Archive of Our Own

1.

It had been three weeks since Tyson moved into the Jacksons’ apartment, and that alone should have been enough time for Percy to get used to it—but not quite. Tyson had his own room, a bed that was far too big and creaked every time he moved, and Sally treated him with the same gentle, steady patience she had always shown Percy, as if there were absolutely nothing unusual about any of it. And Percy trusted his mom. He always had. So if Sally trusted Tyson, then Percy trusted him too. Or at least, he tried to convince himself that he did, ignoring the fact that Tyson was still a monster. Okay, a baby Cyclops—but still a Cyclops. Still a monster.

He wanted to trust him one hundred percent. He really did. Tyson didn’t have a single mean bone in his body—it was obvious in every clumsy gesture, every open smile, every slightly disastrous attempt to help. But there was also that overly innocent air about him, that complete lack of understanding of boundaries, and most of all, his almost supernatural ability to make Percy’s life at school—after Sally enrolled him—more difficult. More embarrassing. More impossible to ignore. Percy caught himself snapping sometimes, more than he wanted to, more than he thought was fair, and then Sally would give him that look—the one that didn’t need words to land—followed by a soft but loaded, “Percy…” He got scolded a few times, deservedly so, and even then… even then he couldn’t quite keep himself from being impatient with Tyson.

That day had been a perfect example of that.

History class dragged on, the kind of heavy silence that made the clock feel broken, when the door suddenly opened with a noise far too loud. Percy didn’t look right away—until he heard it.

“Percy!”

He froze.

Turned slowly, already knowing.

Tyson was practically filling the doorway, holding a crumpled paper bag with far too much pride on his face.

“I brought your lunch,” he said, as if this were completely normal, walking into the room under the gaze of twenty students who had now completely given up on pretending to pay attention. “You forgot it. Your mom said you get cranky when you’re hungry.”

A few snickers broke out. Percy felt the heat crawl up his neck.

“Tyson,” he whispered, trying desperately to keep this as discreet as possible—which was clearly not working—“you could’ve waited until later.”

“But you need to eat now,” Tyson insisted, already opening the bag. “I made the sandwich. I cut it into fish shapes. She said you like fish.”

The laughter got louder.

Percy closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before grabbing the bag—almost snatching it out of Tyson’s hands.

“Thanks, dude. Really. You can go now.”

“Don’t you want a good luck hug for your test?”

“No—”

Too late.

Tyson was already hugging him, too tight, lifting Percy slightly out of his chair while someone in the back made a very unfortunate comment that only made everything worse. When Tyson finally let go and left, satisfied with his good deed, Percy sank into his chair and stared at his notebook without actually seeing anything, wishing—for the first time that day—that he could just be invisible.

The teacher stammered awkwardly before resuming the lesson.

And now, finally, after a day full of embarrassment, Percy was alone.

He sat on the fire escape outside his room, his back against the wall, legs stretched out over the metal still warm from the sun. The distant noise of the city filled the space where the embarrassment had been. A notebook rested on his knee, and the pencil moved almost effortlessly between his fingers, like drawing was the only thing that still made sense that day. He really liked drawing.

Percy started with Grover.

The lines came easily—familiar. The curly hair, not unlike his own, the shape of his face, that expression that was a little too kind for everything they had been through together, the proud horns. Percy pressed the pencil a little harder as he traced the smile, as if somehow he could hold onto it that way. He missed him. The constant company, the conversations, even the over-the-top worrying. Grover had always been there—even at school, despite being a full-grown adult who didn’t need to be there at all. Now, Grover was somewhere else, chasing something bigger, on a mission—searching for Pan like he had always dreamed. Far from school, far from Percy.

Percy exhaled slowly.

Turned the page.

And then there was her.

Annabeth.

It was already almost a complete drawing of her, and the familiarity of it made him hesitate for just a second, the pencil hovering over the page as if it needed permission. But when it touched down, there was no difficulty at all. It was easy. It always was. Like he already knew it by heart.

The outline of her face needed shading.

Her focused gaze needed detail in the irises.

That expression that always seemed one step ahead of everything.

He paused for a moment, looking at the not-quite-perfect drawing, and the feeling came with an almost irritating clarity.

He missed her.

If she were here, she’d probably have something to say about the awful day he’d had—not in a soft way, not in a comforting way, never like that. But in a way that made sense. That put things in place, especially after he had felt like the stupidest kid in the entire school.

“You’re not just a kid.”

He could almost hear her saying it.

Percy smiled faintly, barely noticing it himself, and looked back down at the notebook. He liked that about her. Liked how she could be kind even when she didn’t seem like she was trying to be. Or maybe especially when she was.

The pencil returned to the page, carefully tracing one of her braids, following the line with quiet focus, as if it required more concentration than it actually did. The sunlight filtered between the buildings and fell directly over the page, lighting the lines, warming his fingertips.

And then—

A loud bang against the window.

Percy startled, the sudden movement knocking the pencil out of his hand before he could react. He tried to catch it, too fast, purely on instinct—but missed, and the pencil bounced once, twice against the metal of the fire escape before disappearing over the edge, falling all the way down.

He stared after it for a second in silence, then let out a breath through his nose.

“Of course.”

He brought a hand up to his temple, rubbing slowly, already feeling that familiar spark of impatience building—and at the same time, trying to hold it back.

Because he already knew who it was.

And he was trying. Really trying. To be patient.

On the other side of the glass, Tyson appeared, practically pressed against the window, his single large eye wide as he followed the pencil’s fall with almost comical intensity, as if there were still a chance it might come back up on its own. He opened the window with far too much care for someone his size and leaned halfway out, looking at Percy with immediate guilt written all over his face.

“Sorry, Percy.”

Percy let out a slow breath, his hand still at his temple, his eyes closing for a second longer than necessary, like he was counting to a very specific number in his head. When he opened them again, he gave a small shake of his head.

“It’s okay, Tyson,” he said, even though it really wasn’t. Not even a little. That had been his last good pencil for shading, and he did not want to think about going down several flights just to retrieve something that was probably already broken inside. “It happens.”

Tyson hesitated for a moment, as if he were deciding whether he had permission to come closer, and then climbed out the window with an awkward kind of care, settling beside Percy on the rusty fire escape. The metal creaked under the extra weight, protesting, but held. Tyson crossed his legs in a strange way, trying to take up less space than he actually did, and stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if he were respecting something Percy hadn’t said out loud.

Then he tilted his head, curious, his gaze dropping to the notebook still open on Percy’s knee.

“Who is she?”

Percy reacted too quickly.

“No one.” The word came out automatically, almost defensive, and he frowned immediately after, correcting himself just as fast, like he needed to fix it before it turned into something real. “No—I mean, not no one, it’s just… a friend.”

Tyson blinked, taking that in with his usual simple attentiveness.

“Is she from that… camp?” he asked, the last word quieter, like it was some kind of secret.

Percy swallowed, his eyes slipping away from the notebook for a second before returning. He nodded, reluctantly.

“Yeah.”

Tyson studied the drawing a little longer, leaning in with genuine interest, no trace of anything else, as if he were analyzing something important.

“She looks pretty.”

Percy didn’t answer right away. He looked away instead, toward the horizon, the buildings, anything that wasn’t the notebook, and gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks—and it had nothing to do with the sunlight on his skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

Yes, she was pretty. But he didn’t want Tyson to notice that. Or anyone, really. And that was just a drawing—one that probably didn’t even do justice to how she actually looked.

The silence stretched for a moment, comfortable enough not to be awkward, until Tyson shifted his large hands in his lap, restless, like he was gathering the courage to say something.

“Sally explained some things to me about… showing affection and… well, I’m sorry about what happened at school,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Percy opened his mouth, ready to cut him off, already tired of the conversation before it had even begun. “Tyson, you don’t have to—”

“I know you don’t like me very much,” Tyson went on, words tumbling over each other with an honesty Percy hadn’t asked for—and didn’t really want to hear—but that still made him stop and listen, a flicker of guilt settling in. “Because I know I always make you embarrassed. I don’t want to do that, but I still don’t…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “fit in right.”

Percy let out a long breath through his nose, his fingers tapping lightly against the notebook. If this was a test of patience, he was dangerously close to failing—but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he did feel a little guilty hearing Tyson say that.

“And I think…” Tyson continued, now looking down at his hands, “if you had a little more patience with me… maybe we could be real friends. Like you are with that pretty girl from camp.”

Percy made a face immediately, almost automatically, turning his head away from Tyson, hiding the instinctive discomfort at the very idea of being Tyson’s friend the same way he was Annabeth’s friend.

No.

Definitely not.

They couldn’t be friends like he was with Annabeth.

They fell into silence after that, sitting side by side on that fire escape that felt far too small for Tyson, creaking softly every time he shifted even an inch. The air was still warm, the sun dipping between the buildings, painting everything in a softer gold, and for a moment neither of them spoke—not because there was nothing to say, but because it felt like every word had to be chosen carefully in the middle of that raw, honest conversation.

Percy let out a long sigh, the kind that comes straight from the chest, and pulled the notebook closer, settling it better on his lap. His thumb brushed absently over the drawing, tracing the line of the braid he had just finished, like it helped him sort through his thoughts.

“Annabeth and I didn’t get along at first,” he began, not looking at Tyson, his voice quieter now, more distant. “She was sharp, always giving me a hard time, and she was… impatient.” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, like the memory was both irritating and good at the same time. “I knew she treated me like that because I was different. And I didn’t know anything about our world compared to her—even though the quest was on both of us, and especially on me—I was being accused of a crime I didn’t commit, and there was a whole war about to break out.”

Tyson didn’t interrupt. He just listened, completely focused, as if every word mattered.

“So one day, in the middle of that quest we were on together,” Percy continued, taking a breath before going on, “I asked her about someone else who was like me, but that she actually loved. Just to understand what the difference was between me and that person.” He ran his finger over the paper again, thoughtful. “And Annabeth told me that this person taught her that to earn someone’s care… you have to deserve it.”

The silence returned, but different now—heavier, filled with something unnamed.

Tyson took a moment before speaking again, as if he were carefully putting the question together in his head the same way he built his inventions.

“Is that why you’re hesitant with me?” he asked, his voice still soft, but more uncertain now. “Do I have to deserve your care?”

Percy let out a small, sideways smile, almost humorless, but not quite sad.

“That’s exactly what I asked her.” He swallowed before continuing. “And she said yes.”

The words lingered between them for a moment, heavier than Percy expected. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at some distant point that wasn’t really anything.

“I think… I’ve been doing that with you without realizing it, Tyson,” he admitted, quieter now, more honest than he had planned to be. “You’re not Annabeth. Or Grover. And they’re… my only friends in this world.” He exhaled slowly. “It’s weird that someone else could be too. And… that kind of scares me.” A pause. “And I’d never met a Cyclops before—and suddenly, you were just… here. In my house.”

The metal creaked softly when Tyson shifted, but he didn’t say anything right away. They just sat there, both looking out at the horizon, like the city might have answers neither of them was ready to say out loud.

Tyson was the one who broke the silence again.

“And did you?”

Percy frowned slightly, turning his head.

“What?”

“Earn her care?”

And this time, the smile was different.

Percy looked back at the notebook, at the drawing—but he wasn’t really seeing just that anymore. He was seeing the tight hug when he came back to camp, still half in shock, still trying to process everything after facing Zeus. He was seeing Annabeth stepping in front of him without hesitation, standing up to her own brother like it wasn’t even a difficult choice—like Percy was worth that. Like he had always been.

He let out a quiet breath of a laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I like to think I did.”

“And me? Will I be able to earn your care?”

Percy sighed, wet his lips, and smiled—finally reaching a bit of that quiet patience he had been trying to hold onto earlier.

He gave the Cyclops a light pat on the shoulder and said, feeling something he imagined Annabeth must have felt in that same kind of moment:

“You will, big guy… you will.”

2.

The key turned in the lock with a familiar click, and the door opened right after. Percy didn’t even need to look to know it was Sally. There was something in the way she came in, in the lightness of her steps, in the almost imperceptible sigh after a long day. He knew his mother by the sound of her breathing.

He was in the kitchen—or rather, trying to cook. The wooden spoon moved around the pot with a certain hesitation, like he didn’t fully trust what he was doing, and for good reason. It didn’t smell bad, but it wasn’t exactly a guaranteed success either.

“Hey, mom,” he said, stirring the contents with a bit more attention than before.

Sally appeared in the doorway, setting her bag down on a chair before walking in. The smile came easily when she saw them. Percy far too focused for someone who clearly didn’t know what he was doing, and Tyson sitting at the table, surrounded by pieces, screws, and something that definitely shouldn’t have been taken apart like that.

“Hi, baby,” she replied, leaning in to kiss Percy’s cheek, and he smiled back. Then she ran a hand through Tyson’s hair and kissed the top of his head with the same ease.

“Hi, Sally,” Tyson said, not looking up from his contraption, tightening something with exaggerated care.

Percy stirred the pot again, as if it really mattered, before glancing at his mom from the side. “How was the class?”

Sally let out a light sigh, the satisfied kind.

“It was great,” she said, and there was something in her tone… lighter, maybe, more… animated.

Percy shot her a quick look, frowning slightly. For a second, he could swear he saw her blush. Very subtle, almost nothing—but still… He looked away immediately.

Probably just his imagination.

“That’s good,” he murmured, turning his attention back to the pot like he was completely focused on it.

Sally started tidying up a few things around the kitchen, slipping off her shoes, adjusting the strap of her bag with an automatic motion, until she added, like she’d just remembered something simple, “Oh, I stopped by the mailbox.”

Percy hummed distractedly.

“And you got a letter from Washington. From Annabeth.”

He turned his head so fast it was honestly a miracle his neck didn’t snap.

“What?!”

The wooden spoon was forgotten in the pot as he crossed the kitchen in two long strides, stopping by the table where Sally had just set the mail down. He grabbed the envelope almost instantly, recognizing the handwriting before he even had time to think.

“Percy—” Sally started, a clear hint of amusement in her voice, gesturing toward the stove with her chin. “And the dinner?”

“I’ll be right back, mom.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just left, almost running to his room, closing the door behind him with more care than his urgency suggested he would.

The room looked like it always did: a chaotic mess that, in that moment, felt completely irrelevant. Percy switched on the desk lamp, illuminating the clutter: a dirty plate, an abandoned glass, scattered papers, a notebook left open at an odd angle.

None of it mattered.

He dropped into the chair, already holding the envelope, his fingers restless, his heart beating a little faster than it should. He ran his thumb along the edge, like it was some kind of ritual to keep his anticipation in check, then leaned forward, ready to tear it open.

The paper gave way faster than carefully, his fingers already searching for what was inside before he had even fully opened it. Two things slipped out: first a photo, then a neatly folded piece of paper with almost irritating precision.

Percy picked up the photo first.

And then stopped, his urgency to read the letter momentarily forgotten.

It was Annabeth.

She stood in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington. The background was imposing—all that white marble, columns, history—the kind of place that probably made her eyes light up before she even got close, even if the photo itself was a little dark, likely because of the analog camera she must have used. But that wasn’t what held Percy’s attention.

It was the smile.

Wide. Ear to ear. Rare.

He had seen that smile before. Only a handful of times, in specific moments, usually after something had gone right when everything suggested it wouldn’t. He remembered it most clearly when they said goodbye last summer, when she told him she’d finally get to see her dad.

She was wearing an orange jacket, a slightly duller shade than the Camp Half-Blood shirt, and her braids… were loose. Completely. Her hair fell freely over her shoulders, different from usual, different even from the last time he had seen it like that—in the Tunnel of Love, when everything had come undone because of the water, messy, improvised.

But here, it wasn’t.

Here, it looked intentional.

She looked… beautiful.

Really beautiful.

Percy swallowed, his eyes lingering a second longer than they should on the photo, taking in every detail: the way she stood, the brightness in her eyes, the way she pointed toward the monument, the slight tilt of her head like she was about to start explaining something he probably wouldn’t fully understand, but would listen to anyway.

He wished he could see her like that in person.

Smiling like that. Light. Without worries. Talking endlessly about historical monuments with that specific kind of enthusiasm only she had.

A small smile appeared on his face, softer this time, and he brushed his thumb lightly over the image, almost like he was tracing the outline of her face. Secretly, he wished he could do that for real someday.

Wow. Where did this come from?

He tries to push those thoughts away and, carefully—more carefully than anything else in that room—he set the photo aside on the desk.

And picked up the letter.

He unfolded it, already recognizing her handwriting before even focusing on the words, and started reading.

“Dear Percy,

I am trying—really trying—to behave like a normal kid. Which, apparently, involves traveling with family, visiting tourist attractions, and not fighting monsters for at least a few consecutive days (I think I’ve been lucky). So yes, I’m still getting used to the concept.

That being said, I think the most interesting thing I’ve done so far has been visiting historical monuments. (I know, you’re probably not surprised.) But it was… good. Better than I expected. There’s something about being in those places, understanding how they were built, what they represent… Did you know some of them are sanctuaries dedicated to Athena?

Well, of course you know, you almost died in one of them, even if that’s not exactly my favorite memory to revisit.

Anyway, the Lincoln Memorial has been my favorite place so far. The proportions of the columns, the symmetry, the symbolism… I could spend hours there (and technically, I did).

That’s where the photo I sent with this letter was taken.

And yes, my stepmother took it.

Yes. My stepmother. I wasn’t sure if I should send it to you, to be honest. But it turned out… good. Strangely good. I mean, I liked the way she captured the monument. So I thought maybe you would too (don’t make this weird.)

And yes, I managed to ignore the fact that I’m traveling with her and my half-brothers long enough to actually enjoy the place. Which, considering the circumstances, counts as a win for someone trying to be a normal kid.

But… even traveling, even seeing new things, nothing compares to what we went through last summer.

I thought it would — especially the way you tried to cheer me up — but it doesn’t.

It’s strange not having you or Grover around to point out obvious things or to hear questions I have to answer with all the patience in the world while it feels like, deep down, you’re just waiting for me to make fun of you.

And… well, I miss that.

I miss you.

Not a lot.

Just… enough.

Don’t let it get to your head, Percy Jackson. It’s a healthy amount of missing you and nothing more.

If you want, we can try an Iris message one of these days. I’ll probably be home next week. Just don’t pick a ridiculous time.

— Annabeth”

Percy stared at the letter for a moment after finishing, as if the words were still shifting on the page.

A slow smile spread across his face—the kind that starts small and grows before you even notice. He reread one line, then another, like he needed to make sure it was really there—that she had written it, that she had thought about him, that she had actually missed him.

Carefully, he folded the paper again, aligning the edges the way Annabeth would, and set the letter aside for a moment. He opened the messy drawer of his desk, rummaging through loose papers, uncapped pens, and things he didn’t even remember owning until he found a roll of white tape with little black dots.

He picked up the photo.

Looked at it one more time (just one second longer) the smile, the loose hair, that lightness that seemed so rare, before standing up.

The mirror beside his desk was the same as always, slightly smudged in the corners, the kind of thing he used every day before school more out of habit than anything else. Percy tore off a piece of tape with his teeth, placed the photo in the top left corner, and pressed it carefully, running his fingers along the edges to make sure it held.

He took a step back.

Now it was there. And he could see her every day.

Genius, right?

He was still looking when there was a knock on the door, two quick taps, before it opened.

“Percy, Sally finished dinner.”

It was Tyson.

Percy nodded, but didn’t answer right away, his eyes still fixed on the reflection or rather, on the photo stuck to it.

Tyson stepped further into the room, curious as always, and approached slowly, following Percy’s gaze until he stopped beside him. “Is that Annabeth?”

Percy smiled, small and automatic. “Yeah. It is.”

Tyson tilted his head slightly, studying the photo with genuine attention, like he was trying to understand something beyond the obvious. “Oh…” He stayed quiet for a moment, looking. “She’s really pretty,” he said, simple and direct. “Like the drawing, but more… real.”

Percy felt his ears heat up instantly.

“O-okay…” he muttered, not entirely sure what to do with that coming from Tyson.

Tyson kept looking, completely unaware of the effect he was having.

“Will I get to meet her someday? She must be even prettier in person.”

Percy’s eyes widened.

The heat rose fully now, no subtlety left, and he turned to Tyson too quickly, something sharp flickering in his chest—something between discomfort, defensiveness… and a small, very small, but still real hint of jealousy.

“You came to get me for dinner, right?” he said, a little sharper than he meant to.

Tyson blinked, as if being pulled back to his original purpose. “Oh. Yes, I did.”

“Then let’s go.”

Percy was already moving before he finished the sentence, placing a hand on Tyson’s back and starting to push him out of the room with an urgency disguised as normalcy. Tyson went without resisting, letting himself be guided easily.

And Percy went with him.

That way, Tyson wouldn’t keep looking at the photo.

Or making more comments about how pretty Annabeth was. Percy already knew that—he didn’t need other boys pointing it out in front of him.

He avoided talking to Tyson until he went to sleep.

3.

“I need you to pay very close attention.” Percy paused dramatically, holding Tyson’s gaze like this was a life-or-death decision. “This one or this one?”

Tyson, with his single large eye, shifted his gaze between the two pictures in his hands. Slowly, with almost admirable concentration.

“Hm…” He thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly as he compared them. “I already said they look the same, Percy.”

Percy let out a frustrated groan, dragging both hands down his face before pointing insistently at one of the photos.

“No, big guy, you’re wrong! This one has lighting more to the right! Look—” he tilted the photo, as if the angle would prove his point. “See? It’s different.”

Tyson looked.

And kept looking. And looking…

Then blinked, very serious.

“They still look the same.”

The photos in Tyson’s hands were held up against the light so he could see better, so he could be absolutely sure whether there was any difference between them.

They were pictures of Percy.

In the first one, Percy was leaning against the railing of the fire escape, trying to look casual in a way that clearly meant he had spent time thinking about the pose. His arms were crossed, but a little awkwardly, like he had decided that halfway through the shot. His hair was… acceptable, which was already a win, and his expression was somewhere between “normal” and “I’m not trying to look cool,” which, of course, only made it seem like he was trying to look cool.

In the second, he was also leaning against the fire escape railing, but slightly tilted forward, like he had shifted position—though he hadn’t, not really. It just looked more natural. The sunlight hit the side of his face, creating a softer contrast, and somehow—miraculously—the angle worked in his favor. Or at least Percy thought it did.

He had taken those photos the night before.

A lot of photos, actually.

Way more than he would ever admit.

Annabeth’s photo was… too good. Too beautiful. He couldn’t just send anything back, like he didn’t care. Not that he could magically take a perfect picture—because, let’s be honest, that wasn’t something that happened to Percy—but he could try. He could at least make an effort.

And that was why he had asked Tyson.

Because Tyson was an inventor. And inventors had a good… eye.

“Okay, look again,” Percy insisted, taking the photos back and placing them side by side, practically pressing one against the other. “This one—” he pointed, “—or this one.”

Tyson leaned in, bringing his face closer with complete seriousness.

One second.

Two.

Three.

“This one,” he finally said, pointing at one. The one where Percy looked more natural.

Percy took the chosen photo with a satisfied nod.

“Good. Great. Excellent choice,” he said, already sounding lighter, almost relieved. “Thanks, Tyson.”

But then he looked again.

Tilted his head.

Frowned thoughtfully.

“Hmm…” he muttered. “I don’t know. Let me see the other one again.”

Tyson pulled the other photo slightly back before Percy could grab it. “If you keep comparing, you’ll never decide!”

Percy opened his mouth to argue.

Closed it. Then sighed.

“Okay,” he gave in, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. You’re right.” He took the chosen photo back, now decided—or at least decided enough. “Thanks, Tyson.”

Tyson smiled, satisfied.

Percy turned and left the room, heading straight for his bedroom, the photo still in his hand. As soon as he walked in, his gaze went automatically to the mirror, to the top left corner, where Annabeth’s photo was taped.

He paused for a second and stepped closer. Without thinking, Percy pressed lightly along the edges of the tape, like he needed to make sure it was still there, still secure.

Then he glanced down at his own photo, just to compare.

Well… it wasn’t a total disaster. Annabeth wasn’t mean, you know? She wouldn’t say anything if she didn’t like it.

Percy pulled out the chair, sat down, and placed the photo on the desk beside a blank sheet of paper. He took a deep breath and grabbed a pen, ready to write his reply.

Half an hour later, four crumpled balls of paper were scattered across the floor around his chair, silent witnesses to failed attempts. Percy leaned his elbow on the desk, spinning the pen between his fingers while staring at the new blank page like it was somehow responsible for the problem.

He had already started three times, and none of them worked.

The first one was too formal. The second… weird. The third he couldn’t even explain. It just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him.

God, it was just Annabeth! What was wrong with him?!

Percy exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back for a second, eyes closing. Across the room, Annabeth’s photo on the mirror seemed to be watching him, silently judging every failed attempt.

“Okay,” he muttered, mostly to himself, leaning forward again. “Don’t overthink it.”

The tip of the pen touched the paper.

And this time, the words came.

“Dear Annabeth,

You sent me a nice photo. Like, really nice.

The Lincoln Memorial looks amazing. I’d love to see it someday. Maybe with you, since I know you’d explain everything better than any tour guide. Just… preferably not in the middle of a quest or with some monster trying to eat us. I think that would improve the experience a lot.

School is still… well, school. Nothing very different. But I kind of like it. It’s weird, but it’s nice to have days that are just days, without everything trying to go wrong all the time.

I’m sending you a photo of me so we’re even.

It’s not some important monument or tourist spot, but it’s the fire escape outside my room. I think it’s my favorite place in the apartment. It’s where I can breathe a little. My mom took the picture, so if it’s good enough for you, she deserves the credit.

I’d really like to try an Iris message with you too, Annabeth. So we can see each other. But right now I don’t have any drachmas to pay the fare, which has never seemed like a problem in my life before, but now it’s extremely inconvenient. Still, the idea stands, of course. As soon as I get a coin, I’ll reach out.

Anyway, keep writing. Please.

I… like getting your letters.”

He paused for a second, the pen still touching the paper.

Swallowed, then finished, hoping the last line didn’t ruin everything:

“I miss you too, Annabeth.”

— Percy”

Percy stared at the letter for a moment after finishing, as if mentally reviewing every word, even though he was sure he wouldn’t crumple this one.

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

It was… enough.

He grabbed an envelope from the drawer beside the desk, folded the paper carefully, and slipped it inside along with the photo. He sealed it with a bit of saliva, pressing the edges together.

He hoped Annabeth would like the letter. And the photo.

Even though, if he were honest, what he wanted most was another letter from her.

Even if he hadn’t sent his reply yet.

Details.

4.

The living room table was covered in open notebooks, loose sheets, and scattered pencils, like a small battle had taken place there—and, in a way, it had. Percy was hunched over his math notebook, staring at the problem like it was personally responsible for ruining his night.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face and leaving a faint smudge of graphite on his cheek. “None. Zero sense.”

Next to him, Tyson worked on his own homework with impressive focus, the oversized pencil looking tiny in his large hand as he wrote slowly, with almost surgical care. “Maybe it makes sense,” Tyson said without looking up, “just not to you.”

Percy turned his head slowly. “Wow. Thanks for the moral support.”

Tyson shrugged, still writing.

Percy went back to his notebook, gripping the pencil tighter than necessary, like he could intimidate the numbers into cooperating.

“If Annabeth were here, she would’ve solved this in, like… two seconds,” he said, more to himself than to Tyson, the frustration slipping out easily. At this point, he was clearly suffering from some kind of condition where he apparently couldn’t go a day without saying Annabeth’s name. It was strange—but somehow even stranger when he didn’t, especially as the months went by and he missed her more and more.

Tyson looked up this time. “The pretty girl from camp?”

Percy froze for half a second.

“Yes—and she has a name,” he replied automatically, a little sharper than he meant to, but unable to stop himself. “It’s Annabeth.”

“Right, Annabeth,” Tyson repeated, like he was committing it to memory. “Does she like math?”

Percy let out a short, humorless laugh.

“She likes anything that involves thinking too much. So… yeah.”

He spun the pencil between his fingers, looking back at the problem like maybe—just maybe—it would magically make sense now that he had said it out loud.

It didn’t.

“She’d say this is easy,” Percy continued, quieter now, almost thinking out loud. “She’d explain it to me, and then probably get annoyed because I didn’t get it the first time.”

“But you would understand,” Tyson said simply. “With her.”

“Yeah,” Percy murmured. “I would.”

Silence settled again for a moment, broken only by the sound of Tyson’s pencil on paper and Percy flipping the page a little harder than necessary.

“You talk about her a lot,” Tyson commented, without any malice.

Percy sighed, dropping the pencil onto the table for a second before picking it up again. “I don’t talk about her that much.”

Tyson didn’t reply.

Which, somehow, felt like an answer.

“Annabeth knows a lot about math,” Percy added after a brief silence, still staring at the notebook like he was trying to summon her knowledge from a distance. “She loves architecture, so everything kind of… connects. Numbers, proportion, structure… stuff like that.”

Tyson nodded slowly, taking that in. “And she builds things? Like… me?”

“She will,” Percy corrected without thinking, with almost absolute certainty. “I mean, I’m sure of it. She already thinks like someone who builds.” He paused, resting his chin in his hand, the pencil tapping lightly against the table. “She’d look at this,” he pointed at the equation, “and see some hidden pattern no one else noticed. And then she’d explain it like it was obvious.”

Tyson looked at the problem.

“I don’t see a pattern.”

“Me neither,” Percy replied almost immediately, earning a half-smile from himself.

That was when the sound of the door opening echoed through the apartment.

Sally appeared in the room, carrying that same calm presence as always, holding a few letters in her hand. Her gaze moved between the two of them—Percy leaning too far over his notebook, Tyson focused—and a small, satisfied smile appeared.

“I stopped by the mailbox,” she said, almost sing-song.

Percy didn’t look up right away. “Anything for me?” he asked, already a little too eager.

Sally walked closer to the table.

And then held out an envelope.

Percy saw the name—and this time, there was nothing subtle about it.

His face lit up instantly, his body moving too fast as he reached for it—but Sally was faster. She pulled the envelope back with an easy motion, raising an eyebrow, her smile now clearly amused.

“Only after you finish your homework.”

Percy froze, his hand still in the air.

“But mom—”

“Percy.”

He huffed, suddenly more motivated than ever to finish his homework.

5.

The walk back from school had that same familiar feel—too many people, too many cars, the constant noise of the city filling every space—but even so, there was something comforting in the repetition. Percy walked with his backpack slung over one shoulder, occasionally kicking a loose pebble along the pavement, while Tyson walked beside him with heavier steps, trying—but not very successfully—to look discreet with a cap pulled low over his head, as if that would make any difference considering how hard the Mist already worked to hide him from mortals.

They were passing by a small shop, the kind with a window cluttered with random objects, when something caught Tyson’s attention. A sharp click, followed by a light laugh.

He turned his head automatically.

A couple stood near the window. The boy held a Polaroid camera, watching the image slowly develop on the paper while he shook it lightly, as if that would help. The girl leaned in, eager, practically bouncing in place until he finally handed it to her.

She looked at it and broke into a huge smile. The kind that seemed too big to fit on her face.

Without thinking, she cupped his face with both hands and pulled him into a quick, direct kiss, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tyson stopped for half a second.

Blinking.

And then, very slowly, he blushed.

The color rose across his face with almost impressive ease, and he looked away too quickly, clearing his throat as if he needed to recover before continuing to walk.

Percy hadn’t noticed.

Not yet.

“Percy…” Tyson called after a few steps.

“Hmm?” Percy answered, distracted, not taking his eyes off the path ahead.

Tyson hesitated for a moment, like he was putting the question together. “Is Annabeth your girlfriend?”

Percy nearly tripped.

His foot caught on his own step, his body pitching forward in a very undignified way, and he let out a small choking sound before Tyson’s arm caught him by the shoulder, steady enough to keep him from face-planting into the less-than-appealing New York sidewalk.

They stopped.

Right in the middle of the flow of people.

Percy stayed there for a second, trying to regain his balance—and, more importantly, control over his face, which was not going well. His ears burned, heat rising way too fast as he turned to stare at Tyson with wide eyes, like he had just heard the most absurd thing imaginable.

“No!” he blurted, way too fast, stumbling—ironically—over his own words. “What— w-why would you think that?”

Tyson shrugged, completely calm, like he was just pointing out a logical conclusion.

“Well… you send pictures to each other,” he began, counting on his fingers with full seriousness. “And you write letters. You talk about her all the time and look at her picture all the time…” He tilted his head, studying Percy closely. “And your face gets weird.”

Percy opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“I thought…” Tyson finished, innocent.

“No,” Percy cut in, firm, almost too fast, turning his head away before the sentence could even finish and resuming his walk like that would fix everything.

It didn’t.

Tyson fell back into step beside him without pressing further right away, but the silence that followed was… strange. Subtly heavy, like something had been placed between them and neither of them quite knew what to do with it.

Percy kept his eyes fixed ahead, walking a little faster now, his hands tightening around the straps of his backpack as he tried—and failed—to ignore the lingering heat on his face. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, restless, letting out a quiet sigh that didn’t help at all.

Tyson, on the other hand, looked… thoughtful.

Which was never a good sign.

A few steps later, he cleared his throat again. “Well,” he started, breaking the silence with the same ease as always, as if he hadn’t just caused a minor emotional collapse in Percy, “if you’re not her boyfriend…” Percy was already tense before the question even ended. “…does she have another one?”

Percy didn’t answer right away.

The question lingered between them as they kept walking, the noise of the street filling the space that had been conversation. He frowned slightly, like he was actually thinking—and he was.

“Well…” he began, slower this time. “I don’t think so.” He shrugged, trying to sound casual, even if his voice didn’t quite cooperate. “She never mentioned having a boyfriend…” He swallowed, his gaze still fixed ahead. “And I don’t think she’d just show up dating someone… like that.”

Tyson tilted his head, considering.

“But she’s pretty.”

Percy let out a short, automatic huff.

“Yes, Tyson, I know she’s pretty. We’ve already talked about that.”

There was a slight edge of irritation there, and he didn’t even try to hide it. Every single time Tyson said that — every. single. time. — it poked at something Percy wasn’t too eager to examine.

He rubbed the back of his neck again, uncomfortable, and continued, “Her looks aren’t the point. I just think Annabeth is… demanding. And she should be.” He frowned, like he was trying to organize his thoughts. “Like, I can’t think of anyone in this world who’d be good enough for her, considering how… special she is.”

The word lingered, heavier than the rest.

Tyson stayed quiet for a few seconds, taking that in with his usual attentiveness. Then he nodded slowly. “You’re special too, Percy.”

Percy let out a small, sideways smile, more out of reflex than anything else.

“Yeah… thanks, big guy,” he murmured.

But Tyson didn’t seem done.

“I think you’d be good enough for her.”

Percy stopped walking for half a second.

He went pale. Like—visibly.

“W—what?” he turned his head too fast, clearly caught off guard. “No, I— that’s not what I meant.”

Tyson just smiled, calm, like he had already figured everything out without needing more explanation.

“I understand, Percy.”

A pause. A few more steps.

And then, as if he were simply finishing a logical thought:

“Well… you seem happy she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Percy shrugged and didn’t answer. He kept walking, eyes forward, his face still half flushed, half pale—a strange mix he wouldn’t have been able to explain even if he tried.

But somewhere, in a place Percy wasn’t quite ready to face yet, something flickered like an inconvenient truth:

Yeah. He was happy.

+1 

Tyson noticed it first.

It wasn’t exactly a sound, or even a clear image. It was more of a feeling. Like the air had changed texture for a brief moment, like something had slipped slightly out of place. The Mist formed suddenly in the middle of the street, in a way that felt too wrong to ignore—dense and out of place—and before he could fully understand what he was seeing, a taxi burst out of it as if it had been thrown forward.

Too fast. Too direct. And straight toward them.

Tyson didn’t think.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and in a single motion he grabbed Percy by the legs and hoisted him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing at all, stepping back quickly and positioning himself instinctively as a shield between Percy and whatever might come with it.

“Tyson—” Percy started, his voice muffled and indignant from the very uncomfortable position.

The taxi screeched to a stop a few meters away, the engine still vibrating as if it were just as confused as the rest of the situation. The silence that followed wasn’t calm—it was tense, heavy with something Tyson didn’t yet know how to name.

He narrowed his eye, focusing on the car, trying to understand. His grip stayed firm, his body ready to react to any strange movement.

“Gray… Sisters?” he read slowly from the side of the taxi, frowning. He had never heard of a company with that name, and it definitely didn’t seem normal. None of this seemed normal.

But Percy... Percy didn’t look surprised.

In fact, he tapped Tyson’s back a couple of times, already clearly impatient.

“Okay. Put me down, big guy,” he said, still slightly squished over Tyson’s shoulder.

Tyson didn’t obey.

Not yet.

Because the back door of the taxi opened on its own.

And there was no one there. Just… nothing.

No visible driver, no passenger—just an empty space, darker than it should have been, like it went deeper than it was supposed to. Tyson tightened his arm around Percy, taking another step back, instinct screaming that something was wrong.

Then the voice came.

“He said put him down.”

Female. Clear. Coming from nowhere—or worse, from a place that hadn’t existed seconds before.

Tyson froze.

The “nothing” moved.

And stopped being nothing.

A girl appeared right in front of them, as if she had simply stepped through an invisible layer of the world. She pulled off her cap in one quick motion, revealing her face, sharp and alert eyes, and with practiced ease, a dagger appeared in her hand, pointed straight at Tyson.

He stepped back again, more instinctively now, raising his free arm in defense while still holding Percy securely with the other. His entire body was tense, ready to protect, to react, to fight even without knowing exactly what he was facing.

“Annabeth? What are you…” Percy said, still upside down, his voice full of surprise. Tyson clenched his jaw, focused on her, tracking every small movement, ready to move if he had to. “Whoa, Tyson! Both of you, stop!” Percy practically shouted, shifting enough to force both of their attention.

The girl, Annabeth, shifted her gaze from Tyson to Percy, narrowing her eyes with a mix of confusion and recognition.

“Wait a minute,” she said, the dagger still firm in her hand. “You know this Cyclops?”

Percy nodded quickly, almost urgently.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice steadier now, though still rushed. “Put me down.”

Tyson didn’t move right away.

His eyes stayed on her.

Looking more closely now.

The hair.

The look. 

The posture.

Something started to click slowly, like pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was putting together. One memory pulled another—the drawing in the notebook, the photo on the mirror, the words Percy had repeated over the past weeks.

The pretty girl from camp.

Recognition came gradually—but when it did, it was complete.

His body relaxed just a little, enough that he no longer looked ready to attack at any second, and a smile began to form on his lips—genuine, almost satisfied.

It was her.

Tyson hesitated just one more second before finally obeying, lowering Percy carefully until his feet touched the ground. As soon as he was steady, Percy adjusted himself and took a breath, but Tyson wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.

She really was prettier in person.

It wasn’t just her appearance—though yes, she was very pretty—but there was something in the way she carried herself, steady, alert, like she was ready to react to anything. Her gaze was still sharp, her posture tense, the dagger firm in her hand like she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she needed to protect Percy. And, for some reason, that made Tyson like her even more. She seemed exactly like the kind of person who would protect Percy.

“You’re Annabeth,” Tyson said, his voice full of simple certainty, almost admiration.

Annabeth blinked, like she was putting the whole situation together at once. Her eyes flicked to Percy, then back to Tyson, and something shifted—recognition, maybe. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, and the dagger lowered slowly, still ready, but no longer pointed directly at him.

Tyson took the opportunity.

“Percy talks about you all the time,” he added, now clearly excited, his smile widening.

“Tyson—” Percy cut in quickly, his tone clearly warning, like he was trying to stop things from getting worse.

Tyson frowned, confused.

He didn’t see the problem, because, let's face it, it was true.

“You look at her picture all the time, right?” he added, genuinely, like he was just finishing the thought.

Percy seemed to short-circuit for a second.

His mouth opened, but no words came out right away, like he was trying to decide between denying it, explaining it, or just running away entirely. His face, already far from neutral, betrayed him even more, and before anything worse could happen, he stepped forward quickly, moving closer to Annabeth and pulling her attention away from what Tyson had just said.

They started talking fast, Percy clearly trying to regain some control of the situation while asking what she was doing there, saying he thought she was still with her dad, and Annabeth answering with the same energy, explaining or trying to.

Tyson stayed there for a moment, watching the interaction, quietly satisfied.

Then he was pulled back to reality when he realized they were already getting into the taxi.

The same strange taxi that had appeared out of nowhere.

He squeezed in after them, taking up far too much space on the already cramped back seat, trying not to bump into anything that might break—which was difficult, considering everything inside looked like it could fall apart at any second.

The ride began.

And with it, the conversation resumed—only now more chaotic.

At some point, the topic circled back to something Tyson vaguely recognized… and he quickly realized it might have something to do with what he had said earlier. Percy seemed noticeably comfortable when the three old women in the front seat suggested that he might be Annabeth’s boyfriend, which immediately made Annabeth panic, insisting she had never said anything like that. Then Percy became very obviously uncomfortable when those same women mentioned the possibility of Annabeth having “another boyfriend,” not hesitating to ask whether that “other boyfriend” actually existed.

Tyson tried to follow.

He really did.

But between the strange movement of the taxi, the overlapping voices, the speed, the chaos, and the fact that everything was happening way too fast, he ended up losing track.

And honestly… that was okay.

Tyson was going to camp.

With Percy.

And with the pretty girl from there.

Annabeth.