Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I look to you to see the truth

.

It’s past sunset and Percy and Annabeth are dancing. 

Their living room lights are aureate, the rain outside distant, and the music soft. His hand is holding hers, her other palm against his chest, her cheek pressed against his cotton shirt. He rubs small circles onto her back, presses a kiss into her forehead, smells a familiar lemon scent. 

“This is nice,” Annabeth murmurs, her eyes closed, letting him lead their swaying. He hums in response, burying his nose further into her hair.

It is more than nice. 

Years have passed since this future seemed impossible: they had fought wars, they had lost friends, they had fallen. Those years had seemed never-ending, all consuming. They had been pushed and pushed until they were certain something would break. Nothing truly broke, not really. Not really. They had preserved, which was more than living. Wading and waiting until moments - like this one - feel both deserved and stolen. 

Now, their lives are filled with going to work, grocery shopping, and wondering when the cable bill is due. Calm and beautifully boring. Her birthday wish was simple: a space to move their feet, gentle guitar strings from their cheap speakers, and a clean apartment. He obliged, taking time from work to end the Friday and start their weekend with her in his arms. Simple wishes, they’ve learned, are the best fulfilled. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” Percy asks her minutes later, his cheek pressed to her head. 

Annabeth exhales, a little puff of contentment and change that Percy has only just discovered in the last few months. He loves it. “One of the best,” she settles on. “Malcolm sent a bouquet to the office. Piper booked a flight for next week. Nico even Iris-messaged me and pretended like it was an accident.”

“You’re very loved,” he teases her, feeling her grin against his chest. 

“My charming personality,” Annabeth shrugs, feigning nonchalance. 

He laughs, and Annabeth feels drunk off this banter they’ve grown into, as if inside-jokes are spoils of war. It’s a testament to their friendship, she knows, rather than their survivorship. Annabeth is trying to reshape her perspective. The etiology of her progress is more than just staying alive: she’s allowed to honor the dead and be happy. 

And Annabeth is happy, even if her life is irreparably changing faster than she can comprehend. One hundred and twenty-six days is all she has to plan, even if Percy says that there’s only so much they can reasonably accommodate beforehand. She should be better prepared, she thinks. They had spent close to a year trying for this change but time seemed to stop and quicken when it was confirmed in a tiny dark room, a steady beat that hasn’t stopped reverberating in her head. 

Three minutes pass before Percy suddenly swings Annabeth in the opposite direction, letting her lean back in his steady hand, watching her face break into a bright smile. He prefers this face to the look of anxiety she was just wearing. He matches her grin wattage for wattage and tucks her in close again after a moment. “I can feel you thinking. Was the spinning too much?”

“Percy,” she chides playfully. “I won’t break.” 

“Just checking,” he mutters and she kisses him for that. Because it’s her birthday and she simply can. Annabeth smacks a kiss against his shirt, too - for good measure - rubbing her nose against him. If his constant affection and support doesn’t do it, she thinks that she could drown on his familiar scent alone. 

It’s past sunset and Percy and Annabeth are dancing. 

“Can we dance on my birthday every year?” she asks him later as one song ends and another begins. 

Percy looks at her, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. Annabeth shouldn’t have to ask, he thinks, for moments like these. “Of course we can.” 

“Even if it’s a weeknight?”

“Yeah, Beth, we can,” he fixes her with a quizzical look.

“Even after the baby is born?” Annabeth whispers, her eyes searching his face. After all these years she still looks for hesitation in his face, as if staying isn’t the easiest choice for him to make. 

“Especially after the baby is born,” he says adamantly, immediately. Percy knows that she’s more scared than she lets on. In four short months, their family will grow by one, forever altered, and she worries that she won’t be the mother she wants to be. “How else am I ever going to get you alone?” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes and Percy knows that they’ll get through this together. She meets his eyes, grey on green, and smiles. She puts all of her gratitude, love, and happiness in this smile, and she can see from his eyes that he understands. 

“We’ll be fine,” she says confidently. Percy’s mouth turns up into a smile, a little wistful but mainly grateful. He leans down to kiss her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. 

“Happy birthday, Annabeth,” Percy brushes his lips against hers, intimate and warm. 

It’s past sunset and Percy and Annabeth are dancing.  

Chapter Text

Crickets chirping, a July night, two best friends

.

Summers will always end and Annabeth knows it to be true.

The stars and moon are bright for this part of Long Island. Their bright lights shine down on the lake at their feet and their reflections in the smooth, dark water remind them that the rest of the universe is just an arm’s length away. Grasshoppers and frogs chirp and croak, a melody that is so familiar that Annabeth thinks that she will always remember the sound. 

Bonded: the lake and the moon and the stars and the grasshoppers and the frogs and – and – Percy and Annabeth. They’re here, their feet dangling at the edge of the dock, leaning back on their hands, fingers inches away from each other. It’s been like this for five summers now. 

“I love this place,” Annabeth says, her eyes glancing at Percy’s profile. He’s thoughtful, she can tell. He is a different person from the boy she met at twelve and yet he is the very same. Sarcastic and kind and giving and funny. He’s almost a foot taller now, his hair better managed and nearly a man. 

“Second to last summer,” Percy says after a moment, his voice soft. “I can’t believe we’re gonna be seniors in two months.” 

There’s a lump in Annabeth’s throat that she knows has a name. 

Their camp is unlike other camps, she knows. This one is strictly for children who require extra guidance – extra support – that they may not otherwise find at school or home. Annabeth remembers her first day at this summer camp, her seven year old arms crossed over her chest and a frown that didn’t melt until Chiron had kindly asked her to plan the weekend’s activities for her age group. And then Grover came along – his warm smile and stuttered speech unwove a protective nature in her. Annabeth had become respected, supported, loved. 

How was she to know at seven years old that she’d become a leader amongst her peers, her guidance sought, a seven year old turned seventeen amongst the pines?

The camp had become a home that she didn’t know she’d ever have, a reprieve that held unfulfilled comfort until Percy arrived. He was frustrated, she remembers. Spiteful and disbelieving and grieving. It took a while to understand that he was grieving a childhood he had just begun to realize he’d never have. But Percy and Annabeth had become close regardless: what is it about having uncaring fathers that produces a bond so airtight that they’d stop the world for each other?

Summers always end and Annabeth knows it to be true.

They are best friends. 

Percy and Annabeth had become counselors when they turned fourteen, and she remembers the wide smile on his face when he realized he could access the rec room after hours. He had been so excited at the personal possibilities, sure, but it was the chance to make camp better for the younger campers that made Annabeth realize her best friend will always be a part of her. 

“We could set up a group messaging thing, Annabeth,” Percy had said with pressured speech, his eyes owlish and hair wild. 

“Like add them to our texts?” Annabeth had scrunched her eyebrows. She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about 25 teenagers in her and Percy’s iMessages. 

“What?” He had blinked before he shook his head. “No, that’s just for us.”

“Just for us, huh?” Annabeth had grinned. 

“Shut it,” Percy had waved a hand at her, his face slightly pink. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see your – your dumb selfies anyway.” She had laughed and he joined before his voice turned quiet again. “You know,” he pressed on, his smile gentle now. “I just don’t want anyone to feel alone during the school year.” 

“I know,” Annabeth nodded and the lump formed and never quite left. 

In fact, if she thinks about it for a terribly long time, she had become most aware of the lump a year later, when a new girl arrived at camp. 

“Her name is Rachel,” Percy had landed on Annabeth’s camp bed and sighed, his feet almost dangling off the end of the bed. Annabeth had blinked at this sight and wondered when he became so tall. “She’s gonna go to Goode next year. It’ll be nice to have a friend besides just Grover to sit with at lunch.”

“You’ll get in trouble for being here,” Annabeth had poked at his leg. “Clarisse is doing inspections this morning.” 

“We have a truce,” Percy had grinned mischievously. “Caught her and Chris last night.”

“What?” Annabeth had sat down beside him, her mind swirling and swirling. “Like – ?”

“Nah,” Percy shook his head. “They were making out by the archery shed. It was gross.” 

“Most of these people are gross,” Annabeth had shrugged. “I couldn’t imagine dating any of them.” 

Percy had tilted his head at her, a curious look on his face, his green eyes guarded. “No one?” 

The lump had returned. 

“No one here,” her mouth had been dry. “I thought maybe – maybe – that a boy from my environmental studies class would ask me out this year, but. But I guess not.” 

“But no one here,” he had confirmed, looking up at her. She had shaken her head, not trusting her voice and not wanting to question why. “I think,” Percy looked away and bit his bottom lip. “I’m gonna ask Rachel out.” 

“Oh,” Annabeth stiffened. “That’s – that’s. That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Percy had managed to get out. “She’s fun to be around and, um, I think she’d say yes.” 

“Jackson,” Clarisse barked from the doorway, her brown hair pulled back in a red bandana. “Aren’t you supposed to be the lifeguard on duty right now? There are kids swimming in the lake.” 

“Oh fuck,” Percy jumped from the bed, his face startled. He had yelled back to her as his legs brought him to the cabin door. “I’ll see you later.” 

Annabeth did see him later: his hands around Rachel’s pretty face, his head bent to hers, their lips moving against each other. The lump in her throat had become too big for her to handle and she had spent four days quarantined in her cabin with a sore throat before she spoke with him again. 

She had spoken around the knot in her throat, too, when he had skipped a counselors meeting to hang out with Rachel, her words forced and hurtful. He had looked back at her with an unearned frustration, she had thought. Who was he to turn his back on being a counselor? 

“You don’t care about camp anymore,” she had seethed, her face pink and heart thumping at the indignant look on his face. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Percy had scoffed, his eyebrows pushed together. “I’ve always loved camp.”

Annabeth had shrugged, dismissive and needling. “People change.” 

And they do, for Percy had stormed away and she had not followed. They hadn’t spoken for days afterwards, the wary looks of the other campers fueling the fire in her torso. The next time they had spoken – terse and short and superficial – she had known that neither would bring it up again. Instead it sat between them.

It was a long summer, her breath hitching and anger boiling and tension between them stifling, but the cool water of the lake soothed the space between them at the end of August as if that was its sole purpose.

“I heard you and Rachel broke up,” Annabeth had managed to mumble, the darkness around them as they sat at the end of dock giving her the confidence to speak around the lump in her throat. “Are you okay?”

“I think we’re better off as friends,” Percy had muttered, his voice quiet and eyes downcast. 

“There’s nothing wrong with just being friends,” Annabeth had said a moment too late for it to still be about Rachel. The lump had been overwhelming, choking and freeing all at once. What else is between them but the weathered wood of their camp’s dock? 

Percy had looked up, a smile on his face that she couldn’t place. “What about best friends?”

Annabeth had blinked back at him. “You are my best friend, Percy.”

“Yeah,” he smiled and she could finally read his face. “You’re mine too.” 

And they were: the months that stretched between summers were filled with texts, FaceTime, phone calls – really any method of communication, if Annabeth is honest with herself. The holiday breaks gave them time to meet at the Jacksons’, for sleepovers with Grover and walks around the city. Best friends, the three of them. But, Annabeth thinks as she looks at sixteen year old Percy now, his face illuminated by the stars and moon – she and Percy have always been different. 

Sleepovers had felt charged, Sally’s eyes amused, and Grover’s sighs exasperated. Annabeth had tried to push away the tension between them, had tried to stop staring at him when he wasn’t looking, had tried to stop her hands from finding his as they strolled around the city when they were together. But each time she was successful, Annabeth had felt the lump creep into her airway, and had felt the crushing truth sit between her breaths. 

Her throat closed when she was near him, but being away from him was worse. 

Summers will always end and Annabeth knows it to be true.

“Do you think it’ll be a good summer?” Annabeth asks him, and the grasshoppers chirp back in response. 

Percy glances over at her, and she is struck with fondness for the familiarity in his smile. “Yeah, I do.” He pauses and his gaze turns contemplative. “I think things are changing around here, though. Don’t you feel it?”

She does. It’s Clarisse and Silena and Beckendorf’s last summer. The first day at camp the previous week had felt like the beginning of a long goodbye. It was the moment Annabeth had realized that her childhood was ending, that camp was a home she knew she would have to leave behind one day. 

Summers always end and Annabeth knows it to be true.

Would she have to leave Percy behind too?

“Yeah,” Annabeth says, and the lump in her throat has never felt more disconcerting. She is choking on the truth. “I don’t like change.” 

She meets his eyes again and she can see the hard set in his jaw, the way his eyes roam across her face in trying to understand her words. Annabeth thinks she understands: the air between them has shifted, the cool summer night breeze turning stifling with the truth, and her lungs could barely breathe it in. The moon is shining down on them and she is afraid to name it. 

“Will we change?” Percy whispers. His fingers are closer to hers than they were minutes ago, and Annabeth’s eyes trace the lines of his fingers, the grain of the wood under them. 

“Don’t you want us to?” Annabeth says quietly, and she can’t deny it any longer. She turns slightly to face him, and the rest of the camp slips away.

“Would you hate it?” Percy leans forward, and he’s close. “If we changed?” 

“Would you still be my best friend?” Annabeth asks when she can smell the mint in his breath. 

Percy’s eyes search hers, a slight furrow in his brow at her words. “Is that what you think? That I would stop being your best friend?” 

Annabeth names the lump in her throat, the barrier that’s been between them for two summers now: she’s afraid to love if she’s gonna lose her best friend like she’ll lose these summers. 

Percy takes her silence as an answer, his hand bringing up to hold her face. There’s a serious look on his face that she has never seen before, an intensity that she’s unafraid to name now. His eyes flicker to her lips before he meets her gaze again. Annabeth reaches to cover the hand on her face with her own.

He leans forward to close the space between them, his lips grazing over hers for a second, before she finally speaks, “Percy.”

It’s all she needs to say for the lump to disappear from her throat, a liberating feeling growing in her chest as Percy kisses her. 

“You’re my best friend, Annabeth,” Percy tells her when he pulls away, his forehead resting on hers. “That’s never gonna change.” 

Summers always end and Annabeth knows it to be true, but some things are permanent.

Chapter Text

Eighth grade sucks, Annabeth thinks. 

There’s the end of the world happening and her English teacher has turned Annabeth’s essay into a black, white, and red cacophony of failure. It stings sharper than she had thought possible. Thalia is a Hunter and there’s a grey streak at her temple and Luke is the reason why and eighth grade really sucks. 

She shoves the graded paper into her backpack and stomps to her dorm room, her face burning and hands shaking. It’s unfair. Annabeth wants to run back to the classroom, wants to pull her headband off, wants to point at the grey streak with a scarred hand and ask, is this worth an A?

But Chiron had asked her to behave and to be mortal so Annabeth throws herself on her bed like a slightly misbehaving mortal girl and cries. Two minutes, because she’s fourteen and the world is ending slowly and it’s just eighth grade English. 

Annabeth raises her head and rubs her face. Her dorm room is cold, the January air seeping in through the window, a taste of the outside world. She doesn’t want the outside world, though. She wants camp and marshmallows and lessons with Chiron, even if he was too lenient. Annabeth shakes her headband off, her fingers running through her hair. She misses camp, yes, but she misses her friends more. 

Clarisse and Beckendorf and Connor and Silena and Michael and Jake and Katie and Thalia and Grover. They’re all at camp or unreachable or hugging a tree somewhere. Her dad is out of the question. She’s fourteen and the daughter of Athena so she punches her pillow and feels the beginning of rage and a slight loneliness. Emotions, she sighs dramatically. Like letters on a sheet of paper, jumbled and confusing and utterly useless against the fight for the world. 

But there are emotions she quite likes, actually. The kind that come with a dance and the sky and bronze. There’s a cell phone for emergencies in her bedside drawer. She’s fourteen and this feels like an emergency.

Percy answers on the third ring and she can tell his mouth is full of food when he tries to say hello.

“Hi,” she says and there’s already a teasing tone. “Afternoon snack?”

“Yup,” he responds and there’s already a smug tone. “Ever have my mom’s brownies?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” she half-snaps at him. He knows perfectly well that she has indeed had Sally Jackson’s brownies and it’s a low blow, really, for someone who had such a sucky day. “Today sucked.” 

“I’m doing well, thank you,” he prattles on, prim. “How was your day?”

“Today sucked,” she repeats, words rushing out. “Becca didn’t do her part of the poster for bio and Erica asked me for history answers again and Mrs. Ferris asked me to stay behind to clean up after gym class and lunch was gross, Percy, probably illegal in the state of New York but what do I know anyway? I was raised by a centaur. But none of that compares to English class.”

There’s a muffled sound on the other line. She pauses for a moment before continuing. 

“It’s my last class, English, but you know that already so I don’t know why I’m repeating myself, really, but it’s my last class. I – I actually hate English.”

Another repressed sound and she chooses to ignore it. 

“It’s stupid and useless and I don’t know why I have to take it when I’ve been asking my guida – Percy, why are you laughing?”

There’s a wheeze from the other side of the line and she feels her pulse in her temple. 

“It’s – it’s just,” Percy lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh, man, Annabeth.” More laughter.

“It’s not funny,” she insists, slightly hurt.

“Just,” he tries again before it’s useless. Percy is laughing loudly and unashamedly and Annabeth is scowling at a brick building outside of her dorm room window. “You were–”

“Don’t –”

“You said –”

“– mock –”

“– you were –”

“– me.”

“Stop interrupting me,” Percy tells her, carefree and amused. “I’m not mocking you. You said you were raised by a centaur and I dunno. You’re complaining about middle school then you say that and I dunno. It’s funny as shit.”

She considers it. 

“That was embarrassing,” Annabeth squeaks. “I was raised by humans. A human. My dad. He’s human. Then… Chiron.  A… centaur.” 

It does nothing to help the situation because he begins to laugh at the ridiculousness of it and it is kinda funny, she supposes. Okay. It’s absurdly funny. Eighth grade is on another level. Just last month, she was holding the sky. Today? Annabeth is laughing about her weird upbringing. 

Eighth grade sucks. Her classmates can be ambivalent and cruel and dismissive. Her teachers think she is unintelligent just because she needs more time on exams. She didn’t complete her reading project over winter break because she’s a demigod and she was, well, kidnapped. Apparently that’s not a valid excuse so she’s been crawling her way up from a D ever since. 

The world is probably ending and Thalia is gone and she failed an English essay. But she has a friend, she thinks. A best friend. And, she reminds herself, her fingers running through her hair, he has a matching grey streak. 

If anyone is gonna make her feel silly and smart and better, it’s gonna be her best friend Percy.

A belly-deep laugh takes over her body and she snorts in an attempt to breathe but she doesn’t care. It’s funny. Percy laughs loudly, static on the phone indicative of movement. She can see him now, sat on his couch with a half-eaten brownie, face red and eyes squeezed shut in laughter. A couple minutes pass and there are tears streaming down her face and she thinks Percy dropped the phone at some point because she can only hear a scuffling now. 

“Wow,” he finally says, a chuckle on his lips. “Okay. I’m listening now. No more laughing. What happened in English class?” 

What’s happening now, she thinks, is a hundred times more important.

“It doesn’t matter,” Annabeth decides, throwing herself down onto her bed. She feels fourteen, mortal and just a girl in eighth grade. “Tell me about your day.” 

Chapter Text

Warm coffee and morning light and a quiet city. 

These are some of the moments he likes best: their alarm clock trilling, their socked feet padding to the living room to wake slowly. Going to sleep together is an intimacy he loves, it’s true, but the world is still awake at their bedtime. The darkness before the sunrise is the most intimate of times, an offer to be together, a cold hour to get warm.

It’s easy to wake up at five AM with Annabeth, he thinks, especially if it means watching her fingers rub her eyes awake, watching her sleepy face turn alert, watching her fix her coffee. 

When they were seniors in college and their free-time clashed and they missed each other, Annabeth had set an alarm for an ungodly hour, dragged him out of bed, and pressed her head into his shoulder and just talked. Carving out a time to spend together is what they had needed, and that hadn’t changed in the passing years. Busy work days are better after slow mornings together. 

There was something to be said about the early mornings they spent together, the mundane topics that they talk about, the good and bad news they read in the paper together. Familiar, at home, settled.

It’s March and the world is still asleep and Percy likes to think that the whole world is theirs. 

“We should go to some of these open houses,” Annabeth muses, her finger dragging along her iPad screen, her legs thrown over his lap. 

Annabeth loves this app, loves scoping houses and apartments for architecture designs. For fun, she had said when she downloaded it with a shrug. She takes a sip of her coffee with her free hand and his chest tightens with fondness at the domesticity of the moment. 

“We’re not moving,” Percy reminds her, his hand rubbing the smooth skin of her legs, his own coffee long gone. He had gone to bed late, his workday not ending until well past dinnertime. “At least not until I recover from last time.” 

“I know,” Annabeth agrees gravely, her head tilting to the side, thoughtful. Their building elevator had been under maintenance and half of their furniture was soaked from the rain. “But it’d be fun to go to some open houses, don’t you think? We could have different personas, different careers. No one would know who we really are.” 

There’s a playful look in her eyes at this comment and he wakes up a little faster than usual.

“And who would you be, Annabeth?” He trails a hand higher up her leg, a ghost of a grin on his face. Her eyes glance down at the movement before they flicker away.

Sue him, he thinks. Annabeth’s hair is pulled to the side, her face slightly puffy from sleep, a Mets t-shirt hanging off her body. She looks unbothered, content. So what if he wants to see how unbothered he can make her?

“Hm,” she sets her coffee mug on the end table, throwing him a pointed look. “I’d be a housewife, maybe. If we’re acting.”

Percy barks out a laugh, his fingers playing with the cuff of her pajama shorts. Her eyes jump to his hands again, now running down to her knees. “Then I’d be rich. If we’re acting.” 

“You’d have to be,” Annabeth smirks, showing him the screen of her iPad. Percy can feel his heart quicken at the listing price of the Manhattan apartment. Satisfied by his shock, Annabeth shifts closer to him, a look of feigned impassivity on her face. 

“A housewife, huh?” Percy raises an eyebrow.

“With all the time in the world,” she says airily, setting her tablet on the coffee table and stretching her limbs out. 

She knows what she’s doing: her legs press into his lap and a line of her skin peeks out from underneath her shirt. His shirt, he has to remind himself, his hands stilling on her ankles when she rubs her calf onto his thigh. Annabeth smiles at him, playing her own game.

“For what?” Percy forgets her legs for a moment, determined to wipe the pleased look off her face, reaching towards her. He runs his hands under her shirt brazenly, his fingers dancing across her stomach. Annabeth’s grin falters at his boldness, a blush in her cheeks.

“Waiting,” Annabeth says, her own hands resting on his forearms now Percy’s fingertips press into her skin roughly for a moment. Her eyebrows rise and her lips stretch into a smirk at the change in the air between them, questioning and playful and challenging. 

Now or never , he thinks, grip tightening around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She laughs, settling her legs on either side of him. Her fingers twist the hair at the back of his neck, a slight tugging and gentle soothing with the sole purpose is to bother him. 

Annabeth always tries to win the game, he remembers. It’s been almost a decade together and he knows her brand of teasing like the back of his hand. Even so, his breath stutters at her familiar touch. 

“For who?” Percy places his hands on her thighs, guiding his fingers across her exposed skin. There are goosebumps along her arms and he can feel his own face warm at her closeness.

Annabeth's eyes flicker to his lips and he knows he’s winning. “I’d be waiting for my husband to come home,” she whispers, her face inching closer to his. “Wondering if he’d kiss me when he does.” 

There are moments between them when he falls in love with her all over again. 

The early spring morning sun has barely kissed the horizon and the air between them is familiar and charged and gentle. Time slows for them in these hours, their playfulness and musings a reminder that sometimes love is setting your alarm at five AM just to look at the real estate market together. 

Percy can smell the coffee in her breath. Her arms wrap around his neck now, his own hands under her shirt again. He can feel her heartbeat on his fingertips and he thinks that she can count each of his breaths as belonging to her. Percy would spend countless evenings at work if it means spending quiet mornings like this with her. 

“Good thing we’re just acting,” he pulls her closer, lips brushing against hers. Annabeth’s breath hitches. “And you don’t have to wait.” 

She kisses him and he wins and the sun rises.

Chapter Text

The morning light is streaming in at an angle, dust suspending in the air, a yellow light and gentle heat. 

There are few moments like these, they know, when college and work and family and the gods let them just be. Winter is now a distant memory, the stiff air of coldness and the lack of sound replaced by a gentle breeze and white curtains dancing in front of an open window. 

Percy lays beside her on their sides, faces level and the sheets pulled around them. There’s movement outside – a sleepless city – but they are well-rested. He reaches forward, his fingers brushing an errant curl behind her ear, his mouth turning into an involuntary smile. For someone who can be so particular, he thinks, her hair has a mind of its own. There’s a metaphor to be made about it: the balance of the world, the balance of the spring equinox, the balance between them. 

He just thinks she’s beautiful. 

Her eyes close at this touch, pink eyelids against the spring sun. It’s illuminating, the sun and the smile she gives him in the broad daylight. Twenty three, he thinks. Could they really do it? Could they really live a life together, unencumbered and untethered to the pains of the past? 

He hopes that they can.

Annabeth delicately catches his wrist as it traces her jaw on the descent, her own long fingers wrapping around his calloused hands. She pulls his hand between their chests, inches of space and never before closer. 

Percy sees her best like this: a pale yellow light hitting her face, her eyelashes heavy in her peacefulness, the soft sounds of her exhaling. She is at peace and he would do it all – the prophecies, the strife, the surviving – for moments like this. 

Ananbeth presses his hand on the mattress between them, her index finger tracing, tracing tracing. His thumb, his palm, his pinky. She dances her fingers on the muscle of his thumb, tickling and gentle and soft. There’s a contented smile on her face as she does this, a thousand memories of this very act in the back of his mind. Annabeth pushes in the center of his palm firmly, and he thinks that a thousand and one memories of a different intimacies is worth less than this one. 

Her eyes don’t meet his, and he wonders what she’s thinking about. 

Annabeth walks her index and middle finger across his palm before she drags them back down towards his wrist, electrifying and loving and her. 

Up and down, side to side, soft and firm. Annabeth’s hands learn his again and again and again. These mornings are rare, and the sun shining on their faces in them are even rarer. Moments like these – when time stops and he is overwhelmed with gratitude for it – are reminders that there will always be tomorrow. 

Percy is known and seen and loved. He hopes she feels the same. Just as her fingers trace around his wrist, a firm pressure then feather touches on his radial nerve, he thinks that their souls are pushed and pulled together and apart – but always together again, for that is what matters most. 

This is love, he thinks. A quiet moment suspended in time, like flecks of dust in the sunbeam, infinitely small and universally known. Even so, he watches as her hand moves, and he thinks that no one has ever felt as he does. 

“I love you,” he whispers, twisting his fingers with hers, home and at peace. 

“And I love you,” she meets his eyes, squeezing his hand three times, home and at peace. 

There will be other mornings as such, he knows, far and distant, sunshine and rain, young and old. Time is a reward, no longer a weapon. He pulls her fingers to his lips, a kiss against her knuckles, the pulling of her lips into a wider smile. 

Time passes and the sun rises and they are in love.