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Annabeth can never quite get used to the flashes.
It’s kind of funny, thinking about it, because the amount of shit she can handle with a straight face, small smile, and a nod is astounding–sexist comments, inappropriate interview questions, somebody else taking credit for her work, harsh criticism, all that she could brush off. But the flashes? They always shake her to the core, rattle the perfect, American It-Girl grin plastered on her face. All of the haters are right, in a way; she is a snake, shedding off skin era after era trying to be this shiny, new product for the masses to buy. When she signed her label contract at fifteen, she definitely couldn't have seen this coming. She had imagined hearing her songs on the radio and performing in front of thousands of people ever since she got her first guitar that none of the consequences of fame came to mind. After all, she was just a little blonde kid from Virginia trying to make it big, just like the rest of the other kids all over the world. She never thought she’d make it this far.
Her legs shake with each step on the dirty New York City pavement. She’s so tired these days, going from the studio to award shows to concerts like she would run out. In a way, Annabeth had always been afraid of exactly that; running out of lyrics to write, fans to connect to, becoming a has-been in her mid to late twenties. Never mind that she had just won her second Album of the Year at the Grammys two years ago. This time she just finished a sold out show at the New York Yankee Stadium, and even on the short walk-sprint to the van that will take her home her body is ensuring that she feels every second of the journey. If it wasn’t from the adrenaline still running through her veins she would have collapsed three hours ago during her third wardrobe fast change on stage.
“Tomorrow is your day off,” Piper, her best friend slash manager, manages to catch up to her long yet tired strides despite the almost five inch height difference courtesy of her high heeled boots she couldn’t be bothered to take off backstage. “I know you were planning to go to Estelle’s swim meet, but as your friend and manager and just an overall concerned citizen I have to ask you again: are you absolutely sure?”
Annabeth sighs, but she continues walking briskly. She can already see the black van with its doors open and two security guards on standby, waiting for her to arrive. Another flash of a camera disrupts her eyesight, not that she could do anything about it. This time she can’t really complain; it’s her own team taking pictures and videos of her for the upcoming tour documentary. She just hopes they block the private conversations out. “We’ve already talked about this, Pipes. I promised Stella I’ll be there–”
“And you know how Percy felt about that,” Piper cuts her off with a pointed glance, making the blonde popstar purse her lips.
“Have you seen Estelle’s puppy eyes?” She says instead. “They’re worse than Percy’s. I couldn’t say no.”
They both slow down as they approach the vehicle, Annabeth already stepping one foot inside. Piper tugs at her arm softly to get her attention. “He has a point, you know. I just don’t want to bring unwanted attention to the poor kid. I get that you don’t want to have to miss the big things and milestones and whatnot, but do you really want to bring a horde of paparazzi to Manhattan Elementary School?”
Annabeth thinks of the way she felt like her own childhood had been taken away from her, and how she never really had the chance to be a normal teenager, and she has to bite her lip. “I just don’t want to let her down.”
“Just…” Piper squeezes her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “Talk to Percy, okay? Hear each other out. This isn’t something you get to decide on your own.”
Annabeth gives a small nod and gestures at one security guard to close the door.
Her relationship with Percy is a first for her.
She has spent almost half of her life with her love life in the limelight; it has been a part of her brand ever since she could remember, going from writing songs about small town boys no one knows even when she name-drops them, to higher profile guys that take her on dates in Central Park or other VIP Hollywood parties that make her feel unnerved and young and out of her league and gets her name plastered on tabloids the next day. With her knack of writing break up songs about her own personal experiences, in a way Annabeth had felt like she owed the public each story and each name behind whatever song they’re speculating about. She had built an entire career sharing every nook and cranny of herself to the world, and now that she’s decided to keep this love to herself, she almost feels like she’s betraying everyone.
Annabeth’s phone rings about ten minutes away from her house, the screen lighting up the darkened car. She answers it right away. “Hey, mom.”
Athena Greco is another person she has a complicated relationship with. In fact, she had been nothing but a picture on an owl locket until Annabeth was seven, when she naively decided to run away and somehow ended up in New York City. Her father panicked so much to find her gone that he went ahead and called her mom, and the first time Annabeth sees her is in a random precinct in Brooklyn with her white converses dirtied, laces untied, and her face smudged from being on the streets for over a week. Athena is a lawyer, dressed in a dark gray pantsuit with her brown hair pulled back in a low bun, and she barely looked at Annabeth before shaking her head in disappointment.
Like she said–their relationship is complicated. As she grew up they became closer, but there’s always that gap that Annabeth knows they may never fill. It doesn’t help that for some ridiculous reason, she dislikes Percy with a capital D.
“How was the show?” Athena asks, voice sharp and tone professional as it always is. “I was sad that I couldn’t make it.”
“It’s fine, mom,” she answers almost on autopilot. “It wasn’t any different from my show in Nashville last week, so you didn’t miss anything.”
“I checked with Piper and she said you’re free tomorrow. How about some brunch? We’ve both been so busy lately. We need another catch up.”
Annabeth winces into her phone, already dreading where the conversation is going. “Well, actually, I was planning to go to Percy’s sister’s school thing tomorrow.”
“Like a public thing?” Immediately Annabeth can picture her mom’s raised eyebrow, her signature look when she finds something particularly dumb or unreasonable. Despite herself, Annabeth feels her annoyance flare up at the tone. “I thought you and Percy agreed to keep things private for now.”
Annabeth takes a deep breath through her nose. “I mean, yeah, we did. But I promised Estelle, so I can’t just not go.”
“We’ve talked about this with the whole team, Annabeth,” Athena reminds her, still in that stilted, I’m-better-than-you-so-listen-to-me tone of voice that Annabeth’s lucky she didn’t spend her teens hearing every single day. “After what happened with Luke, it will be good for you–”
“–Don’t bring him up,” Annabeth cuts her off, already feeling the beginnings of an Athena-induced headache coming on, one that would only most likely be remedied by a cold drink and the feel of Percy’s arms wrapped around her body. “It’s been a year. I released my redemptive album three months ago. I’ve just begun the US leg of my stadium tour. Why exactly can’t I go watch my boyfriend’s baby sister swim her little heart out at a lowkey elementary school meet tomorrow?”
Athena sniffs on the other line, silent for a few seconds. Annabeth sees her driver look at her sympathetically through the rearview mirror before she waves him off.
“Well, I’m sure Percy’s all for this little public outing,” her mom begins to say, making Annabeth growl under her breath.
“Just–” she starts, running a hand through her already messy and slightly wet sweaty hair. “You know damn well he isn’t like that. What good would getting with me now would get him anyway?”
Athena hums patronizingly. “Bad publicity is still publicity.”
Annabeth grips her phone in her hand so tight her knuckles turn paper-white. “I don’t want to fight, mom. Not about this and not again. So I’m going to hang up. I’ll call you whenever. Oh, and just for the record: Percy’s been begging me not to come. Guess he doesn’t want bad publicity, after all.”
She hangs up.
Immediately Annabeth feels tears pricking her eyes, and she absolutely hates it. She hates that after all this time, her mother’s opinion still bears weight over her, talking over the back of her head like a conscience. But she loves Percy–loves him in a way that she’s never loved someone before, and she doesn’t know if it’s the novelty of keeping their relationship a secret, or the fact that he’s the prettiest person she’s ever set eyes on, or that he kisses her like he’s never loved someone like this before too. All Annabeth knows is that she’s fought so hard to find something real, and now that she has it drooling over her expensive bedroom pillows every single night, she’s willing to do anything to keep it.
As if handwritten by a higher power, Annabeth’s phone lights up again, this time pinging with the sound of consecutive texts.
From: Seaweed Brain
I miss youuuuuu
Im hungry but im too lazy to make a snack
Hey is there any chance you’d drive through a shake shack?
Nvm blackjack literally left a trail of pee outside the bedroom so i have to go to the kitchen anyway
Read. 23:17 PM.
From: Wise Girl
I can’t believe you let Blackjack trail pee all over our apartment yet again
I thought you were going to potty train him?
Sent. 23:19 PM.
From: Seaweed Brain
Oh hiiiiiiii
How was the show??
I’ve been watching this dog whisperer on youtube but all his tips haven’t worked so far
Read. 23:23 PM.
From: Wise Girl
I refuse to let our dog be raised by youtube
Read a book!
Also the show was alright the fans during the m&g were so nice
No shake shack otw unfortunately sorry babe
Sent. 23:25 PM.
From: Seaweed Brain
Eh i’m already making grilled cheese
Want some?
That’s so good to hear about the fansss!! I know how important they are to u
When are you arriving home i miss you
Read. 23:28 PM.
Annabeth looks up from her phone, face now lit up with a lazy grin. “Hey, Lee, how much longer ‘till we’re home?”
Her driver gives her a knowing look, smiling as well. “Ten minutes, boss.”
From: Wise Girl
Lee says 10 mins
I miss u too i didn’t get to say good morning earlier you were out cold :(((
Sent. 23:30 PM.
From: Seaweed Brain
I’m sorry :(((
I’m still trying to get used to being back on american time
Surprised i didn’t develop an accent while filming in england
Read. 23:31 PM.
From: Wise Girl
are u kidding
You literally have the world record for strongest new york accent anything else is impossible
Sent. 23:33 PM.
From: Wise Girl
Pulling up now.
Run me a bath? I probably smell disgusting
Also my feet hurt
And i forgot to say but u better made me grilled cheese too :((
Sent. 23:38 PM.
Her personal bodyguards, Connor and Travis, were already out of their own vehicles when Lee pulled up outside the brownstone West Village apartment building she owned. She only occupies three floors up to the penthouse, so they stay with her even on the elevator on the way up.
“Will Lee be picking you up tomorrow, boss?” Travis asks, pressing the button and swiping the corresponding keycard for her place.
Annabeth purses her lips in thought. “Can’t say yet. I’ll text you guys so you can tell him.”
“Percy still doesn’t know you’re actually going, does he?” Connor chuckles, making his brother follow suit.
Annabeth rolls her eyes fondly but does nothing to correct them. “We’ve…talked about it.”
“You mean you fought about it?” Connor teases, pushing on the hold button when the elevator doors finally pry open. “Sure, boss. Have a great night.”
She waves a hand to them in farewell, fingernails perfectly manicured if you happen to ignore the missing acrylic nail on her right ring finger that she broke while changing into her last stage outfit earlier. It caught on one of the sequins and in her panic she just yanked it off.
Her three-floor apartment has no door from the elevator, so as soon as she stepped off she could immediately hear Percy singing from the kitchen. The sound instantly makes a giddy smile appear on her face. She missed him so much.
“Honey, I’m home!” Annabeth yells jokingly, shrugging off her coat and toeing off her show boots. There’s a clang from the kitchen, followed by a string of curses, before Percy appears in just sweats and a pun shirt, running towards her.
“Bethhhhh,” he drags her name out, spreading his arms before he even reaches her. She meets him in the middle, both of them letting out a small ‘oof’ at the impact, but Annabeth’s already too focused on his familiar scent and the warmth he radiates as he tucks her in his body to care.
She pulls away just enough to look up at him, chin still pressed to his chest. Barefoot here like this, Annabeth can appreciate just exactly how much taller Percy is than her. Annabeth is not by any means short, and she’s dated people both shorter and taller than her before. None of them ever fit as right against her as Percy did, but maybe that has more to do with Percy being Percy and not at all about height. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Percy repeats, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Guess what.”
She furrows her eyebrows. “What?”
“I made you grilled cheese even before I read your text,” he grins conspiratorially, nose scrunching up in the slightest. “That’s some soulmate shit, babe.”
She can’t help it; she laughs, blasting hot air against his face. “You are so full of shit.”
“Yes,” Percy agrees with a laugh before lifting an index finger up. “But I also have your hot bath running upstairs, so?”
Annabeth reaches up to cup his face with both hands, trying to smother his smug grin. “So I love you.”
She never thought she’d get here, two years ago when she decided to disappear from the public view. Back then she wasn’t sure if she was going for good. Her mental health was down the drain, her reputation was ruined, she had an eating disorder. All the while she still couldn’t delete Luke’s number from her phone. In the end it was Piper who really pulled her out–not as her publicist and employee, but as her friend. She barged in Annabeth’s old apartment in her hot pink suit ensemble, drew the blinds open, and it was only when the first streaks of light finally hit Annabeth’s bare skin that she became aware that she was still breathing.
Piper had hugged her, then, tight–tighter even than Percy’s hold on her now. And then she made her lunch, something light so as not to shock her stomach. Before Piper left Annabeth had showered and shaved, her fridge and pantry was restocked, and she had a therapist’s number saved on her new iPhone.
“You’re going to be okay,” Piper told her, and then she handed Annabeth back her guitar–one of the old ones from when she was probably eighteen or nineteen, way too young to grasp the kind of hurt she’s been through now. “Do what you do best.”
She’d written four songs that night. None of them made the album, but three months later she meets Percy for the first time in some fancy industry gala’s afterparty at a dive bar and writes three more songs. Two make the album, one of them becoming one of her singles.
“Go,” Percy mumbles into her hair, and he must really love her, because her hair’s all wet and sweaty and probably salty, too, now that she thinks about it. “You do kind of smell.”
Annabeth pinches his side playfully, but pulls away nevertheless. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
“I love you,” he corrects, and this time Annabeth doesn’t try to hide her more-than giddy, cheek-to-cheek grin and red flush. “But we’re not there yet.”
She elbows him before finally stepping away, drowning out his yelp of ‘just kidding!’ with her own laughter as she struts to the master’s bathroom.
-
Later that night Annabeth’s making tea in her kitchen, grilled cheese half eaten on a blue plate that’s become one of Percy’s favorites (she bought the set when she did a press tour in Shanghai for a movie she wrote a soundtrack for), humming to one of her songs from her recent album. It’s a marvel that she hasn’t grown tired of them. Even though her tour was only beginning, the months of rehearsal before that made sure that she lived and breathed the lyrics and tune to this particular album. She thinks maybe the fact that most of the songs are about Percy is a huge contributing factor to her not getting sick of them yet.
“That one’s my favorite,” Percy appears beside her, leaning against the counter. He left to go brush his teeth while she was eating, having already finished himself, and he stands so close that his minty breath brushes over Annabeth’s freshly bare face.
She puts the kettle back down, stirring her tea and humming in reply. “Dancing With Our Hands Tied? Why?”
Percy smiles at her like he knows something she doesn’t, which is a rarity in of itself. “You know, I knew I was going to fall in love with you the night we met.”
Annabeth releases a breath.
Percy looks good in the kitchen light, all soft and domestic and so insanely human in his quiet handsomeness. He meets her questioning look with a smile, and had it been a year before, Annabeth knows he would have looked down the tiled floor instead, or babbled a change of topic to get out of the conversation. Now, he holds her gaze the way he holds her when they’re tangled up in bed, reassures her with his eyes that just like her, he’s not afraid of what they have. Not anymore.
“You can’t just say things like that, you know,” she breathes out, putting one hand to rub at her chest. “My heart might not be able to take it.”
Percy chuckles with a shrug. “Well, now you know how I feel whenever I have to listen to your songs. Particularly ones that make me go, ‘wait, that’s me’ or ‘wait a second, that’s literally my old apartment and my mom she’s singing about.’”
“Sally’s made it known that she loves hearing little bits of herself and the Jackson family in my songs, for your information.” Annabeth huffs in fake annoyance.
He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Mom’s a novelist. Of course she does. Anyway, I really like that one. Dancing something.”
“You don’t even know the title,” Annabeth snorts, lifting one hand up to push his hair back from his forehead.
“Dancing with our hands tied,” Percy recites flatly, giving her a pointed look which she just smiles at. “You know why? It’s ‘cause it reminds me of that night. You know, when we first met.”
This time she frowns. She’s written way too many songs about that night, but this particular one isn't one of them. She wrote Dancing when they finally agreed to make it official, no more fooling around, no more fears. Percy had called her, right when they were almost in ruins, and told her simply, “I love you. I’m all in.” Annabeth could have sobbed in relief. “Right. I need you to expand on that one, baby.”
“We talked all night, and I was so in over my head,” Percy laughs, bumping his shoulder into hers. “I kept waiting for you to turn snobbish or elitist or whatever the hell it is popstars are like, but you just kept being sarcastic and smart and bringing up architecture in every sentence.”
Annabeth gestures at him to continue.
“And then this song came on, one I didn’t even know the name of but you obviously like, judging by the way your eyes widened and how you jumped up and down. I let you drag me to the dance floor because I liked the feel of your hand gripping my arms through the suit jacket I was wearing, not even minding that you might tear it and I had to return it to my stylist at the end of the night. And then we danced. And that was when I knew that I’d fall in love with you, standing there, watching you sway ungracefully to the semi-slow beat, bleached hair flying everywhere. I looked at you then and I said to myself, ‘fuck, Jackson. A fucking popstar? You sure know how to pick ‘em.’”
By the time he finished speaking, Annabeth had already buried her head to his chest to muffle her sniffs and hide her tears. He’d never let her live it down; he’d tease her about this moment for all eternity. And then Annabeth wants to tear up all over again, because she’d never entertained the idea of permanence and eternity with someone as confidently and certainly as she did with Percy. In the end, all she could mutter was, “I thought I was supposed to be the writer out of the two of us.”
“Watch out or I’ll come for your job, Chase,” he laughs, tucking her closer, dropping a kiss to her head.
Annabeth pulls away enough to tilt her head and look him in the eye. “I didn’t even realize. I wrote the freaking song and I didn’t even realize I was writing about that moment until you pointed it out.”
“You could have written it about something else, you know,” Percy suggests. “Just because I interpreted it as one thing doesn’t mean that my interpretation has to be the real story behind the song.”
She shakes her head. “No, you’re right. I didn’t really think of details or whatever, but I was definitely thinking of you and how we met. I’m certain now. It was about that night.”
Percy grins down at her, another one of his michievous knowing smiles that he likes to make when a particularly dumb or teasing remark comes to mind.
“What?” Annabeth questions, eyes narrowed, squinting up at him as if it would help her figure out his complex mind. She’ll get there someday, she knows, that point in a relationship where one look contains a multitude of emotions and words that somehow you know how to decipher. Sometimes she gets scared thinking about it, because how much further can this go? How much deeper can she love a person? How is it possible that there’s something more intense than what she feels right now, pressed up against Percy, conversations going from serious to teasing to serious yet again?
Percy chokes back a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s just…Soulmate shit.”
Annabeth pinches his side again, the way she always does when he does something to annoy her. But really she can’t help the giggle forming in her chest, even as Percy pulls her impossibly closer, trying to suffocate her with his arms. She protests out loud, but inside she relishes his hold. “You are so full of it, Percy Jackson. Get out of here.”
“Never.”
Keeping a secret relationship is hard. But if that’s what it takes for Annabeth to keep this love in her life, to keep Percy standing in her kitchen, hugging her and whispering jokes and ‘I love you’s’ in her ear and yes, even drooling all over her expensive pillowcases, then fuck it if Annabeth does not become the greatest secret-keeper known to man.