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It has been raining all day, and somehow he convinced her to run around outside, playing in it and probably catching their deaths. She won’t admit that it’s the most fun she’s had in ages, but she thinks he knows, as they lie on the rug of his living-room afterwards, feet resting on the radiator as they gaze out the window.
“That cloud looks a bit like you.” She says, pointing at it. He tilts his head to get a better look, their shoulders bumping together as he does so. It sends shivers down her spine for some reason.
“What, that one? It looks like a fat, bald guy!”
She snorts at his uncreative choice of words. “As I said.”
She can practically hear him smirking as he lifts his own hand to point at the heavens.
“You know what that one looks like?” His voice is barely a whisper, as his other hand reaches down to grasp hers. Enchanted by the mood, she doesn’t answer, only breathes out in what seems like an eternity. His smile is wide and beautiful.
“It looks like your wellingtons – all it lacks is that bright red color!” Percy exclaims, now looking at feet that are still clad in said shoes. Annabeth rolls her eyes, tempted to punch him again. But she decides against it.
She just keeps holding his hand for the rest of the day.