Chapter Text
“So… Peter Johnson. Your Memories album has been received well.” Mr Bacchus Dionysus stated plainly.
“It’s Percy Jackson, sir.” Percy began, repeating his name for the seemingly millionth time. Percy had been working with Mr D and Half-Blood Records for over four years, after they gave him a chance back when Percy did covers of other people’s songs on the internet. He had always gone under Perseus Jackson when publishing his music, and originally asked Mr D to call him that, but after being called a plethora of wrong names: Priseus, Persis, Prometheus, and even Porcelain (Nico’s personal favourite), he told Mr D to just call him ‘Percy’. Apparently, that wasn’t any easier.
“Exactly, Pierre Jameson, that’s what I said.” Mr D waved it off. Before Percy could even begin to argue, Mr D spoke again. “Anyways. This album has been loved by the public. That means big numbers, and you all know I like big numbers. So I want a tour.”
Percy turned to Nico Di Angelo and grinned. Nico had been Percy’s friend before his music career shot off, and after it did, Nico became his personal manager. To anyone who didn’t know Nico, he exuded an aura of emo-punk and unfriendliness. His Italian heritage was usually a shock to newcomers, considering his messy black hair and pale white skin. He always wore a range of rings and bracelets, memories of his past, but none stood as prominent as the smooth, silver skull ring on his left hand. Nico always either wore a bomber jacket, or a band t-shirt, and that day in the office was no exception, as the logo of his black Nirvana tee stood out proudly, a stark contrast to his black cargo trousers and black trainers. But Percy knocked down his barriers fairly early in their friendship, and as of recently had even managed to get Nico to move into his apartment, since “Who can live in a 3 bedroom apartment alone?”.
A tour had been Percy’s ambition since he was a child, back when he was making covers of celebrities’ songs in the backroom of his mother’s bakery, with his acoustic guitar he remembered saving up for. It took him months of bakery work, and doing odd errands and quests for family friends to save up for it.
Like, his cousin Ares Mars (NOT related to Bruno Mars as 12-year-old Percy found out very quickly) paid him $10 to walk three blocks down and fetch his Harley Davidson that he left outside one of the pubs he went to. It was easy cash…
Unlike the so-called ‘small errand’ he did for his uncle Zeus, who sent him across the entire United States to Los Angeles to collect one of his parcels. After a week of being missing, multiple police stations nationwide on the hunt, and being on national television, Percy stumbled through his mother’s door having got the parcel, and with a fresh stack of $10 bills in his back pocket. That errand alone got him around 100 bucks, which alongside some of the other chores he did for people managed to get him a good quality guitar, which to this day he still uses.
“I won’t bore myself with the details, just speak to Reyna.” He waved the two men off, gesturing vaguely to the door. Both men quickly scrambled out of their seats and out of the door, because as much as Mr D loved big numbers, he hated people hanging around his office for too long.
Next, Nico approached the door opposite Mr D’s, engraved with the words Reyna Ramirez-Aranello: Head of Musical Statistics. He opened the door and found Reyna on her computer, looking up and greeting them with a smile.
“Ah, Percy and Nico. Let's get straight to business.” Reyna turned on a projector, which had already got Percy’s album statistics projected on the white wall of the office. “So Percy, your first album went viral and hit the global charts, with your most popular song Riptide hitting top 50 songs in around 24 countries, and it racked up around 327 million streams on Spotify alone in the first month after release.” She smiled. “Turns out you are popular with the people already, so Mr D wants a tour of the States in about three months' time. You would have a stage crew, lights, the whole sh-bang. Mr D is putting a lot of faith in you, so please don’t mess it up.”
Percy let out a sigh of relief. This album’s success meant so much to him. The namesake of “Memories” came from the fact that all the songs have to do with Percy’s childhood. All his songs have different stories, meanings, and memories behind them, some happier, some sadder.
For example, Riptide and Atlantis both spark from memories of Percy and his mother on the beach in their cabin in Montauk, when they both sat by the coast, watching the sunset and the waves wash up and down the beach in their rhythmic fashion. Time seemed to slow down at that cabin, where Percy could truly relax.
Castle On The Hill came from an old Summer Camp Percy went to as a child. From ages 12 to 16 he spent most of his summer at that camp, and the view of a Long Island Sunset framing the picturesque silhouette of the Big House was permanently locked in his brain. That camp and the view of the sunset were an escape for young Percy, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, away from the pressures of school, and the multitudes of words and books he couldn’t read because of his dyslexia, and away from the pressures of his future music career. At Camp Halfblood he wasn’t Perseus Jackson the online musical celebrity, he was just plain old Percy, and to be honest, he had loved that.
Some songs had deeper meanings, containing sadder backstories that only few knew details of, but even fewer knew all about. As much as his time at Camp Halfblood was framed by memories of campfires, singing and happiness, underneath those lay more sorrowful thoughts and memories, of loss and suffering. Percy found that writing songs helped cope with the pain he felt when remembering that past, and believed his album should include some of those more melancholy songs, as homages to those they were about.
Percy had always wished to have someone in his life who knew all the stories to all his songs. Some stories his mom knew, some stories friends knew, either from retellings or them being present when the event happened. But no one knew every story, and there were some times Percy was happy about that, and sometimes… sometimes he wished that he just had someone who knew them all. Until that person came along, all he had to share were the echoes.
“Well, we better go get our phones, go back to the apartment and start to have a think. Thanks, Reyna.” Nico declared, dragging Percy from his deep thoughts and then out of Reyna’s office entirely.
Olympus Records had a rule of no mobile-phones when inside the office, to “increase productivity” (Percy made it very clear he thought this rule was bullshit), meaning whenever Nico and Percy visit the office they have to reluctantly hand over their mobiles to the stern lady at reception, who definitely cared way too much about enforcing the rules than she should. When they grabbed their phones back from reception, Percy saw a message.
Mom: Could you cover a shift at the Bakery? Chris is ill. Just take inventory tonight, Annabeth and Piper will have the counter.
Percy showed the text to Nico, flashing him a sheepish grin. Nico rolled his eyes and began to walk towards his car, knowing he would have to stop at Sally’s bakery on their way home.
The ride was cheerful, with Percy calling Rachel Dare and explaining about his tour. Rachel was one of Percy’s best friends, and they had been friends since they were 13, having met at Camp Halfblood. Rachel and Percy were as close as two friends could be, but battled dating allegations for years. The rumours died down as they aged, with Rachel having multiple different boyfriends, none of which being Percy.
Percy’s call with Rachel ended shortly before they reached his mother’s bakery. On arrival, Percy climbed out of the car, looking at the sign on top of the shop, proudly displaying “Jackson’s” with a small cupcake next to it. Even though Sally was now married and went under the surname Blofis, her Bakery still shared its name with Percy. After all, Sally had owned that Bakery longer than Percy had been alive, and he basically grew up baking loaves of bread and cookies.
Percy smiled fondly at the memories as he walked into the shop. He pushed the doors open, but as he stepped inside he stopped dead in his tracks.
The reason was that he heard a voice. A voice that was plucked straight from heaven was singing, a song he couldn’t quite work out the lyrics to. He was too encapsulated by her voice in general to be listening to the words she was saying. He listened closely, slowly moving closer to the open door to catch the lyrics.
I'm on my way
Driving at 90 down those country lanes
Singing to "Tiny Dancer"
And I miss the way you make me feel, and it's real
And we watched the sunset over the castle on the hill
It was his song, from his latest Album. He approached the kitchen slowly, completely allured by the angelic voice. He walked into the doorway to take in the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was slightly shorter than him, probably reaching up to his chin. Her waterfall of golden curls cascaded effortlessly over her shoulders, glowing like sunbeams in the small room. She was looking away from him, her face obscured, but he could see she had headphones in, listening to the song, oblivious to the fact the song’s writer was a mere few feet behind her.
She was viciously scribbling onto a small clipboard in, every once in a while stopping to count brioches or croissants. He stood there in awe as she put her heart and soul into every word she sang.
She continued to sing, oblivious to his presence for another few minutes, having transitioned to another one of his songs, his version of Elvis Presley’s I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You. That was personally one of his favourite songs on the new album, having gotten permission from Elvis’s family to have sang it. He gave it as good a shot as he could, but could never compare himself to the greatness that Elvis was, but even so he still enjoyed the song.
About halfway through the song, Annabeth turned around and—upon seeing Percy watching—let out a startled shriek. Without thinking, she grabbed the first thing her hand landed on and chucked it at him.
That object was a croissant.
The pastry smacked Percy square in the forehead. Caught off guard, he staggered backward into a massive bag of flour, which promptly burst open with a soft poof .
Annabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh gods, I am so sorry!” She rushed forward, reaching out instinctively, but froze when she took in his now ghost-white appearance.
Percy wiped a thick layer of flour from his face, blinking at her through the dust cloud. “No, no, it’s fine,” he said, shaking out his hair. “I always wanted to know what I’d look like as a powdered donut.”
Annabeth stifled a laugh, her face still flushed. “I thought I was alone. Piper ran out to grab more ingredients for Mrs. Blofis. I—uh—I’m Annabeth.”
Percy, still dusting himself off, flashed her a lopsided grin. “Nice to meet you, Annabeth. I’m Percy.” He paused, tilting his head. “So… Castle On A Hill , huh? That’s meant to be a song with lots of depth.”
Annabeth shrugged. “It was on my ‘Top 50’ playlist. Just sort of… came on.”
Percy felt his stomach drop slightly. Damn. No deep, hidden meaning. No late-night connection to his lyrics. Just an algorithm.
Annabeth hopped onto the countertop across from him, swinging her legs slightly. “I finished the inventory check, by the way. And since no one is in the café at nine on a Thursday, I figured I’d help out.”
Percy groaned, rubbing his face. “Crap, that was my job. Mo- Mrs Blofis told me you and Piper were just covering the counter.” He kept his voice casual, but a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. No need to let her know her boss was his mom just yet.
Annabeth gave him a curious glance but let it slide. “Yeah, well… I thought no one else was here, so I figured I’d pick up the slack.” She shot him a small smirk. “Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’d be the one covered in flour.”
Percy snorted. “That’s debatable. You did start the food fight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly a fight. You didn’t throw anything back.”
“Yet.” He threatened lightly. “You know, you’ve got a really nice voice.” Percy said, still standing behind the counter, watching her.
Annabeth looked up, slightly startled, “Wasn’t trying to impress anyone.”
“Didn’t say you were,” He replied smoothly, “Just saying. You’ve got good taste in music, too.”
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, a small smile forming. “You always eavesdrop on people while they’re taking inventory?”
Percy grinned, “Only when they sing as beautifully as you do.”
Annabeth looked down, blushing profusely, but of course she wouldn’t let Percy see that. “Well… thanks.” She said after composing herself. “I guess.”
The jingle of the bell at the front of the shop made both Percy and Annabeth turn as Piper walked in, her arms laden with bags of flour and sugar.
She took one look at the scene — A deviously handsome, muscular man dusting flour from his hair, and her best friend Annabeth still sitting on the counter with an oddly flustered expression — and narrowed her eyes.
“…Did I miss something?”
Annabeth quickly shook her head. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
Percy coughed. “Just, uh, a small baking accident.”
Piper’s gaze flickered between them before landing on Percy. Her head tilted slightly. “Wait. You look… really familiar.”
Percy tensed.
Annabeth frowned. “Have you two met before?”
Percy forced a casual laugh. “Nope. First time.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Anyway, I should probably get to, uh… whatever I was supposed to be doing.”
Piper didn’t look convinced, her eyes narrowing, but she eventually shrugged. “Right. Well, Annabeth, we should finish up soon. You’ve got class early tomorrow.”
Annabeth hopped off the counter, shooting Percy one last glance. “See you around, I guess?”
He nodded. “Yeah. See you.”
But as Piper and Annabeth turned toward the exit, Percy exhaled, running a hand through his flour-dusted hair.
He had a feeling this wasn’t the last time he’d see Annabeth.