touch his arm. “I’m not gone. I’m right here Percy. See?” She manuvers herself where she’s sitting in his lap and hugs him tightly. Placing his hand on her chest, she takes a deep breath. “Do you feel that? My heart’s beating. My lungs are breathing. I’m okay. I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re not crazy.”
Her heartbeat thumps evenly under his hand. The smell of her, one Percy hasn’t smelled in over three years, envelopes him in a comforting sense of safety.
He looks up at her with tears in his eyes, and chokes back a sob. “Swear on Styx. Swear I’m not crazy. Swear you’re real.”
Annabeth smiles halfheartedly. “Okay. I swear on the river Styx that I’m real. I swear on the river Styx that you are not crazy and you are not hallucinating me.”
And then Percy’s crying so hard that he can’t breathe, crying so hard that nothing makes sense anymore and so hard in a way he hasn’t since she disappeared. Sobs escape from his chest like unchained birds, finally free from the prison of his pain. Relief fills him so strongly that he feels dizzy.
Annabeth holds him; petting his head, rubbing his back. She doesn’t say anything. He can’t imagine how odd this whole situation must be for her, especially since five years passed while she slept, but she doesn’t say a thing except she loves him and he’s okay.
“I love you so much,” he manages after his eyes have run dry, whimpering as the dam that’d been holding his emotions for four years breaks and they flood his chest. “Gods, you have no idea how much.”
She kisses his forehead and shakes her head. “I do know, actually, because I love you just as much.”
“You don’t know how much I love you Annabeth Chase,” he tells her, running his thumb over her cheek. “You can’t possibly fathom how much I love you, because I couldn’t even fathom it until I thought I’d lost you.”
She smiles sadly at him. “How long was I away?”
“Five years.”
She breathes out, and it’s like she deflates as she does it. “Five years,” she echoes, her voice filled with disbelief.
“So you’re—” she pauses, and her eyes go wide, “Twenty four?”
Percy nods. “Yep.”
She looks down at herself. “I don’t think I’ve aged a day.”
Her voice is apprehensive and shaky, and she won’t look back at him. “Did you—” She pauses and takes a slow breath. “Did you find someone else? While I was gone?”
Percy laughs boisterously and takes her face in his hands. Annabeth’s eyes are wide with fear. “No. No, Annabeth, of course I didn’t. You are my person. There isn’t anybody else. You are it for me. You’re the person who made me believe in soulmates. Of course I didn’t find somebody else.”
She laughs breathily with relief and smiles. “Okay, that’s good, because I think my life just flashed before my else.”
He takes her hand and kisses it. “I hope you’re not planning to break up with me just because I’m way older than you now, though.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “You really are a Seaweed Brain if you think there’s anything in the world that would ever make me break up with you.”
“Annabeth?” he asks, and she raises her eyebrows. “Can I kiss you?”
She nods, and he moves in to brush their lips together. His fingers lock in her hair, and what starts feather light and timid turns needy and painfully urgent. He pulls away only when his lungs start to burn for the second time that day, and he smiles the biggest he has in five years. “I’d forgotten what that was like,” he tells her, and he leans his forehead against hers as his lungs chase back the oxygen lost when he kissed her. “I love you so much,” he says, giddy laugher tickling his throat. “Gods, Annabeth, I love you.”
Her hair dangles to the side of his face and the scent of lemons is the only thing he can smell. “I love you,” he tells her, and he says it over and over again like a mantra; like a broken record. Who cares if he sounds crazy? The impossible just happened, and he can’t even think about anything other than how much he loves this girl who’s sitting in front of him.
“You’re never getting away from me again, okay?”
Annabeth laughs. “I didn’t ever leave.”
And her laughter is better than any medicine Percy’s ever taken. “I love you,” he tells her, and she giggles, grinning.
“I know,” she reminds him, “you told me that. Several times today, in fact. Several times this hour—” He cuts her off with a kiss.
He gets to live now.