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“Annabeth!” Percy’s hoarse shout echoed across the walls of Cabin 3. He sat up abruptly, taking in his surroundings. He had performed this song and dance many times over the past two years of waking from demigod-related dreams. By now he had formed a mental checklist.
Room: clear; body: unharmed; Riptide: in pocket.
But there was something, no, someone who had been added to that list in light of recent events. Percy jumped out of bed, sliding into his shoes and a hoodie. He was breathing harshly as he made his way across the courtyard. The cold December night was painful in his lungs, but he wasn’t even truly aware of it. He had places to be. He slowly creaked open the door and quietly made his way into the Athena Cabin.
Being head counselor, Annabeth had a single bed tucked away in a semi-private corner instead of the typical bunk beds stacked three high. Percy beelined for it. He stood over the bed, the sight of her having an immediate effect on him. His breathing regulated, matching the rhythm of hers, slow and deep in her sleep. She looked a lot better than she had a mere 12 hours before. Nectar and ambrosia had healed her more superficial wounds. Rest and a hot meal had brought life back to her face that she had lost in her week of torture. Because that’s what it was: torture. He was going to kill Luke. She buried her face further into the pillow she had wrapped in her arms with a vice-like grip. Percy wished he were that pillow.
Whoa. What?
He shook that thought from his mind and sat on the floor by her head. His back against the mattress, he leaned his head back, taking a deep breath. He was overwhelmed with the scent of fresh lemons, warm vanilla, and, strangely, old books. He wondered if all Athena kids smelled of books or if it was just an Annabeth thing. He remembered a comment she had made in the summer: how he always smelled vaguely like salt. She had asked if it was his cologne; when he had said no, she had shrugged, declaring that it must be a Poseidon kid quirk. He blushed now thinking about it. The concept of her paying attention to the way he smelled.
He craned his neck, twisting almost 180 degrees to look at her. His eyes slowly scanned her face. She was still sleeping peacefully. Her eyebrows were relaxed, in contrast to the way they always were when she was thinking—drawn together in concentration. Her long lashes fluttered on her cheeks, her eyes heavy with sleep. But he knew that if she were to open them, her brown doe eyes would stare into his. His mind wandered back to how she had looked at him in Westover Hall as she brought his hands to her waist. Her eyes sparkled with a nervous kind of hope as she had peered up at him through her lashes.
His gaze then drifted to her nose. It was, for lack of a better word, adorable. It was small and round like a button. When she was really concentrating, it would twitch slightly, like she was trying to sniff out an answer to a problem. If he said something that particularly irritated her—which was often—it would get all scrunched up, and she would give him a look that said, "Are you for real right now?" When that happened, Percy had to resist the strong urge to boop her nose with his finger.
His quest to memorize Annabeth's face continued as he looked below her nose to her mouth. He paused, taking in a quick breath.
Percy really liked her mouth.
He liked that it was always a little pouty and smeared with a purple lip gloss. When it was open, she would babble endlessly about Greek architecture or her favorite monuments. Most of the time he didn’t really understand what she was talking about, but he just liked to listen to the sound of her voice. It would get higher and louder when she became excited about a topic. He would sit there and savor it, how he was the one she was talking to. But his favorite thing about her mouth was when it lifted at the corners to reveal her brilliant smile. Then, if he was really lucky, her laugh would filter out. He loved her laugh, and he especially loved being the one to make her laugh. His heart would do a little somersault every time he was able to draw out the beautiful sound.
He was about to reach his hand out to touch her new grey strand of hair just as she had with his earlier—a visual reminder of their shared effort to hold up the sky. When she began to squirm, her breath quickening and her eyebrows scrunching together. His hand dropped to her shoulder and began to gently shake her awake.
“Wise girl," he said softly. She blinked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and full of anguish.
“Percy?” she said with surprise, her voice scratchy. "You're here?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Always.
“And you’re real?” she looked almost skeptical, as if she'd been tricked before.
“Last time I checked," he said, making a big show of touching his torso and looking down, inspecting the rest of him. He looked back up at her and smiled. The corners of her mouth twitched and her nose crinkled slightly. His brain went a little fuzzy.
“I was—I had a nightmare," she said weakly, and she tilted her head down but looked up at him. Her mouth downturned, much to his dismay.
“I know,” he whispered. He wondered briefly if she thought it was weird that he was watching her sleep. But she didn’t say anything about it, so he felt like he was in the clear. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I just…” She sighed and tossed the pillow she was holding aside and held her arms open, inviting him in. He knew it was probably not the best idea, but who was he to deny her anything?
He crawled into her arms, wrapping his around her waist. She brought hers loosely around his neck and rubbed her face against his shoulder. She began taking deep, even breaths. He sighed into her hair and brought his hand between her shoulder blades. He began rubbing small, soothing circles on her back, easing the tension there—the same way his mom did when he was small and would crawl into her bed after a bad dream.
Contrary to popular belief, Percy Jackson was not an idiot. He knew that what he felt for his best friend was not entirely platonic. Aphrodite had made that clear to him. He had almost told Annabeth this on Olympus. How desperate he had been when she was missing. The fear of losing her either to Luke or to the hunters had consumed him. He had wanted to tell her how much he needed her. But Athena had gotten to him first. He didn’t care what the wisdom goddess thought. But he knew that Annabeth did. She had confessed on that boat last summer how much she yearned for her mother’s approval. He didn’t want to jeopardize their relationship, however rocky it was.
So he had decided to keep his mouth shut, for now. He knew that the girl in his arms cared for him and he cared for her. That was all he needed. And she needed time—time to process what had happened to her in the past week, the hurt and betrayal she had faced at the hands of her brother. So, right now he was happy where he was, with her small body curled around him.
After some time, he craned his head back to look at her. She had fallen back into her slumber. Her face was calm once again. He reluctantly moved her hands from his neck and replaced himself with the pillow. He wanted to stay, desperately. But he wasn’t even supposed to be in this cabin at all. If they were found in the morning, huddled together on her bed, they would be in big trouble. That was the last thing she needed right now.
So he slipped through the doorway, looking back at her sleeping form one last time before he made his way back to his bed, where he was sure to get not a wink of sleep
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Bronte opened her eyes narrowly, just in time to see a mess of blond curls leaving the doorway. They shook their head and smiled slightly. Of course, she thought before turning around, retreating into her dreams.