Chapter Text
The only other time Percy had seen camp buzz like this was during the chariot race, when half the cabins were one bad turn away from sending someone to the infirmary. This felt different. Less danger, more dread, somehow. Well, at least to him.
The Aphrodite kids moved through camp like an army, clipboards in hand, crossing off names and yelling orders. Hephaestus cabin had commandeered a flatbed cart and were hauling it cabin to cabin, banging together folding chairs and stringing lights that flickered between three different shades before settling on one. Somewhere past the strawberry fields, the Demeter kids were arguing — loudly — about whether moonflowers or jasmine smelled better strung along the railings, and judging by the sneezing fit coming from a few Apollo campers nearby, Jasmine had already lost. Even Annabeth's siblings, usually buried in blueprints and battle strategy, had abandoned their normal post to debate the layout.
Percy had asked Silena and Annabeth what he could do to help, mostly because standing around doing nothing made him feel like a target. They'd given him small jobs — carrying things, hammering a stray nail back into a bench.
The camp was buzzing because tonight, was the Half-Blood Moon Dance — care of the Aphrodite cabin. It would be held right here at the clearing, with food, music, dates, and surprise games.
Food, Percy could get behind. Dancing — fine, he'd embarrassed himself in front of worse than a camp full of demigods. Surprises made him twitchy on instinct, some old reflex left over from too many monsters jumping out of too many shadows, but if this one didn't involve teeth, he figured he'd survive it.
Dates, though. Dates were the one thing on that list he hadn't figured out how to be brave about yet.
Grover was going with Juniper, obviously. Charlie was taking Silena, which still felt strange to think about, mostly because Percy was used to thinking of him as the guy covered in soot from the forges, not someone who'd willingly put on something nice and learn to dance.
And him? When he’d ask Grover, he had given him this look — eyebrows up, like Percy had asked which way was north while standing in front of a compass.
"Dude," Grover said, like that single word explained everything. And the funny part was, it kind of did. Percy already knew who he should ask.
Annabeth. Of course it was Annabeth.
He just didn't know how to do it. How a person was supposed to walk up to their best friend — the same girl who'd held up the literal sky, — and ask her something so embarrassingly small. It felt ridiculous. It felt like the conversational equivalent of showing up to a sword fight with a plastic spoon. He'd stared down monsters that wanted to eat him and felt less like his stomach was trying to escape his body.
So now he stood at the edge of the clearing, taking in the half-finished rows of tables and chairs catching the late afternoon light, the legs of one table still wobbling where nobody had bothered to level it yet. His eyes moved across the space until he found her.
Annabeth was huddled near the front tables with Silena, deep in some conversation that involved a lot of hand gestures and Silena holding up two different shades of brown fabric like the fate of the ball hinged on the decision. Annabeth had a smudge of something — paint, maybe, or marker — along her jaw, and she kept tucking the same loose strand that had escaped her braid behind her ear, only for it to fall right back out again.
Percy felt something in his chest do a slow, stupid flip.
He should just walk over. That was the whole plan, really — walk over, say her name, ask the question, and not throw up in front of Silena Beauregard, who'd probably narrate the entire thing to the rest of camp by sundown if he botched it. Simple.
He inhaled deeply, shook the tension from his hands, and squeezed his eyes shut.
You're just asking a question. Just a question.
He stepped forward, only to feel as though his feet had suddenly been anchored beneath a hundred gallons of water.
"Copper would suit the theme better, but your vibe screams pecan, don't you think?" Silena was saying as he got within earshot, holding the two fabrics up at eye level, one eye shut as she scrutinized them.
"Either would work," Annabeth said, glancing up and meeting Percy's eyes. She gave him a short nod.
Silena turned, stepping beside him and thrusting both fabrics toward his face. "Percy. Which one?"
He blinked at them, lost. "Aren't they both... brown?"
"Yes, but which shade? " she said, like that should've been obvious.
"What's it even for?"
"Annabeth's table covering. There's a separate table set up for head counselors — campers can leave gifts there, tokens of appreciation, that kind of thing." Silena said.
Percy studied the two swatches in her hands, one a deep, warm honey brown, the other a few shades lighter. He reached out and tapped the darker one.
"This one."
"And why's that?" Silena asked, her attention still fixed on the bolts of fabric.
He shrugged, sneaking a glance at Annabeth before he could stop himself. "It's closest to the color of her eyes."
Silena raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as her gaze flicked between Percy and Annabeth. Annabeth, for her part, looked stunned—her eyes fixed on Percy, searching his face as though trying to read words written in impossibly small print.
"So, Percy," Silena said, dropping the fabric and crossing her arms, going for subtle and missing by a mile, "do you already have a date to the dance?"
Annabeth cleared her throat, shooting Silena a look that could've melted celestial bronze.
"Uh — no. Not yet." Percy shook his head, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms against his jeans.
Ask the question, he thought again, except now it sounded less like a pep talk and more like a war drum.
Silena turned back to Annabeth with that same wide-eyed, butter-wouldn't-melt expression. "Not yet, huh?"
Annabeth glared at her, a clear and unmistakable don't you dare.
Silena, being Silena, couldn't resist.
"You know," she said, her voice sweet enough to attract bees, "Annabeth doesn't have a plus-one either." She tilted her head innocently. "What a coincidence."
Annabeth's gaze dropped to the ground, pointedly avoiding his.
Percy just stared, his brain short-circuiting somewhere between This is it and Abort mission.
Okay. Just say the words. You once stabbed a Hydra. You can do this.
...The Hydra couldn't say no, though.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, which, in hindsight, probably made him look like a fish.
Silena clapped her hands and turned to leave. "Oh — Charles! Charles wanted to talk to me about something earlier. I'll leave you guys to it." She shot one last wide-eyed look at Annabeth before spinning around and skipping off to wherever Charles was.
Percy stared at her retreating back, cleared his throat once, and made himself move to stand directly in front of Annabeth, who'd spent this entire time very intently watching the campers behind him arrange a row of chairs.
"Hi," he said, shoving his hands into his jean’s pockets. He had to — otherwise Annabeth would get a front-row seat to the waterfall situation happening on his palms.
"Hey." She finally met his eyes, briefly, before her gaze slid right back to the chair-arranging campers like they were the most fascinating thing at camp.
Percy scratched the back of his head. "So, this ball," he started, "it's tonight."
Wow. Incredible opening line. Truly the stuff of legends.
"Yeah, the days are going by fast," Annabeth said, offering a light chuckle that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Percy nodded, way too earnestly. "So I-" he tried again, "Silena says you don't have a plus one yet."
Annabeth looked at him now, no escaping back to the chairs. "Yeah, I've just been busy with preparations. Didn't really think about it much."
Didn't really think about it much, he repeated in his head, already spiraling. Does that mean she doesn't want a date? Percy met her eyes. Just ask. What's the worst that happens? He cleared his throat — again, and figured he'd come this far, might as well finish the job.
"Yeah, me too. Kind of," he said. "But I was thinking of, uh—" He cut himself off, scratched the back of his neck again, and felt the heat crawling up into his cheeks. "I wanted to know if you—"
"Wanted to know if?" Annabeth prompted, eyes locked on his, hope flickering somewhere behind them, urging him forward.
Percy stared at her for a beat too long. Up close, he could see the faint smudge of marker still on her jaw, the way a few loose strands of hair had given up on staying tucked behind her ear entirely. Her brown eyes, hopeful and waiting. On him.
His pulse had abandoned all semblance of rhythm. Somewhere behind him, a hammer cracked against wood and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
Didn't really think about it much.
The words looped back around, and with them came every worse-case scenario his brain could conjure on short notice — Annabeth laughing it off, Annabeth going quiet and awkward.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't ask her. So he swerved, hard, and cleared his throat one more time.
"Wanted to know if you were okay with the — , the pelican shade I picked," he said, forcing out an awkward laugh that fooled absolutely nobody.
Annabeth's face fell. She went quiet for a second, eyes drifting away from his again, and let out a long sigh.
"Pecan. Not pelican."
"Right, that. My bad," he said, crossing his arms and feeling distinctly like he wanted to be swallowed by the earth.
"Anything else?" Annabeth asked, still pushing, still giving him the opening.
He considered it, weighed the words in his mouth one more time — but ultimately shook his head.
Annabeth nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. "Right. That's what I thought." She reached for the clipboard sitting on the nearest table. "I'll go find Silena. There's still stuff we need to finalize."
"Of course," he said, stepping out of her way. "You go." He even threw in a hand gesture, he meant for it to look casual, instead it looked like he was directing traffic.
Annabeth walked off without looking back.
Once she was far enough away, Percy let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his lungs since the conversation started, scratched the back of his head, and groaned — a long, pitiful sound.
He trudged back toward his cabin, kicking every loose stone unlucky enough to be in his path.
"Pecan," he muttered to himself, to the trees, to whatever god was no doubt watching this unfold for entertainment purposes. "It was pecan. You absolute—"
He didn't even finish the sentence. Some failures, he decided, didn't need a punchline. They were the punchline.