Chapter Text
Somewhere in Northern Italy, 2017
“Otto e cinquanta.” (Eight fifty.)
“Cosa? Giuro che la settimana scorsa costava sette euro.” (What? I swear it was seven euros last week.)
“Otto e cinquanta, signore.” (Eight fifty, sir.)
The man shot Percy a stink eye before giving in with a long, irritated sigh. He tossed the crumpled five-euro bill and a handful of coins reluctantly before snatching the pack of cigarettes.
Percy watched him leave, the door jingling as a faint trail of smoke and cheap alcohol lingered behind. He wrinkled his nose, then slid the cash into the register and shut it with a dull click.
He dropped back to his chair, letting his head rest against the wall. His eyes drifted lazily around the counter before settling on the clock.
One more hour until his shift ended.
Which, realistically, meant one more hour of mindless scrolling and pretending to look busy, because no one in their right mind came into a tiny corner store this late unless they were desperate or drunk, or both.
For reasons Percy didn’t quite understand, he’d assumed spending the summer in Italy would’ve offered a more peaceful period to his chaotic lifestyle. The paradise his mom had described with that dreamy look in her eyes. But, Sally had forgotten to mention in between that Percy would have to go out of his way to actually put effort into something he didn’t want to do: learn a language.
Percy was stuck picking up his half-forgotten Italian from high school just to survive basic conversations with customers. Turns out, nodding and smiling only got you so far when someone was passionately ranting about rising cigarette prices. All while Sally sunbathed under the luxury of the sky, soaking up the opulence of a European vacation like she’d stepped straight into a postcard.
Five years ago, while rummaging through old family treasures, Sally had uncovered a forgotten inheritance tucked away in the records. A small cottage in Lombardy, untouched for over twenty years. It felt like a miracle; it was a miracle. Like something out of a movie. Percy had been half-convinced it was divine intervention, like God had dropped it down as an apology for all the financial stress they’d dealt with.
Now, Sally had it turn into a full-blow plan: rent it out during the winter, live in it during the summer and earn an amount of money she’d never seen before.
And yet, Percy was still here— Behind a counter, waiting for time to pass.
It had been nearly four years since he started working at the store. Every summer, like clockwork, he’d bike down from the cottage to the small 24/7 supermarket tucked at the end of the street.
The place wasn’t much— half the shelves were uneven, employees showed up whenever they felt like it and the freezer made a noise so exasperating Percy had considered throwing it out the window to put it out of its misery. But somehow, it was adequate enough to function and keep the town going. Though, if a 7-Eleven ever decided to open nearby, this place wouldn’t last a week.
When Percy had first suggested a way to help his mom with college tuition, Sally had jumped right on the opportunity without question. He still couldn’t tell whether she genuinely supported the idea or if she just found a temporary solution to a getaway of a few quiet evenings without him accidentally setting something on fire or flooding the kitchen.
He couldn’t blame her— he was a no-good, clumsy college student who could barely do basic arithmetic for his life. No other job would fit him.
The mediocrity that being a cashier brought was perfect for a guy like him. Scan the barcode, bag the item, read the total appearing on the screen and don’t mess up the change. Simple. Nothing that required him to increase his IQ up a few numbers. It was probably the only job where his tendency to trip over absolutely nothing wasn’t considered a liability.
But, what Percy hadn’t signed up for was witty therapy sessions with his customers.
Sometimes, when customers entering the supermarket weren’t ordinary people looking to buy ice cream on a hot sunny day, Percy would hear the wildest stories from regular Italian citizens, and sometimes tourists.
They treated the counter like a confession booth. He’d heard everything— Breakups. Family drama. Wild conspiracy theories about pigeons being government spies. Once, a woman had spent fifteen minutes explaining how her cat “definitely understood French but refused to speak it out of spite.” And, due to his lack of advanced, argumentative Italian, he’d nodded through most of it, settling into the unfortunate role of a silent listener.
Percy was quick to learn that people really liked talking to someone who couldn’t walk away, no matter how much indifference he tried to project.
So no, he wasn’t looking forward to these shifts at all.
Percy sighed. His eyes fell to the glass door, expecting nothing but a rush of warm wind to pass by— but he paused.
A pair of blonde locks.
His brain short-circuited.
If only it weren’t for one specific person.
Sub-consciously, he blinked, frozen for a second too long before straightening upright in his chair. His hand rapidly dragged through his hair, attempting to tame his pile of brown curls without the help of a mirror. It was a useless effort, trying to look effortlessly put together when he clearly wasn’t, but it had become a ritual at this point.
Because she was here.
Annabeth. Annabeth Chase. In her own real, beautiful existence.
Percy could already feel the heat creeping up his neck. The lack of air conditioning suddenly felt personal, like the universe had decided to sabotage him at the worst possible moment.
She reached for the door, pushing it open.
And just like that, everything shifted.
It was stupid, really. Nothing about the store had changed— the flickering lights were still flickering, the freezer still sounded like it was dying a slow, painful death. But her presence glowed, illuminating like sunlight, flooding with golden beams.
The mundane, dull box Percy found himself trapped countless times suddenly became the only reason he continued this job. The only reason why he was looking forward to going every day, despite the routine and cycling through endless, bustling streets.
She stepped inside, and with her came the faint scent of coconut and sea salt, cutting through the stale mix of cigarettes and dust. Percy’s chest tightened without permission.
God, he’d missed this. He’d anticipated this all year. For her. The way she carried herself, like she knew exactly where she was going even when she didn’t. The way she made even this cramped, forgettable store feel like it mattered. Like he mattered.
Annabeth took a few steps forward. Percy’s eyes narrowed down to her face, matching her height. His fingers tapped nervously against the counter as she approached, his brain scrambling to remember how basic human interaction worked, thankfully not in Italian this time.
“Seaweed Brain,” she raised an eyebrow, arms crossing as a smile tugged at her lips. That nickname— the way she was the one who created it, and only she made it sound like something worth listening to. “My one and only handy supplier. Another summer with you, huh?”
Percy pursed his lips. They’d seen each other last summer, and the summer before, and the two summers before. Yet she always had the same exact reaction when they met: doe-eyed, a grin flashing across her lips like she was seeing him for the first time.
“You mean another summer with me being your local cashier and you as a regular customer?”
Annabeth laughed. Her laugh was the soundtrack of his summer. “Not just any cashier— a cashier that offers discounts? The best in all of northern Italy. Il meglio del meglio!” (Best of the best!)
Percy ducked his head with a smirk, hoping the warmth creeping up his ears wasn’t as obvious as it felt. He watched as Annabeth drifted toward the candy aisle, scanning the shelves with familiarity. But he already knew what she’d pick: the strawberry gummies, coated in sugar and filled to the brim with jam, with that weird hint of cream no one else ever seemed to like. She could eat those any day, any time, every year.
Every year, she got prettier, too. More ethereal. It wasn’t something as simple as appearance; that was just complimentary. Although Percy had never witnessed her child self, only ever meeting when they were both 17, he could spot the sense of maturity gathering in her form. The girl he met years ago had been brilliant, sure of herself in flashes. But now, she had grown into a sort of confidence that didn’t need to prove itself.
Not a few seconds passed before Annabeth returned, placing the strawberry candy packet on the counter.
Percy scoffed, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Those are in high demand, you know. Ever since you started the trend. Might have supply chain issues soon.”
Annabeth’s lips curved, just slightly.
Percy felt like his entire shift— his entire week —had just been decided in that one moment. Because yeah. Maybe the job sucked. But if it meant this, if it meant even a few minutes of her standing on the other side of the counter, he would take it over anything.
He scanned the item slower than necessary, buying himself a few extra seconds. “…So,” he managed, trying (and failing) to sound casual, “what brings you in tonight?”
Annabeth sighed, leaning her arms against the counter. “We arrived just a few days ago, and they’re throwing a welcome party by the bay. Connor’s having a blast, and I’m pretty sure Piper is already drunk enough to consider skydiving.” She paused as Percy chuckled. “And I got bored,” she added with a shrug. “So I figured I’d come down here to grab a snack instead.”
He tilted his head. “And how can I be sure that you’re not drunk?”
Annabeth’s expression dropped into mock offense, her brows knitting together. “I’m surprised you think I’m capable of such unthinkable behavior.”
“I have experience.”
“Which was only one time,” she ripped the candy packaging to grab a gummy. “Two, maybe three, maybe even five. I lost count, to be honest. Doesn’t matter— not enough to qualify you as an expert about me.”
Twenty-three times, Percy recalled. Across four summers, Annabeth had come to this exact store twenty-three nights past midnight; sometimes tipsy, sometimes fully drunk. She’d smile at him with her sheepish, drunken grin and rant about everything and nothing— about her parents, her friends, her life back in university, and even architecture at times. She seemed always a little disheveled from an outside view, but to Percy, she was always glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights like she didn’t belong there, like it was out of her league, and somehow made the place better anyway. So stunning and effervescent.
“Whatever you say,” he raised his shoulders lightly. “And what version of Annabeth Chase am I witnessing tonight? Or what version am I stuck with this summer?”
“The mundane, newly-settled, not-quite-ready-for-a-European-summer Annabeth is the current me,” she leaned further onto the counter. “And this summer…” Her eyes flickered, hesitation building up. “I might as well try to be a new Annabeth.”
Percy raised a brow. For an employee who barely remembered customers’ names, he’d somebody made a habit of categorizing Annabeth Chase’s summers. Year one, she was adventurous Annabeth, restless and curious, asking for recommendations and chasing experiences like she could outrun something. Year three, she’d been quiet Annabeth, after her tumultuous breakup with Luke. Less laughter, and more late-night visits. Percy had learned not to ask too many questions that summer.
New Annabeth was new.
“Interesting, should I be alarmed?”
“For sure,” Annabeth laughed. “College is almost over, and I’ve decided to start a new chapter of my life. Turn over a new leaf, fix a few things, including my temper and my body.” She spoke up before Percy could intervene. “But there’s just one thing holding me back.”
Percy smirked. “And that is?”
“I feel like you’re constantly holding me accountable every time I walk in here. I am deeply afraid that, y’know, one day the whole town’s going to know every bizarre story I've ever told in their local supermarket, thanks to its favorite employee.”
“I’d never expose you, Beth. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Even that one time I told you that I’d raid the community center and steal the harvested peaches?”
Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “I was the one who encouraged you.”
“You encouraged a thief, and yet, nobody knows who stole them to this day.” Annabeth crossed her arms. “You’re a thief too.”
He leaned forward slightly, mirroring her.
“That makes the two of us.” Percy said, his voice quieter.
Annabeth chuckled, her laughter sounding more like a squeal, like honey in the air.
For Percy, summer was an orchard of apricot and peach trees, the light breeze brushing through leaves that shimmered under the sun. The hum of the freezer in the corner supermarket and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. Ice cream cones melting on the pavement and cheap popsicle sticks abandoned in the sand. Diving into the river at dawn and pressing pause on everything above the surface. There was a timeless, worn polariod kind of beauty about this paradise, like his mom said, or about this dream, one he slept a little longer to linger in.
And Annabeth. Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth. Always reaching for her and never quite touching. Like trying to hold onto something made of fireworks.
Like an unrequited, eterna amore.
Annabeth narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. “Well, I should probably head back and check on Piper and the others. You know the fun isn’t really fun without me.”
Percy smiled. “You are the life of the party after all.”
“Esattamente.” (Exactly.) She pushed herself off the counter, her flip-flops scraping softly against the floor. Her arm dangled from the door handle as she looked back over at him.
Percy took her presence upon his pupils for the last time for the day and grinned sheepishly. “Enjoy the party, Beth,” he managed to mumble.
Annabeth laughed, pulling the door open. “When do I ever not enjoy a party, Perce?”
He scoffed at her response, shaking his head as she stepped out into the night— arms lifting as if embracing the wind fearlessly. Like a free spirit who was willing to roam in the darkest of streets, because it illuminated light around itself by its mere existence. The guiding anchor on everyone’s road.
Percy stood there, watching as her figure grew smaller down the street.
He was too dumbfounded to even realize she hadn’t paid for the gummies. Yeah. Definitely a thief.