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The night air is cooler than it should be for July, but Annabeth welcomes it.
It feels good, she thinks, and she closes her eyes as she steps out of her cabin, relishing the cool air on her face. It feels heavenly after a long day in the sweltering sun picking hundreds of strawberries with the Demeter kids. Annabeth found the experience quite miserable, and being paired with Percy for the whole time made it worse.
Don’t think about it, she tells herself now. Don’t think. Just go.
She forces herself to move and starts to make her way to just before the camp border. She scans the space in front of her, smiling when she gets to where Travis and Katie are bent close to each other, laughing. At least someone isn’t hating life right now.
As she moves closer, they turn, and Katie waves in the fading light. It’s nearly dark now, so it’s hard for Annabeth to make out her expression, but Katie doesn’t seem to be too put out from the fiasco that was today’s harvesting.
“Are you here to replace us?” she asks brightly, swinging her legs over the log and standing.
Annabeth nods. “Yeah,” she replies.
“Oh thank the gods,” Katie says, raising her arms above her head in a stretch. “Who’re you waiting on?”
“Clarisse,” Annabeth replies, and Travis winces.
“Good luck with that,” He tells her, and Annabeth rolls her eyes.
“Just because she scares you—”
“She doesn’t!” Travis interjects, and Katie lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“She scares pretty much everyone,” she says, and Travis sticks his tongue out at her, to which Katie gives him a playful shove before turning her attention back to Annabeth. “You seem to be doing better since the strawberries,” she says, and Annabeth gives her a wry grin.
“Thanks,” she replies.
“What?” Travis asks, evidently confused, and Annabeth sighs. Katie is the one to tell him.
“She was paired with Percy today for strawberry picking.”
Travis snorts. “Okay yeah, that makes sense,” and Annabeth’s face warms.
Ordinarily, being paired with Percy wouldn’t have been an issue; he's her best friend after all. But since last summer, things have been—not great, to say the least. So today, the entire ordeal of picking the strawberries was nothing but painful. They'd spent most of the day dancing around each other and bickering over pretty much everything.
And, unfortunately, the tension was thick enough that it bled into everyone else's experience too. Which, of course, made it an even more miserable affair all around. She feels bad about it now. How could she not? But at the time, all she’d been able to focus on was the knot in her chest and the heat crawling up the back of her neck every time Percy had looked at her. She’d only felt the resentment build at the expression of disappointment on his face that seemed to be there only when she locked eyes with him.
(He’s one to talk about “disappointment,” considering he’s been gone so much this year with Rachel, of all people. If anyone deserves to feel disappointed, it’s Annabeth.)
Annabeth pushes the thoughts away. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes, “Percy and I—” she cuts herself off and shrugs helplessly. A sympathetic expression forms on Katie’s face, and she waves her off.
“It’s alright, Annabeth,” she says. “I get it.”
She doesn’t, and they both know it, but Annabeth appreciates the sentiment all the same.
“We’d better get going,” Travis says. “Got a date with some s’mores,” he says, and Katie takes Travis’ hand, smiling softly. It sends a small stab of envy through her.
“We’ll see you,” she says earnestly, pulling Travis away.
“Good luck with Clarisse,” he calls back, and Annabeth snorts.
She watches them walk away for a moment, failing to ignore her stomach churning with guilt and regret and something like longing.
Shaking her head to clear it, Annabeth sits on the log Travis and Katie had recently vacated, eyes trained on the treeline that marks the camp border. With this war going on, they've increased security as a safeguard against all the monsters that have been stalking them just outside the barrier. This particular idea was proposed by Percy, actually, and it’s one Annabeth had no problem supporting, despite how little they’ve gotten along as of late.
It’s one of the few productive conversations they’ve had this summer, actually.
A bit pathetic, she thinks grimly as she tracks a deer weaving through the forest in front of her, that they can only get along during war planning. But even then they still bicker like there’s no tomorrow. It’s driving everyone crazy, Annabeth knows, herself included. But at this point, more time sensitive things have overshadowed her relationship (or lack thereof) problems.
Don’t think about it, she thinks again, and Annabeth steels herself, shaking her head abruptly and blinking several times. She needs to focus. She and Clarisse are on duty until midnight, and they have several hours to go until Jake and Silena replace them. (Assuming Clarisse bothers to show up.)
Annabeth doesn't mind the initial night watch, generally speaking. She's one to stay up ridiculously late anyway, so she might as well be doing something productive if she can. Besides, it’s currently giving her something to focus on instead of Percy.
She wants to laugh now, because—there she goes again. Why can’t she stop thinking about him?
It’s just impossible not to, she thinks bitterly. All she can do is remember today. Remember the way Percy had tried to make a joke after she’d tripped over a vine. How his smile had looked almost…hopeful. Like he wanted her to laugh with him again.
And she hadn’t. She should have, but she didn't. Instead, she’d snapped at him, anger and wounded pride getting the better of her once again. And then they’d fallen into the same silence that has thickened and permeated between them for months.
Same cycle. Rinse and repeat.
Abruptly, Annabeth sheathes her dagger. Dipping her head forward, she presses her palms against her forehead, and not for the first time, wishes she could just…stop caring about it. But that’s never been her strength.
She sighs, dropping her hands into her lap
Gods, she’s tired.
Tired of thinking, tired of feeling like she’s waiting for something to go wrong. And why not just admit it to herself? She's tired of fighting with Percy. But it’s easier, she thinks miserably as she watches a firefly hover above the grass, to be angry. It’s easier to be biting and cold than to face the mess bubbling beneath the surface. Easier to be silent and withdrawn.
Because what can she say? What can he say? Apologize? Explain? Joke his way out of the weirdness again, like always? Logically, clearly, Annabeth knows she can do something about this. She can fix a lot of things. She just—doesn’t know how to mend whatever is broken between them.
She just…. misses him. She just misses laughing and talking to him for hours on end. Misses the stupid jokes and bickering about the best way to cook a s’more and how to divide cleaning checks. But every time she sees him now, whenever she looks into his sea-green eyes, she sees nothing but exasperation and disappointment in a myriad of other emotions she can’t define. Emotions that she knows are directed at her. Because he only ever looks at her that way now, and it’s driving Annabeth crazy.
That’s how it had been nearly all day today, she remembers bitterly.
She lets out a sharp sigh, trying—and failing—to push out the memory of her own poor behavior.
Annabeth had seethed quietly the entire time they picked those strawberries. Every look Percy gave her felt loaded—like something was caught in his throat, something too big to voice. But whatever he’d thought about saying never came, and she wasn’t about to be the one to ask. Not after everything.
Now, hours later, with the camp getting ready to sleep and only the rustle of the wind in the trees for company, Annabeth sighs heavily and shifts on the rock, willing her mind to quiet down.
It doesn’t.
Her leg is starting to cramp.
She doesn’t care.
She should talk to him, she knows. But there’s too much between them now. Too much she doesn’t know how to say. Like how her heart had torn open in Mount St. Helens, sure she’d lost him for good. Or how she’d felt like she’d swallowed glass when she’d seen him with Rachel through that iris message last week. Or how she'd nearly punched a tree when she found out about Calypso.
And worst of all is the godsforsaken guilt.
Guilt for being angry, guilt for caring so much, guilt for not knowing how to tell him that she wants so badly to just have him back, to spend time with the boy who used to knock on her cabin door just to ask if she wanted to go walk the beach with him after dinner. Guilt because he’s the one who has a world–ending prophecy over his head, and Annabeth can only feel sorry for herself. She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks at her. Anger? Distance? A reminder of everything that’s gone wrong between them?
She doesn’t even know what she sees anymore—only that it hurts.
Annabeth’s throat burns, and she presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, hard. She will not cry over this. She’s on watch. She has a job to do. But gods, if he would just say something. Anything. She might break if he doesn't.
So, it’s been a horrible day, all things considered.
And it’s getting worse by the second, considering Clarisse is still not here.
It’s not like her, actually. Say what you will about how scary she is, Clarisse keeps to her commitments. Maybe she needs to send her an Iris Message. She's resolved to do just that when she hears footsteps behind her.
“About time,” she says, still looking ahead. “Where have you been?”
“Oh you, know. Around.”
And Annabeth’s heart skips a beat, because that voice doesn’t belong to Clarisse.
She turns, stomach dropping, and finds none other than Percy Jackson standing behind her, hands in his pockets. He looks a little sheepish, with a small grin on his face, though it’s hard to see his exact expression in the fading light.
"I thought I was going to keep watch with Clarisse tonight," Annabeth says, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.
Percy shrugs. "Silena needed her for something, so as the only other head counselor available, I'm here."
Annabeth swallows.
"Great," she says, and her voice is strained. “Come take a seat.” She pats the space on the log next to her, and suddenly he’s closer to her than he has been in weeks. Too close. Too close for someone who’s supposed to be her partner for keeping watch, Annabeth thinks, but it’s so comforting that she doesn’t make any effort to move.
Neither does he.
Her stomach twists at the silence and awkwardness that’s stretching, filling the void in between them. She knows she should talk to him, at least acknowledge him a little more, but she doesn’t know what to even say to him. All she feels is guilt at how they’d acted towards each other today.
She glances over at him and is relieved to see he’s looking away from her, but she can tell he’s pretending also, acting like he isn’t aware of the distance—or lack of it, literally speaking—between the two of them.
Suddenly, she’s seized with the urge to talk to him.
Annabeth knows that she needs to focus. Keep watch. But it’s impossible.
She keeps imagining what it would be like if she let herself relax for just a second. If she had taken one second today to not think about herself long enough to laugh at his terrible jokes, or let him see her smile fully, or—gods—let herself admit how much she’s been missing him for the last few months.
It’s felt like a physical ache, not having him with her all the time.
She opens her mouth, closes it again.
Her hands clench in her lap, knuckles whitening, and she chances another look at him. Like every time she has over the past few months, her stomach flips
This is ridiculous, she thinks.
She always lets it get to her. Always lets him get to her.
And she hates it.
Hates that he can sit there, smiling ever so slightly, and make her heart leap with joy and then sink with regret and guilt.
A small, bitter laugh threatens to escape her throat. She exhales, long and shaky. Maybe it’s easier just to say it. Easier than pretending she can contain everything she’s been holding in. Easier than letting it fester.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Annabeth says finally.
“What?” Percy turns to look at her, his brows furrowed, confusion all over his face.
“When we were strawberry picking?” She reminds him, and feels her face warm. “I wasn’t really…nice.” She laughs nervously and tries to swallow her pride down. “About anything, really.”
“Oh,” Percy says as realization seems to dawn on him. Then he shrugs, blinking away an emotion that Annabeth can’t name. “Yeah, well,” he replies, “I wasn’t exactly helping.”
Annabeth winces as she remembers how she’d acted earlier that day. “Maybe not, but you were at least trying to be civil.” She exhales shakily, a little disbelievingly. “You made that joke when I tripped over the vine, remember? And I snapped at you like you personally put it there.”
Percy lets out a snort.
“True, but again, I wasn’t much better,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I did call you a control freak when you were organizing the baskets.” He lets out a small laugh.
Annabeth rolls her eyes, but can’t stop the corner of her lips turning up. “Well you weren’t exactly wrong.”
Percy shrugs, a small sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but I didn’t need to say it. And arguing when I really didn’t have to? Definitely didn’t help things.”
Annabeth laughs softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “How about we both admit we were idiots to each other today and call it good?”
Percy lets out a genuine laugh this time. Bright and easy and full, making Annabeth’s stomach flip. “Fair enough Wisegirl,” he says. Then quieter, almost careful: “I never meant to make it worse for you.”
Annabeth exhales, shoulders loosening as the tension thankfully begins to fade, and she nudges him with her leg. “We both kind of did.”
“Yeah,” Percy agrees, still grinning at her. “Guess we’re good at that.”
“Guess we are,” Annabeth replies. Percy shifts a little on the log beside her, nudging a loose pebble with the toe of his shoe, and Annabeth tracks the movement with her eyes.
“So… uh. We’re good?” he asks after a second, glancing over at her. “No more biting each other’s heads off?”
Annabeth lets out a quiet breath, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, I think so.” she raises an eyebrow at him playfully. “But don’t push it, Seaweed Brain.”
“Noted,” Percy says with a laugh, holding his hands up in mock surrender. There’s a beat of quiet before he adds, a little softer this time, “I like it when it’s like this.”
Annabeth blinks, curiosity flickering through her. “Like what?” she asks.
“You know. This.” Percy gestures at the space between them.
Annabeth raises an eyebrow, feeling her smile falter just a little. “This?”
“Yeah,” Percy replies, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Talking—or laughing. Whatever. Not…whatever we’ve been doing most of the last year.” Annabeth exhales, gaze dropping to her hands, not quite sure what to say to that. But Percy continues. “I’d forgotten what that felt like,” he admits.
And there’s the stab of guilt. “To not be mad at each other?” she asks, glancing back up at Percy to see he’s watching her.
“Yeah,” he says, giving her a sad smile. Annabeth finds herself returning it despite herself, suddenly apprehensive.
“Trust me,” she says, trying for a light laugh that she thinks sounds a little forced. “That feeling is mutual.”
There’s silence for a long time after that, and Annabeth is bursting with things she wants to say to him.
I’m sorry, I wish things were different, I don’t know how to fix this.
I miss you.
I love you.
Annabeth stares straight ahead, grateful it’s dark so Percy can’t see her face heating up. Her heart is beating rather erratically, and she—unsuccessfully—tries to calm it down.
But he isn’t yours, she tells herself, clenching her jaw. Let it go.
The tension between them seems to thicken, to spin and grow and gather winds like a storm, and it’s too much, she thinks. It’s too much to sit here beside him in silence with so many things left unsaid between them.
So she opens her mouth, about to suggest they take a quick walk down the treeline. Anything would be better than this. But then he speaks.
"You kissed me," he blurts, and Annabeth meets his eyes slowly, which is a mistake, because she thinks she’s going to drown in those sea green eyes of his.
She swallows, trying to formulate her words into something that makes sense both in her head and out loud. Because what is she supposed to say to that? Especially considering that was almost a year ago. He hasn’t said a word about it all this time. In fact, Annabeth has been half under the impression he doesn’t even remember.
Her face warms when she remembers that kiss.
She still recalls the way his lips felt against hers, warm from the heat of that volcano, how he’d melted into it for a split second before she’d pulled away.
She still can’t believe how impulsive she’d been. It had been fast and unplanned, born out of desperation and anger and the terror that he wouldn’t make it out.
(She lies awake at night and thinks it was a mistake, sometimes.)
Annabeth breathes in carefully, and fighting to keep her voice even, says, “Yes. I did.” There’s another moment of silence between them, and Annabeth waits for him to respond. It feels like an eternity. When he finally does speak, his voice is careful.
"I was thinking—” he stops to clear his throat. “Well, I thought I might have imagined it."
Annabeth raises her eyebrows in surprise. "What?” She asks, furrowing her brows, “Why?"
Percy shifts where he’s sitting, and he looks away. "Well, you never mentioned it, so... I kind of just…” He trails off, wincing a little, like the memory is painful for him. “I wasn’t sure, especially after Ogygia. My memories beforehand were kind of fuzzy.”
"Oh,” Annabeth replies softly, turning her gaze back to the trees. She tries to fight down the stab of annoyance at the thought of Calypso and her offer for Percy to stay with her. “Yeah,” she continues. “That’s…that makes sense.”
“So…” Percy begins hesitantly.
“So what?” Annabeth answers, looking back at him, face heating up. She’s again grateful that Percy can’t see the color in her cheeks. It is, however, light enough they can see one another’s facial expressions, and Annabeth doesn’t miss the wave of annoyance that passes over his face.
"So what did it mean?"
Annabeth shrugs lamely, but her heart is racing as she responds. "I don't know, Percy. I mean, you were going to—I just thought—" She breaks off and shakes her head, frustrated at her sudden inability to form a coherent sentence.
"It was the heat of the moment, I guess,” She continues lamely. “You know, with everything that was going on? I just wasn’t thinking and needed you to know somehow—” She stops abruptly, a sudden rush of panic climbing up her throat at the words she knows were about to follow.
"Needed me to know what?" Percy asks, and Annabeth looks away, her face warm stomach twisting. She has to end this conversation here. Now. Before it gets out of hand and they start fighting again, because they will start fighting if this continues and she doesn’t think she can handle a fight with him.
"Do we need to talk about this now?” she asks, standing abruptly. “I don't think that it's really—”
“Annabeth—”
“Look, it’s in the past,” she cuts in, forcing steadiness into her voice. “It doesn’t matter. Come on—let’s walk the treeline. We still need to check if anything’s lurking.”
“What are you talking about?” Percy says, ignoring the deflection, irritation creeping into his voice. “Of course it matters. Don’t—”
“Look, Percy. It’s fine,” Annabeth interrupts again, too fast now, too desperate. She can feel herself slipping and grabs for control. She can’t do this. Can’t talk about the kiss. Can’t have this conversation when there’s such a big chasm between them, when there’s a prophecy hanging over their heads like a clock that they can hear, ticking the seconds away until the end.
“It’s not fine, actually,” he says, “You don’t get to just—”
“Yes, I do,” she snaps, sharper than she means too. “Because it doesn’t change anything.”
“I think it changes a lot,” Percy says flatly, and Annabeth feels her pulse stutter. Because it does, for her, at least. But not for him.
He’s not yours, she tells herself. He hasn’t been for a while.
“It doesn’t,” she repeats. “Look, we both know how much time you’ve been spending with—Rachel.” The name tastes bitter in her throat. “So I don’t see the point of bringing this up if you don’t feel the same way about—” She trails off, jaw tight, because she refuses to say it. Refuses to give the word shape.
"Rachel?" Percy is looking at her with confusion etched on his face, which, admittedly, is an emotion Annabeth doesn’t expect to see.
"You’ve been together most of the year, right?” She half–asks, folding her arms, and she fails spectacularly at keeping the annoyance out of her voice. “You've been spending so much time out with her in the mortal world.”
Percy blinks. Stares at her for several moments, and several different emotions pass over his face as he seems to get what Annabeth is saying.
“Annabeth,” Percy says, his voice tight, like he’s holding something back, “Rachel and I aren’t dating.”
Annabeth can’t help the scoff that escapes her lips, and she shakes her head, unimpressed. “You could have fooled me.”
“I mean it,” He insists, with more irritation in his voice. “There’s—we haven’t been—I mean we’ve been hanging out but it’s not like—”
“Then what is going on?” she asks, lifting her chin, and she knows she’s just picking a fight now, but to be fair, they’ve been fighting all day. What’s one more? “From where I’m standing, it looks like you disappear with her every chance you can get.”
Percy bristles. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s true,” Annabeth shoots back.
“Right. Well, sorry for wanting a little normalcy before I’m supposed to die in a few months.” The words come out harsh and sharp and match Annabeth’s own anger, like they’ve been clawing at his throat for weeks.
Annabeth feels like all the wind has been knocked out of her at the words.
“I—” she manages to choke out, but the sound barely makes it past her lips.
“I need somewhere I can forget, just for a few hours, that my life isn’t a countdown,” Percy continues, voice shaking now with something dangerously close to panic. “Where I don’t have to think about prophecies or wars or whether the people I love are going to watch me die.”
Annabeth stares at him, stunned, all her anger dissolving into something cold and guilty and hollow.
“Rachel,” he says, almost bitter, “doesn’t know any of that. She doesn’t look at me like I’m already halfway gone.” Silence stretches between them, heavy and awful, and Annabeth feels like they’ve crossed some sort of line.
“Percy—” Annabeth begins, and Percy interrupts her.
“It’s true, Annabeth,” he says, and suddenly he looks so, so tired. “We both know the prophecy. We know it’s going to happen. But—I can’t just—” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Rachel doesn't make it complicated.”
Annabeth’s throat burns. She folds her arms tighter, not in defiance now, but like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. And it might be, because she’s just able to sit beside him once more.
"And I do?" she asks, and her voice is shaking.
Percy lets out an incredulous sigh that sounds more like a laugh. "Annabeth, you are the literal definition of complicated,” he tells her, shaking his head.
Annabeth blinks, looking over at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You kissed me,” Percy recounts, “And then after we finished your quest, started shutting me out! You have been for almost a year.” Hurt flashes through her at the somewhat true accusation, and it’s reflected in his own green eyes.
“That’s not fair,” Annabeth says, a little desperately. “I haven’t been—”
“You have,” Percy cuts in, talking over her so she’s forced to listen. "You know you have. Every conversation gets shut down. Every time we talk we fight. You barely answer when we don’t argue, and half the time I feel like I’m talking to a wall.” His jaw tightens and he shakes his head. “Gods, Annabeth, it’s like you’re gone even when you’re standing right in front of me. Why?"
She’s shaking her head, Annaebth realizes, and the thought of deflect deflect deflect rings over and over in her mind.
“Percy, it’s not—” her mind is desperately trying to force some sort of explanation out, one she doesn’t have. “There are bigger things for us to worry about right now, you know—”
“No, don’t do that,” Percy says firmly, and his sea green eyes are full of intensity and pleading as he continues. “Don’t shut down. Tell me.”
Annabeth lets out a helpless sort of noise in her throat as she shakes her head. “I don’t know how!”
“That’s not an answer,” Percy says, voice clipped, and Annabeth lets out a somewhat hysterical laugh, because she can’t keep doing this.
“Well I don’t!” she cries, springing to her feet, and Percy starts at the sudden movement. “I don’t know how, Percy!”
Because every time she tries, every time she even thinks about it, the words turn into something sharp or useless in her mouth. Because if she lets herself say it—really say it—then she has to admit to herself how deep this goes, how terrifyingly far past the feeling of simple friendship she’s fallen.
Because she loves him. So much. And that means watching him walk—willingly—towards what may be a world ending prophecy. It’s something she can’t outthink, outfight, or change. Every touch is borrowed. Every laugh feels like something she’ll be forced to have to remember instead of live.
She closes her eyes and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes, as if she can force her mind to work from the pressure.
“You died, alright? For all intents and purposes, for me, you died.” Annabeth’s voice is shaking now, the words tearing out of her. She doesn’t know where she’s going with this, not entirely, but she doesn’t know what else to do at this point.
“For all intents and purposes Percy, you were gone. Somewhere I couldn't follow. One second you were there and the next—nothing. No chance to say goodbye.” She begins pacing up and down in front of him, hands clenched at her sides.
She can still see it—Mount St. Helens, the explosion, the empty space where he should’ve been. Waiting for hours. The moment her world tilted and never quite righted itself. She had watched him die.
And now he’s here, breathing, talking, looking at her like she’s the one slipping away, and maybe she is. Maybe she has to.
“To just stand there,” Annabeth murmurs, her voice breaking, “and realize that the person you care about more than anyone in the world is probably gone—and there’s nothing you can do about it?” She turns back to him, eyes bright with unshed tears, anger only just holding the fear together.
“You’re right,” she says, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to look at you and not think about how easily I could lose you again. How we both know I will.” Her voice cracks, and Percy watches her with an expression she can’t quite read. “So I shut up. I shut it out. Because that’s the only way I know how to survive it.”
And there it is, she thinks bitterly. Plain and simple.
It hurts to be away. But it hurts to be with him too.
Because even now—even shaking, defensive, exhausted—what she wants more than anything is to close the distance between them. To memorize the sound of his voice when he says her name. To be close enough to convince herself he’s real, that he’s alive, that he’s still hers to worry about.
She’s breathing heavily now, heart racing even more than before, and Percy seems too stunned to speak, watching her practically fall apart at the seams.
“And then Rachel—” Annabeth continues, running her hands through her hair, like if she stops moving she’ll fall apart. “You come back, and suddenly she’s here. She practically takes charge of my quest, and after it's over and summer ends, you go off and disappear with her into the mortal world for weeks at a time. What am I supposed to think? You never bothered to tell me what was going on anyway!”
“Annabeth,” Percy says her name softly, but Annabeth lets out a sharp breath.
“I tell myself it shouldn’t hurt, because you’re right, Percy. She is normal and I’m—” she gestures vaguely between them, “all of this.” Finally, she drops down onto the log again, head in her hands. “So it’s just. I don’t see the point in—” She swallows. “I don’t see the point in talking about it.”
The silence that follows her outburst is long and painful. It stretches out long enough that Annabeth hopes that he’s finally decided to drop it. She knows he’s watching her, can feel his gaze on her, and just when she thinks they’re done talking for the night, he speaks.
“So that’s it?” he asks softly.
She doesn’t answer, instead she closes her eyes tightly, as if it’ll block out the sound of his voice.
“You just… decide it’s easier not to want anything at all?”
Still nothing.
He lets out a shaky breath. “Annabeth, look at me.”
She doesn’t.
“That’s what I mean,” he says, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You shut down, and I’m left standing here trying to figure out what I can do to help fix this. Or if I even can.” Annabeth’s throat tightens. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” he continues, quieter now. “I can’t tell if you even care.”
That gets her attention. She looks up, startled.
“Of course I care—”
“It feels like you don’t,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “And if you do, I wouldn’t know. I can’t keep guessing how you feel, Annabeth.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it again, words refusing to escape her lips, and Percy smiles sadly.
“I don't want to lose you, either. Especially not now. Maybe it’s easier for you to stay away. But you just—” He shakes his head. “I need you here. With me. Because I—” His voice breaks, and Annabeth’s throat tightens. “Please, Beth. Stop pushing me away.”
Annabeth looks at him and shakes her head, thoughts tangling so tightly she can’t separate one from the next. She wants to. Gods, she wants to tell him. But the walls she’s spent the past year building don’t know how to come down gently, if at all.
When Annabeth finally responds, her voice is shaking and small, and she hates it.
“I’m just trying to make it survivable, Percy,” she says.
The words fall between them, thin and fractured, not carrying even half the weight she needs them to.
They don’t say that she’s been bracing herself for months, thinking about the prophecy like it’s an equation she can solve if she stares at it long enough. I’m trying to survive you leaving me, she wants to say. I’m trying to survive loving you when The Fates have written an ending that I can’t outthink.
But the words won’t form. They lodge somewhere in her ribs and throat and refuse to move.
Percy’s answering laugh is quiet and bitter and wrecked.
“It’s not survivable for me without you, Beth,” he says.
Silence falls, but it’s different now. Thicker. Charged. It hangs heavy between them, and Annabeth finds herself wanting to run, to shut down, to keep everything hidden. Minimize the damage.
A part of her thinks that there’s so much already that it might not even matter anymore.
“It might have to be,” she murmurs. Her pulse is too loud in her ears, and her throat tightens. She stands, hating herself. The night feels impossibly large, completely out of her control.
“Come on,” she finally says, aware of how her voice is shaking. She takes a few steps, each one heavy. Her chest feels tight as she moves, and she barely registers him following her.
Then his hand is on her wrist, effectively keeping her from going any further, and she’s forced to turn into him, startled. Her breath catches without thinking, shallow, sharp, and she realizes she’s stepping closer, drawn in almost automatically. The world suddenly narrows to the space between them, the brush of his fingers against her skin, the impossibility of it all.
“Don’t,” He murmurs finally, something desperate in his voice, and somehow Annabeth thinks he’s doing the same thing she’s been trying to do all summer. The word, the way he says it, pins her to where she stands, and she swallows, heart hammering against her ribs. She meets his sea–green eyes, wide and deep and full of a billion emotions that Annabeth can’t unravel.
“Percy,” she says, voice choked, and it’s the closest they’ve been in months, the closest they’ve been to admitting what’s already there. His hand tightens around her wrist, and it’s like the only thing that’s keeping them both from tipping over the edge, from crossing some invisible line.
He leans in a little closer, almost imperceptibly, eyes flicking to her lips and back to Annabeth’s eyes. And Annabeth wants, more than anything, to close the distance between them. To let it out, to finally just—give in.
You can’t, she thinks, but truly, she doesn’t care.
“Annabeth,” he whispers, and it’s only her name, just her name, but in it she hears what he means, understands what he’s trying to tell her. It’s barely audible, but it reverberates through her like a jolt of lightning. His lips are hovering just above hers now, so close that she can feel the warmth of him. Her lips part slightly, and her breath hitches.
Then she tilts up just a fraction.
Their lips brush.
It’s not a full kiss. Just the faintest graze—soft, warm contact that feels like striking a match in dry air. It sends a rush of heat through her, warming her all the way to her fingertips. Percy inhales sharply against her mouth, and the sound breaks something open in her chest. His other hand lifts slowly, brushing the side of her face, fingers tangling in her hair, holding her like she’s worth something priceless.
For a moment, for half a second, she allows herself to imagine what it would be like if she let this happen. If she leaned all the way in and gave herself over to it. If she let the world shrink to the two of them alone, the warmth of his lips against hers, the steady way he’d hold her, the rhythm of her breathing. It makes her chest ache with longing and fear and love all at once, and she’s so close. So close—
But then she’ll have to know what it feels like. And when he’s gone—when he leaves, because everyone does, that’s all she’ll be left with. The fear strikes through her like a knife, slicing the moment in half. Her stomach twists with guilt and panic, and the words leave her mouth before she can truly comprehend them.
“We need to be keeping watch,” she breathes, barely audible.
Percy stills.
His fingers linger in her hair for a moment, just a heartbeat longer before he slowly lowers it and takes a step back.
Annabeth immediately misses his warmth, and the night air suddenly feels so much colder.
Percy’s eyes are locked on hers, his expression a mixture of frustration, longing, and something raw, sharp, and intense. Annabeth wants to reach for him again, to pull him close despite herself, but her hands stay at her sides, trembling just slightly.
“Okay, Annabeth,” Percy finally says, and his voice is tired. It’s worse than anger. “Let’s keep watch.”
And all Annabeth can do is fall into step beside him, trying to steady herself as they walk the treeline.
She feels him, just out of reach. It’ll have to be enough.
(It isn’t)