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It started out like it always did: being in the wrong place at the wrong time. An insult he couldn’t walk away from, and it was all too easy for fist to meet jaw and split. Percy would say he’s trying, and he really is, but it’s so easy to let go. It seems almost too easy these days. He would say he didn’t remember the actual fight, but he would remember the rush in his head and blurring of lines between classmate and monster. His vision was clouded with ash and fire.
They said their parents didn’t need to get involved, that they would resolve it themselves. Percy was grateful that the other guy seemed more shaken up at that aspect than anything. He didn’t need another reason to disappoint his mom. He wasn’t a kid anymore. It meant something different to punch a kid in sixth grade than eleventh. The school just told him to not waste his last chance at an education. Percy was both present and not present in the office, where fluorescent lights burned and the moments of silence were louder than bombs. It was one of his least detrimental moments in the principal’s office, but his heart pounded immensely for reason beyond himself. Even hours later, he’s still on edge.
His knuckles burn as they grip the steering wheel. He pulls into a parking spot near the entrance and checks his phone to see if Annabeth texted him. Nothing. He taps his fingers against his thigh, the last two failing to catch up with the rapid pace. The marred skin covering his hands, his arms, his torso is tight and pulls uncomfortably. He keeps forgetting to alleviate the pain of the scars, but he thinks maybe this should be felt. They sit hot and dry, and Percy is taken back to being fifteen years old, where nights were long because he tore the healing skin open in his sleep.
Percy jumps when there’s a quick knock on the passenger window. She waves her hand over the frosty glass, and he unlocks the door. She throws her bag in the back before climbing in the front, immediately placing her hands in front of the vents to warm up. Large snowflakes sit atop her head, the white blending in with gray. The dimness of November only makes Annabeth shine brighter—he tries not to be envious of her light. Sunflowers are in constant awe of and follow the sun without question. Maybe Annabeth is the sun to him. He wonders if sunflowers are only devout followers, where the sun merely tolerates their dependency. The sun deserves better.
“Hi,” she says, eyelashes and hair covered white from fallen snow. “Hey.” They meet in the middle for a brief kiss.
He watches her settle in and buckle. Her nails are stained magenta, and there’s a smattering of neon yellow on her cheek. When Percy first met Annabeth, he never would have thought of her to be a person who enjoyed children. But as they grew, he watched her become something akin to a big sister at camp, and even more so when she began volunteering at the preschool on the first floor of her school. When Percy thinks of those that have changed the most, he thinks of Annabeth and how she barely changed at all, but in the subtlest ways. Still the same stubborn, determined, brilliant daughter of Athena, but with an added hint of recklessness that was not so prevalent before. The gray that rests in her coily hair seems almost inappropriate given all that’s happened. Sometimes Percy feels like he’s lived three lives since that awful week in December, where he wasn’t sure if he was rescuing a ghost. He’s had a lot of awful Decembers.
The yellow on her cheek draws his attention to the mark on her jaw, now just a shadow beneath her dark skin. A sick feeling twists in his gut at the sight. He hoped it would be gone by now, the evidence of what he did to her. His actions weren’t delusion, but Percy was dreaming. But night terrors aren’t an excuse for hurting someone he’s supposed to keep safe. Even if she whispered it’s okay, it was an accident, I’m okay as he wept against her. Bile rises in his throat, and he swallows it down.
Percy realizes he’s staring. He puts the car in reverse, but makes sure before letting his foot off the brake, “You good?”
“Great. Fucking ready for the weekend.”
“You’re telling me.”
He pulls out of the parking lot, wipers brushing away the flurries. Even if he didn’t live in New York all his life, he would know the drive from Annabeth’s school to his apartment by heart now. Back when their relationship was new, and every tentative step felt like falling into the abyss, Annabeth would stay the weekend at his apartment. Her dorm room was small, and while it did offer more privacy, it only made sense for Percy to sneak in on the weekdays. Thus a tradition was born, and carried over without word into their junior year.
Annabeth changes the classic rock station to something with a beat. “How was school?”
“The usual.” He knows it sounds flat, and he knows she hates hearing these empty answers. Before she can prod more—and to save his mood—he asks, “How were the kids?”
“Menaces, gremlins, the usual. You’re going to love when your sister is a toddler. They’re insane, but you thrive off that kind of energy. You actually might be worse.”
“Damn, okay. Compare the seventeen year old to a toddler mentality.”
She shoves his shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant, you dramatic ass.”
“Hey, I’m trying to drive in a snowstorm, Chase. Calm down on the abuse.”
She lets out an indignant squawk. “A snowstorm? It’s barely dusting, you dramatic ass.”
So maybe he said it to get a reaction out of her. It always felt like a victory to make her laugh in any form, especially these days. What was it his mom always said about laughter being the best medicine? Percy thinks if all the nectar supply in the heavens disappeared, Annabeth’s laugh would be the only remedy. It’s always been that way really; if he can evoke laughter out of her, then at least he did something right that day.
“Oh my gods,” Annabeth says suddenly. “You’ll never guess what You Know Who did.”
Percy scoffs. “What?”
“She burned me a CD.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! She said her sister didn’t want it, I guess she needed some reason.”
Percy shakes his head. “Your stalker is stealing my moves. Next thing you know, she’ll have found her way to the Annabeth Chase fan club with the nymphs.”
“Shut up, it was sweet.”
“She knows you have a boyfriend though.”
“I talk about you, but one look inside my dorm and you would think she’d get it through her skull.”
“She’s been to your room?”
Percy can see in his peripheral vision that she gives him an exasperated look. “Yes, Percy, she’s been to my room. I have friends, you know.”
Annabeth has acquaintances, not friends, but Percy deems it unwise to tell her that. She’s leagues more sociable than him; if she went to mortal school all her life, Percy wouldn’t be surprised if she won homecoming queen. But she’s never said anything about actually having friends at her boarding school, at least not ones significant enough to name drop (other than her lab-partner/one-sided-crush/stalker-but-not-really). It’s like she regressed back to when Percy first met her, and her only friends were Luke and Chiron. Percy’s more than fine with it. All they need is each other. It’s not like he’s building long lasting friendships at his school either.
“Any good songs?”
“Eh, nothing I’d listen to.”
“You’d think she would have done her research.”
“She needs to step up her game. At least the one you gave me was for my benefit.”
“Your music taste was emotionally stunted by trailing Chiron for years. I had to intervene as soon as possible.”
“And I thank you for that, truly.”
Annabeth hums along to the radio, which is just about the most vocal she gets with music. It’s a bit of a marvel how truly terrible at singing they both are. Percy rests his hand on her thigh, a comforting presence. Annabeth grabs his hand, and he feels a light kiss pressed to his knuckles. Percy winces, not from the barely there pressure, but the fact she very obviously can see the bruises and split skin. Gods, he was stupid for not healing himself. His hand lays suspended in the air, Annabeth’s own supporting the weight.
“Percy, what happened?” Her voice sounds carefully measured, like she’s trying to veil emotion. Whether that be anger, disappointment, sadness—Percy doesn’t want to know.
He presses on the brakes with a little too much force. The red light bleeds into the snow on the car. “Well, I can’t heal bruises with water, this isn’t Twelve Dancing Princesses.”
Annabeth blinks. “I’m going to table the fact you’ve seen— how did you get hurt?”
“Just a stupid fight with a stupid fuck. Doesn’t matter.”
“Do I need to ask?” Who started it?
“Again—doesn’t matter. He was too embarrassed to press charges.”
“So, you,” Annabeth gathers, and he doesn’t even have to be looking at her to know she just rolled her eyes.
Percy feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. “I didn’t walk up to the guy and punch him in the face for no reason, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Of course I’m not. He deserved it?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.” A beat. “Does Sally know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“What do you think, Annabeth?” Percy sighs and looks over to find her already watching him, eyebrows drawn together. The snow reflects green, but he doesn’t notice, not when her wide eyes are glassy. An excessive honk behind them, and Percy hits the gas.
Annabeth breaks the uncomfortable moment of silence, voice thick. “You said today was the usual. Have you been in other fights, Percy?”
“No, you would’ve known.”
“Because you would have told me, like you did about this.”
“It wasn’t a big deal two hours ago, and it’s not one now. You seriously can’t care more than the principal did. He’s the one I’m legally obligated to listen to.”
“Oh, fuck off. Something obviously happened that you’re not telling me. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to be more concerned than your principal that I know doesn’t give a single fuck about you or any other student.”
Percy hates fighting with Annabeth more than anything. They tease each other and banter a lot, but those irritations wear thin. Sometimes it feels like an entire ocean divides them. Two summers ago, their only method of communication was through spat venom and confessions neither were brave enough to utter. Now, they don’t talk. The surface level is dry, but so safe. No one gets hurt on the surface.
“Is he going to bother you again?”
“I’m not telling you his name so you can beat him up.”
“You’ve never complained before,” she mutters. Percy closes his eyes tightly for as long as possible while being behind the wheel.
“It’s taken care of, I swear.”
Her arms are crossed, hugging herself. She looks smaller. “I’m not an authority figure. Put him in his place, knock him out, whatever. I respect handling a bully. I just wish things could be easier for you.”
He’s grateful she doesn’t ask why it happened, just that it shouldn’t happen again. Or maybe she doesn’t ask because she knows it will set Percy off. It was only a few hours ago, but he’s trying to bury the altercation in the void of his consciousness. He hates being picked on. He hates kids that are so miserable with their lives they take pride in ruining someone else’s. He remembers the first genuine fist fight he got into. It was his first expulsion for behavior reasons that then led to the military school. Percy has dealt enough with bullies. He doubts that was the last punch he’ll ever throw at school.
The sky is dark gray when they finally reach home. Their feet pad across the linoleum floor silently, conditioned from years of caution when sneaking around an enemy. Percy liked to call them stealth missions, which always made Annabeth laugh, but they really did go on those the summer of the Second Titan War. That terrible week before August, he screamed his voice hoarse with guilt. Annabeth was beaten unconscious by a cyclops, and it was on his watch. He didn’t think Julys could be worse, but the Fates took pleasure in fraying Percy’s string. Nights on the war ship were long, filled with trembling bodies and scratches breaking skin. If the crew noticed how tightly he and Annabeth gripped each other, how they didn’t bother to stay in their own rooms for the night, then that was nobody’s business but their own. They needed to be close. It was the only thing that kept them sane after being trapped by the darkest night for weeks.
Pain shoots up his spine. He braces himself against the railing.
Annabeth grips his forearm. “Perce, you okay?”
The pain has been getting worse, even more so than when he actually had the Curse. Achilles warned him for a reason: invulnerability has a price to pay and a point to prove. He used to joke that the spot was more trouble than it was worth, for the simple annoyance of falling asleep in practically every class. Now, he seems to be punished for rejecting the hero’s fate. Anchors hold back their vessels, they keep them grounded. Annabeth does the same for him every day; that will never change, and it didn’t in the Pit either.
“Yeah, just pulled something at practice.” He winces at the obvious lie. The water is the last place Percy would be injured, even in an Olympic-sized chlorine pool. Annabeth is gracious enough to accept the dishonesty.
They make it up the several flights of stairs. Neither mention the elevator, ever. They don’t need to talk about it, like the millions of other things left unsaid between them. It’s safe here, in this limbo between what’s fair game and what will lead to a screaming match. The precarious line has been crossed more times than Percy is proud to admit, but he’s discovered Annabeth has a weakness. He tells himself it’s okay to take advantage if they both want it. It can’t be wrong if it feels good.
Percy’s finally able to relax when he steps inside the apartment. Sally Jackson is the type of person to roll out Christmas decorations as soon as November hits, so the first thing Percy hears is holiday music through their old radio. Their home is dark, save from a glow coming from the kitchen because old habits die hard, and utilities bills are costly. Sally doesn’t have to wrap herself around a small Percy, heaps of blankets engulfing them to ward off cold, but the heat stays off even now. Home is one of the last places Percy wants to be, but he doesn’t know why.
“Percy?” calls a distant voice from another room.
“Hey, Mom.”
She comes out of the kitchen looking pretty much all over the place. She’s wearing a large knit sweater and her nice pair of shoes, and Percy remembers she and Paul are supposed to be somewhere tonight. His mom hugs Annabeth first then asks them how their day was.
“Fine,” is all Percy responds with.
She raises an eyebrow. “The good fine, or the meh fine?”
“The it-was-just-another-day fine.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling caged in. Annabeth notices, and she moves out of his space to toe off her sneakers.
His mom looks at him for a long moment, and he knows that she knows. Percy would bet the school called, but even if they didn’t, Sally would still be able to tell. After all, she’s dealt with her child’s delinquency for years. Percy remembers the age where everything was bigger than he was, telephone wires twisted uncomfortably tight around fingers, and the trembling of Mom, I think I messed up again shook him completely. Nothing much has changed in that regard. But Percy doesn’t call his mom anymore.
“Okay,” she says eventually with a smile that almost makes him believe it really is okay. “We’re leaving soon, will you be alright?”
He tosses the car keys in the bowl by the door. Annabeth stands off to the side, hands on her hips and waiting for him. “We’re good. How long will you be gone?”
“Why?”
“Mom, seriously.”
She cracks a smile. “A few hours at most.”
So they lost some of her trust a few weeks ago, whatever. The situation was barely compromising, but still mortifying. It also led to one of the most awkward conversations with his mom, second only to the first awkward talk he had with her after he and Annabeth began dating.
She grabs Annabeth’s attention, but Percy is too far away to hear, already half way into the kitchen. He searches around the cabinets and finds the box of kosher salt, pouring an ungodly amount into a glass of water and chugging it. Annabeth is unfazed when she enters.
“What’d she want?”
“Nothing, just checking in.”
Percy loved that his mom and Annabeth got along so well. Annabeth deserved a parental figure that paid attention to her and cared for her needs. But Percy always felt a sense of melancholy for what led to their connection. Before his disappearance, Annabeth was awkward at best around Sally, not sure how to carry herself. But then he was gone, and Annabeth visited his mom nearly every week. Percy found this out in the hours between dusk and dawn on the warship, where Annabeth laid bare in his arms and he felt like they were the only two people in the world.
“So, um…” Annabeth begins, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. He can tell she’s about to say something he won’t like. “Did you not get suspended or…?”
He looks towards the entrance to the kitchen, then says in an equally low voice, “Detention for a week. I’ll just say I’m staying after to do homework.”
Her eyes narrow. “Will she believe that?”
“No. Swimming, then. Taking advantage of the open pool and all that.”
Annabeth nods in approval.
A year ago, Fridays were for winding down, Saturdays were for dates, and Sundays were for sleep. Now, they spend their weekends killing time and warding off nightmares.
“Kids, we’re leaving now!”
Back in the living room, his parents are putting on their coats. Paul helps Sally with the sleeve of hers. They don’t seem relaxed, and Percy guesses they’re not particularly looking forward to the event they are going to.
Paul briefly places his hand on the roundness of Sally’s belly as he passes. Percy watches the interaction with a tight throat. When they told him he would be getting a baby sister, the momentary joy was replaced by fear. How am I supposed to protect her? What if a monster attacked when they were at the park, and Percy was too outnumbered to ensure her safety? He wondered then, selfishly, if he could someday hold the blurry ultrasound of his own child and not feel the crash of waves within his veins. Who would his child actually need protection from?
Annabeth intertwines their hands, her chin pressing into his shoulder, and his heart rate slows.
“Be safe,” he says, because it’s snowing and they should be used to New York winters, but not when there’s another life that needs protection in that car as well.
His mother gives him a look. “You too.”
“Bye, Mom,” he says flatly.
“Bye, Percy.” She slips into the hall, and Percy bolts the door.
“When I was little,” Annabeth begins, “I thought every kid was born like I was. I would always pray to my mom and be like, please please don’t make me a teen mom.”
Percy raises an eyebrow. “You’re in a good mood today.”
She mumbles something.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She looks at him for a long moment, like she’s analyzing him. He used to feel self conscious over her critical gaze. But for all his life, Percy has felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces; Annabeth looks at him like she can draw in the pieces herself.
She closes the distance and takes his hand. He follows her without a word, but is disappointed and a little annoyed that she turns the hall to the bathroom. She commands him to sit while she rifles through the cabinets looking for what she needs.
“You don’t have to take care of me, Beth.”
“I want to.” She finds a spare bottle of nectar and cotton rounds. “And you don’t get to say the same thing to me but not let me reciprocate. Love is a two way street and all, right?”
“Okay, Annabeth McLean.”
“Shut up. I watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days again last night.” She also takes out a tube of lotion, and his heart twists. Of course she noticed the state of his burn scars and that he was neglecting them. But it only serves to make him feel like a burden to her.
“I don’t know why you love that movie so much.”
“What can I say, they’re both fine as hell. And I need that yellow dress.” She dabs nectar on the cotton rounds and sets her knees on the ground. He gives her his hand. The solution erases the split skin on his knuckles and quickly makes the purple bruises fade to yellow.
“Prom.”
She smiles up at him, now onto the other hand. “Is that how you ask a girl to prom, Percy Jackson?”
“‘Course not, my mom raised me better than that. But it’s in, like, five months, give me some time.”
“Hm.” She tosses the cotton into the sink and takes both his hands in her own, her thumbs roving over the ridges of his sore knuckles. She doesn’t say anything. Percy removes one of his hands from her light grip to raise her chin. Her eyes reluctantly meet his. They’re glassy, and she gives him a brave smile, but he isn’t sure why. His thumb strokes her cheek, trying to offer some comfort. She breaks the moment when she stands to retrieve the lotion, telling him to take off his shirt.
It was embarrassing for a long time, and it took even longer for him to let her see his scars. That summer after the labyrinth when they were speaking and not speaking, Annabeth blurted out how guilty she felt for leaving him in the volcano. He knows it still hurts her even now, even when they’ve gone through immeasurably worse pains. He loves that about her in a way, how little horrors still affect her in the grand scheme of things. Percy doesn’t like to be taken care of, but he thinks if Annabeth can let him, then he can let her too. She works the lotion in, spreading over the crests and waves of raised, thin skin. They’re quiet, lost in their own thoughts.
Her hand trembles ever so slightly as she passes over his palm, the brand on his forearm, his shoulder, his ribs. How can she be so delicate, fingers calloused from years of fighting, Percy doesn’t know.
He nudges her knee with his socked foot. “Hungry?”
She blinks up at him. “I could eat.”
She stands to leave the bathroom. Her arms cross to slip off her hoodie, one that features the cursed mascot of Percy’s school, an eagle. Ironic how Zeus’ symbol presides over Percy’s last chance at a high school education. He didn’t even want the sweatshirt—they just handed them out. It was useless to comment on Annabeth stealing it, because he would have given it to her anyway. It’s almost funny how Annabeth can show up to his apartment wearing his clothes and always leave with twice the collection.
The radio is still crooning old holiday tunes, and Percy changes the station to something a little more to their taste.
Annabeth props herself up on the kitchen counter, her feet swinging and every so often hitting a cabinet. They heat up a hodgepodge of leftovers from the fridge, including a rice dish from the night before. Annabeth fidgets with the charms on her necklace, the coral and shark tooth clacking together to produce a light clink. The tooth was his contribution, but it was Annabeth’s idea. All Annabeth has to do is yank the necklace, and out springs her drakon bone sword. With the loss of her knife, she was anxious about not being able to conceal her shortsword. Thus came the brilliant idea of giving her weapon a similar feature to Riptide.
The microwave beeps. Percy hands Annabeth the bowl and utensil, awaiting her reaction.
Her eyes widen, and Percy can tell she’s about to confess her undying love to the reheated dish. He’s been through this dance many times before. “Oh my god—”
“It’s rice,” he laughs.
She shakes her head, her words halted at the tip of her tongue. “Leave me alone, it’s got that—that Salacia Jackson sparkle to it.”
“That Salacia Jackson sparkle,” he repeats.
“The flare.” Annabeth scoops a hefty amount and takes a moment savoring to continue. “You need to learn how to make this and bring it to me every other business day.”
“Baby, I made it with her.” He knows how to make pretty much everything Sally does. It doesn’t taste the same as hers when he’s on his own because yeah, she really does have that undeniable sparkle, but he has the recipes down. Half of it is made with love, as his mom would say, but Percy never repeats that out loud.
Annabeth inspects the bowl with her fork. “There’s olives?”
Percy raises his eyebrows briefly in answer.
“But y’all hate olives.”
“You don’t.”
“I wasn’t here for dinner yesterday.”
His brows furrow, slightly confused. “You’re here now.”
Her eyes drop. “Oh.”
She goes quiet in moments like these, little revelations that she has someone putting her first. They make Percy want to seriously harm her father. It’s not even a big deal, the way his mom welcomes Annabeth, but that just makes anger churn in his gut for the way simple acceptance into a family is so foreign for Annabeth. She’ll probably cry the first time she holds his baby sister—she wasn’t allowed to hold her brothers. Percy wonders if Frederick will call for Christmas, or even offer her to stay the week. In any hypothetical scenario, he doesn’t want to imagine how alone Annabeth would feel during holidays with the Chases. Or any other time, really.
“It’s our first Christmas together,” he points out.
Annabeth looks up, gaze unfocused. “Do you even care much for the holidays?”
“Not really. But you’ll be here, so I’m looking forward to it.”
“Just after exams.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Her head lowers. Her curls cover her eyes, which Percy guesses is intentional.
“You okay?”
Her fork moves around grains of rice. “Yeah, just… we were so excited for break last year and…” her voice falters.
He cups her face with one hand. She doesn’t raise her head, but her leaning into his touch is enough. “Hey, it’s not like that. It’s not gonna happen again, I swear.”
“It wasn’t in your control.”
“Well. I won’t jinx us then.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
Annabeth nods.
She scrapes her bowl clean. He’ll make the rice for her every damn day if she wants. Annabeth moves to the living room while Percy cleans up. It’s been a long end to a long week, and Percy is exhausted—but doing anything with Annabeth is his favorite pastime. Even if it’s just existing in his apartment on a Friday night.
He leaves the kitchen to find Annabeth stretched out on the couch, her arms covering her eyes.
“Tired?”
Her arm flops down the side of the couch. She flexes her hand and beckons him closer with a C’mere.
He settles between the couch, mostly on top of her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. She’s softer than any ambrosia. Annabeth holds him, maybe a little tighter than normal, and he feels a kiss pressed onto his hair. They flip through channels, existing on the surface, neither really paying attention to the tv. Her chest rises so slowly that Percy thinks she may have fallen asleep until she whispers, “Percy?” her fingers carding through his hair.
“Hm.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Beth,” he mumbles into her skin.
Times like these are when he loves her most. When the quiet understanding between them is enough comfort, when relaxed bodies align and heartbeats sync as one. The weeks spent rebuilding themselves after they survived their second war were the best and worst of Percy’s life. The burning August heat of Long Island brought waves of familiarity—both of home and… down there. The same rang true for Annabeth. She was his past and present, his future combined into one complicated, knotted string. The morning sunlight that peeked through Cabin Three washed over her in tones of warmth. Nights spent in mutual solitude were filled with ignorant bliss and shelved fits. Fingertips tracing over spines, whispered sighs, whimpered cries. Thrashing in their sleep, twisting bed sheets, and choking out the name of a living corpse right beside them. They didn’t—and still don’t—talk about it. This was a new reality they had to accept. No one could possibly understand what they had gone through.
He’s still reeling from it all, four months later. Guilt is a heavy burden, one that has settled into permanent residence at the back of his mind. Percy isn’t strong enough to bear it; he doesn’t have the luxury—or ignorance—of immortality to forget. He does not regret his decision, but he can’t help from wondering if accepting the offer would have made a difference. He could have had a different kind of power, he could have helped demigods, he could have—. It doesn’t matter. Percy needs to focus on the now, but he wishes he could exist in a state where he just didn’t exist. He shouldn’t exist, not when he finds satisfaction in inflicting misery. It’s not right that Percy is wasting his breath in the name of all those who gave their lives for his survival.
Percy blinks, maybe hours later. The house seems darker, the only source of light a lamp in the corner. His eyes are bleary. Annabeth is trailing her hand under his shirt, her fingertips tracing over his spine. Percy feels light pinpricks follow in her wake, and he’s immediately more aware. And there she is, pulling him back into her tide without even realizing it. An anchor that extends beyond words or direction.
“Hi.”
“Hey again.”
She tugs at her lip, and he knows she’s trying to hide a smile. Their faces are so close, he can see all her minute lines and scars and freckles.
“Wanna make out?” she asks, smooth and sultry. Percy almost laughs; he knows she’s messing with him, but how is he supposed to say no? Their noses bump as he tilts his head to brush his lips against hers.
As they move, Percy thinks of how grateful he is. They survived their second war, and they will continue to survive. Being done with prophecies and oracles and gods means he has time for normal teenage things, like messing around with his girlfriend on the couch.
Her heel slides down his calf as she grips his shoulders. They sit up, Percy guiding her onto his lap. He pulls her close with no space between them. This is new, the feverish desire between them. He remembers a quiet night nearly a year ago in a dark cabin, where touches were cautious, and the removal of clothes was tentative. There were things left unsaid that night, that Percy regrets he didn’t tell her sooner. He expressed through action words he could not yet say to her.
Now, he doesn’t hesitate to press his fingers into her hips, sure he’s leaving bruises. She doesn’t hesitate to scrape her teeth against his neck and pull his hair so hard it leaves him dizzy. He feels alive.
She bites his bottom lip, and he tastes blood on his teeth. “Annabeth,” he gasps. She doesn’t say anything, but soothes the burn with her tongue.
It feels good, above all; how they push and pull, and test the limits of how fulfilling pain can be. It can’t be wrong if it feels good. But they’ve been reckless and sloppy, losing the meaning of why they’re doing this. Doing this with her makes him forget who they are, what they’ve done. What he’s done. Annabeth never seems to mind the decline in conversation when his weight presses her into the mattress, his mouth silencing her tongue.
“Why are you still wearing your uniform?” he asks against her lips, fingers toying with the top button of her blouse. That’s another part of ADHD. His brain sees something, but it can take hours to process it. Mostly he’s just grateful he has fast reflexes when it counts. He trails kisses along the line of her jaw, small apologies long overdue.
Her hand closes around his and guides it to her thigh. “I heard a rumor that my boyfriend likes when I wear a skirt.”
“Who could’ve told you that?”
“I never reveal my secrets.”
“That’s fine. I can read your mind.”
She inches away and he can see the teasing smile plastered on her beautiful face, pupils blown wide. “Really? Then why’d you stop kissing me?”
He rolls his eyes, but he kisses a path down her neck while his hand travels between her legs. She lets out a soft noise.
“Do not give me a hickey, Perseus,” she demands breathlessly.
“Don’t call me that. And you can barely see ‘em.” His mouth latches onto the sensitive skin below her ear.
“No, but your mom’s going to see right through us.”
He stills. “Can we maybe not talk about my mom right now?”
He hears the keys working in the front door, and Annabeth sighs a Too late as she separates herself from Percy.
Percy shakes his head regretfully. He glances at her neck and feels heat rise on his face. “You might wanna take your hair out,” he suggests as the door finally opens.
“Oh, fuck you,” she whispers harshly, shoving his arm.
“Hey, you two,” Paul greets. “Get into any trouble?”
“Plenty,” Percy says. He turns around to see how Annabeth reacted to that, but she’s already traveling down the hall to the bathroom.
His parents are shucking off their coats, damp from the persistent snow storm. They exchange a look, a silent conversation, and his mom heads to the kitchen.
“Percy, can you come here?”
His heart thuds. He drags his feet across the floor, cursing over and over to himself.
The small room was somewhat of a safe space for mother and son. Where his old stepfather could be forgotten, even if the meals they made were for him. Sally lifting a small Percy onto the counter, letting him mix the dry ingredients, letting him pat out cookie dough with his grubby hands. They left that apartment behind, but the memories remain in this new sanctuary.
They stand five feet apart.
“Did anything in particular happen today?” she inquires. Percy shrugs. She knows that he knows that she knows. He just hopes this can be over soon.
“Percy.”
“Yeah.”
“Your school called.”
He presses his lips together, nods imperceptibly. “Figured.”
“Can you look at me?” He does. Her eyes are the same as always, a churning blue with a hint of sadness. “I’m not going to lecture you, baby. I want to know what you’re feeling.”
These days Percy feels just as lost and lonely as he did at twelve years old, collapsing on a wooden porch in the rain. The pretty girl with princess curls still looks at him like she can see right through him.
He remembers being eight years old, staring under the looming replica of his namesake for the first time. His mother’s hand in his own, he didn’t feel so small. He felt something big, because if he was named after a hero, then maybe he could be one too. That was back when they were barely getting by, home smelled like stale beer and smoke, and stolen antiseptic was his worst crime. Back when loneliness meant hiding in corners at school, at the apartment, in the back rooms of the candy shop. His mother didn’t care much for Perseus’ heroic titles, but for who he was as a person. Percy didn’t really understand that; he just listened when his mom told him stories and kept them locked away in his memory.
“You haven’t had a fight in years. It’s the least of my concerns if you get expelled, I just want you happy. I know you haven’t been. There’s this dimness that has surrounded you since you came home. I barely see you.”
His throat is tight. “Mom.”
“I know I don’t understand a lot, but you don’t need to protect me. I’ve known what I signed up for for the past eighteen years. Something happened to you and Annabeth.”
Percy blinks hard. He stares at the edge of a cabinet and nods once. He flinches, pulling back when she reaches for his hand. Heat rises on his neck and he meets her eyes. Something inside him crumbles when he sees tears pooling behind a foreign look, one of hurt. The paper thin ravine he’d been crawling through gives away. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Would you talk to your father?” He imagines it’s painful for her to ask.
“No,” Percy says immediately.
“Why not?”
Percy runs a hand through his hair helplessly. Poseidon is to blame for what’s become of him. Percy is tearing himself apart at the seams for what he did, for what power he has that the father of monsters bestowed upon him. “He’s the one who—it doesn’t matter why. But I am not talking to him.”
She fiddles with the single pearl on her necklace. Percy doesn’t remember a time before she wore it; he suspects his father may have given it to her. It makes him angry because why can’t she let go? Why does he still exist so prevalently in their lives, even if Percy’s trying his damndest to separate from the pull of the tide? They’ll see the sea wherever they go; it’s arduous to stay away for long.
“I don’t know how to help you,” she admits. “I need you to understand, Percy, the only thing I care about is your happiness. It’s a mother’s job to love her son, but I’m not worried for you out of obligation. I want you to be comfortable enough to talk to me. I’ll always be here, even if I may not understand what you are going through. I’m here.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I do, and you should let me. Everybody needs someone to worry about them, especially if you’re not taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“Percy, I’d rather you not talk at all than start lying to me,” she says gently, but with a firmess. “You’ve been on quests for five years straight. You’ve been forced to bear too much responsibility for far too long. It breaks my heart to see it catch up to you.” She sighs. “I’m talking in circles. You can go, but please understand that I will always be here for you. That’s never going to change.”
Percy nods once, then stands to leave.
When time has been martyred and he sneaks into his room past midnight, careful to avoid the creaks in the wood floors, he finds his window open wide and familiar curls flowing in the breeze. He climbs through the window, not accounting for how cold it would be on the fire escape. Annabeth sits with a blanket wrapped around her, but opens one end wordlessly for Percy when he settles next to her.
“Took you long enough,” she says. Her voice is scratchy.
“Blame Paul. He was grading papers in the kitchen.”
“On a Friday night?”
“He doesn’t do a whole lot.”
His eyes draw to the empty planter that once kept a garden in Manhattan for a goddess. A few weeks ago, after a particularly real nightmare, he had thrown the box off the fire escape and down six stories. He never wanted to see the magical plant again, or any reminder of its provider’s existence.
There isn’t much of a view above the cold streets. No stars are discernible through the smog of the city and the flurries, the same stars he gazed upon when stranded on Ogygia. Anger ignites in his gut when he thinks of the place and the goddess. He doesn’t like thinking about what he would do if he saw her again. He hopes he never finds out.
Their shoulders brush. Snow dusts their heads and soaks into their pants, but neither share feelings of discontentment. The snow blends in with the gray in their hair. Percy doesn’t know where to go from here. He doesn’t particularly want to go anywhere.
“Remember that first summer after our quest?”
“Of course,” she says simply, like she’ll never forget. Their first July together was the last simple one. Simpler times meant sparring in the training fields hours on end for fun, reconciling petty fights with Oreos, and not worrying about what it meant to be the subject of a decades old prophecy. Then there was Thalia, then their fallout after the labyrinth, then the war, then….
“We snuck away from the campfire, and you lectured me about the constellations for, like, two hours,” he ends with a light chuckle. “You asked if I knew what my name meant. All I knew was what my mom had told me about Perseus when I was little, but you said—you said my name meant to destroy.” He attributes the burning of his eyes to the harshness of the cold swirling around them. “Did I live up to that?” he asks, voice thick.
“Percy, I didn’t know what I was talking about then. I didn’t know you yet, not really. I was just trying to make sense of the prophecy.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“The answer is no.”
Percy thinks of the labyrinth, and how it is designed to trap monsters. Man descends into the dark place with a golden thread to subdue the beast, to tame its might, for the monster is too big to kill. Annabeth has never followed this precedent. How did she turn the plane around, how did she spin the fated encounter to not inflict harm? Percy isn’t worth the limitless devotion. The maze runs in circles, and every year Percy is convinced he should not be trusted with power. Everyone would be happier—safer—if he was gone.
The labyrinth is gone now, but the monster remains.
His voice is a shaky whisper when he admits, “I can’t do this, Beth.”
“Do what?” Her voice is soft, the cadence he only hears when she’s with him.
“I—I don’t know. Pretend? I feel like I’m not even here. I shouldn’t be here, that’s the problem. I shouldn’t have been able to do what I did. It wasn’t natural.”
Percy can’t talk about this with anyone else. If he can communicate incomprehensible thoughts to anyone, it’s Annabeth. He thinks back to when they were twelve, and her declaration of their friendship felt like the start of something. She was the first person Percy ever felt so immensely for. He couldn’t name those feelings, nor was he aware of her influence on his life, but he knew he couldn’t let her go.
She slumps against his side, the side of her face buried in his shoulder. “Percy, where we were wasn’t natural.” It’s a mumble, but with so much conviction he hangs onto every word. “I’m not saying what you did was right, but you can’t beat yourself up over what you did when we…”
The wind whistles in his ears. Percy blocks out the memories of a howling chasm.
“I don’t trust myself anymore. Not sure I ever have.”
“Is it enough that I trust you?”
“I…. Everything is so fucked up. I didn’t even—I didn’t even realize I was in control over the fight until I was being pulled off him and he was all…”
“You had a flashback.”
“Yeah. I guess. It was like I was half seeing what was right in front of me, and my body took over in fight or flight mode.”
“I’m so sorry, Percy.” Her voice wobbles. Here she goes again, guilty over their fall. Percy hoped by now that she would accept their plight for what it was: a cruel punishment devised by the Fates. They can’t change prophecies; Annabeth taught him that.
“Annabeth, stop,” he sighs. “I’m tired of you blaming yourself. I’d do it again, no hesitation. You need to accept that.”
A determined look washes over Annabeth. “You need to accept that you’re not a monster.” His head snaps up, and their eyes meet. “I know you. You’re—you are the best person I have ever met. That didn’t change down there. I’m angry about so much, but not what we did to survive. Together, yeah?”
You need to accept that you’re not a monster. How did she read his mind? If she knows him now, then how can she stay by his side? Percy can’t fathom what she chooses to see in him. He’ll take any ounce of affection she offers, even if he’ll never understand. For as long as she’s his and he’s hers, Percy will keep Annabeth close.
There’s no one more deserving of love than Annabeth Chase. For someone who has lived on crumbs of affection her entire life, Percy finds himself wondering where he places in her rank. For his temper that ignites quick as a whip, or his incessant stubbornness, he doesn’t see many redeeming qualities. Sometimes he can’t speak to her for days. It’s not right, it’s not them, but this is unprecedented. Even Annabeth is lost on how a person should behave after trekking through the wastelands of hell. Sometimes Percy doesn’t see himself as worthy of being hers, but she must see something if she stays fighting by his side.
Percy’s life is full of mysteries; Annabeth Chase staying is one of them. He hopes when the winter storm passes and spring breaks loose, she can see him for what he really is.
He squeezes her hand thrice. “Together.”