Archive of Our Own

"Yeah, I feel sick. I don't think I can do this. My palms are sweating." Annabeth frowns at her hands before wiping them against her skirt.

The early evening breeze kisses softly against her skin as the sky melts into a lovely shade of orange. She's standing outside one of the busiest clubs in Midtown with the rest of her friends, and already, her purse sticks uncomfortably to her skin as it hangs from her shoulder.

"Are your knees weak? Arms heavy?" asks Piper.

"Mom's spaghetti?" Hazel offers helpfully.

Annabeth's face sours. "I'm serious. I don't think this is a good idea."

"It's the best idea I've had all semester," replies Piper. "C'mon, it's a Friday night. I would be the worst roommate in existence if I let you mope on our couch, eating Doritos while you watch 9-1-1 reruns on cable for another weekend in a row. It's starting to get depressing."

The inside of Annabeth's cheek is tender where she's been biting down on it.

Piper takes her hands and squeezes twice. "If you're really not up for it we can go somewhere else tonight, but we're not going home. Seriously, you look hot as hell and you're newly single. You need this."

Annabeth looks at the rest of her friends. Hazel’s smile is supportive, and her boyfriend Frank looks apologetic, yet he nods in encouragement. That traitor.

Thalia and Silena couldn’t make it, but they probably wouldn’t be on her side either since they came over to the apartment this morning to help with Piper’s little craft idea.

“But do I have to take the cards? Can’t we just go in there and have a good time?” she sighs.

Annabeth's lost count of the number of students who’ve walked through the doors. The thumping bass seeping out of the building rattles somewhere behind her ribs, and she already regrets leaving their apartment.

“Maybe it could be fun?” says Hazel.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being marched to the guillotine."

"Okay, dramatic," cuts in Piper. "We're not in the 18th century. Nobody's getting their head cut off—"

"The night's still young," adds Frank.

The girls turn to look at him.

"Don't look at me like that. You know she could if she wanted to," he says.

"Anyway," Piper dramatically shifts her attention from Frank to Annabeth. "We only printed fifty cards. Each with your name, number, and a blurb of everything you're interested in, just to give those on the receiving end a little sampler of your aura—"

"Fifty?" shouts Annabeth.

"Sampler of her aura," mutters Frank at the same time, his face twisted in confusion.

"With how good you look tonight, they'll all be gone within the hour, max," says Piper, ignoring them both.

She places the stack of cards in Annabeth's still sweaty palm. They're a simple, sleek design, all held together by a blue rubber band. It's clearly a Canva template, but she's touched by the care they put into them despite how ridiculous the idea.

Annabeth sighs in resignation. "An hour, huh?" She turns the cards in her hand before reluctantly stuffing them into her pocket. "Not only are you severely overestimating me, but I fear you're overestimating the quality of eligible bachelors in there."

Piper smiles and links her arm with Annabeth's, tugging her towards the entrance. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

—

A flush clings to Annabeth's cheeks as she walks through the waves of bodies. She's trying her hardest not to spill liquor on anyone as she passes, but the occasional stray elbow threatens her balance.

Whether the warmth engulfing her is from all the body heat in the room or the alcohol running through her system, she doesn't care, because her mind is finally at peace.

After weeks of endless headaches and crying until her eyes swelled shut, it was nice to have her thoughts line up instead of crashing wildly into each other. It was only after the first two rounds of tequila that walking up to strangers and handing out cards with her number on them didn't sound completely insane.

The last guy was… decent. She barely caught his name over the loud music, and reading his lips didn't do much. Lucas…or Lewis is also a student at NRU—a computer science major. Not her ideal, but their seamless conversation and the fresh drink in her hand (at the expense of his wallet, of course) was enough to leave him with a card.

Once she's reached the area where her friends are sat, she plops herself into the booth with a breathless sigh. The strawberry margarita gifted to her spills over the rim and onto the table, but Annabeth pays no mind to it. She can't stop the satisfied grin that takes over her face.

"How many is that?" asks Hazel, smiling just as wide before taking a sip from her drink.

"Sixteen, I think?" She pulls the stack of cards from her purse to shuffle through them. "Yeah, sixteen."

"Not bad," says Piper. "I gave out a few, but I'm feeling picky today."

"You made yourself cards?" asks Annabeth, bumping her knee against Piper's leg. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've felt so much better knowing I wasn't doing this alone."

"Didn't make that much of a difference." She pushes Annabeth's knee back in retaliation. Piper motions her head toward the crowded dance floor. "You seem to be doing just fine on your own."

Annabeth follows the gesture and scans the room. Lewis/Lucas is still in the section she'd left him, swaying slightly as he talks to another girl. She can see her card sticking up from his shirt pocket.

She scans further; her gaze catching on a striking pair of blue eyes at the bar. Blond curls fall over the man's forehead like he couldn't be bothered with hair product, and for one irrational second, she wonders what they'd feel like between her fingers.

There's something about him that feels familiar, but her alcohol softened mind can't think of a reason why.

Mr. Blue Eyes smirks at the curious expression on her face before turning back to the bartender who's been animatedly telling him a story, unaware of the silent exchange that passed between them.

"If by 'on her own' you mean three shots of tequila and a whisky sour in less than 30 minutes, then sure," says Frank, snapping Annabeth back to her friends.

He's still nursing the same beer from an hour ago. It's probably disgustingly warm by now, but she knows not to convince him to let loose a little more. He tends to take his job as the only man in their party seriously.

Annabeth raises one skeptical brow, "Well, Dad. If it makes you feel better, I'm still fully in control."

"Oh, I know. I'm just reminding you that I can—and I will—cut you off if you go too far. That goes for all of you," he lets his glare roam over the group. "I don't want a repeat of last time."

"We made it back okay," says Hazel, shrugging.

"Yeah," Frank scoffs. "You only made it back in one piece because I had to hold both yours and Annabeth's hands while Piper clung to my back like a koala. You guys sang songs from EPIC on our walk back. The song Polyphemus at 2 am was possibly the worst thing to ever happen to me."

"Okay, but you've gotta admit Hazel's Odysseus and my Polyphemus are spot on," says Piper, taking a sip of her cocktail.

"I prefer not to have your Polyphemus voice screaming, 'You killed my sheep, my favorite sheep' directly into my ear."

"Next time, we're charging you a matinee fee," says Hazel.

Annabeth drowns them out, her gaze returning to Mr. Blue Eyes. He's still sitting at the bar, but this time the bartender is taking care of another patron, so not only are those striking eyes trained on her again, but so is his entire body. That annoyingly charming smirk on his face makes her want to roll her eyes.

He tilts his head slightly, considering her. Then, as subtle as an eyebrow raise, he asks if she'll walk over to the bar. An invitation and a dare at the same time.

The cockiness of it makes her scowl.

He laughs, those cerulean blues disappearing as they crinkle at the sides.

For a moment, the cockiness fades into something warmer, almost child-like. Even warmer than the burn of alcohol as it glides down the throat.

And like that, her mind's made up.

"Hey guys," Annabeth slides her untouched strawberry marg to Hazel. "I'm gonna get a new drink."

The conversation at her table stops abruptly, but she doesn't catch her friends' puzzled looks because she's already headed for the bar.

—

Annabeth still remembers the night her relationship of nearly two years went to shit.

She'd known it was coming for a while, but those last couple days leading up to it produced some of the most volatile environments she'd ever been in. Which was saying something considering her parents are divorced.

It was only a few weeks into the spring semester, and for reasons she couldn't understand, Connor seemed determined to pick a fight with her every chance he got.

"You're doing it again, Connor."

They were sitting on the living room couch in her apartment. Annabeth was cross-legged with a pillow on her lap as she faced her boyfriend. The Disney+ menu was still open, and Carmy from The Bear took up most of the screen. He looked just as miserable as she felt.

"Doing what?" Connor's reply came out terse. "What am I doing?"

The boy she'd fallen in love with had always been so carefree and attentive. She used to love the way his hazel eyes leaned more green when he was excited, or how a singular dimple would pop out every time he gave her one of his lopsided smiles. Annabeth couldn't remember the last time she'd seen that dimple.

She studied the man beside her now, and her chest ached at how he'd gotten more and more unfamiliar as the days dragged on. His clenched jaw and constant agitation made him a stranger.

"If you want to get food delivered, just say that," she said softly. "I just thought it would be nice to go out."

"Okay, you don't need to be so passive-aggressive about it."

Annabeth's eyes narrowed into a glare. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, no I'm not," he bit out before dragging a hand down his face. "It's always your tone."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

It was like time had stopped. And not in that saccharine, clichéd way that it should be with your partner. It felt like they were on opposite ends of a field, each of them staring down the barrel of a gun in the hands of the other.

Annabeth was suddenly grateful Piper always held Econ tutoring sessions on Tuesday evenings.

"What about my fucking 'tone'?" Her fists were balled so tightly that the crescents of her nails dug into her palms. "You better be joking. What the hell do you mean by that?"

"You always have this attitude with me. From the beginning, it was always you who took the reins and I just let you—"

"Absolutely not. You don't get to do that," she interrupted. Annabeth scooted closer to the edge of the sofa till her socked feet it the floor. She didn't know what to do with the irritation coursing through her veins. "Don't tell me this is all somehow my fault because I wanted to try out a nice restaurant with my boyfriend."

He stiffened, his jaw clenching to a point that looked almost painful. His silence made the frustration in her chest rise up to her ears. She stood from the couch, indifferent to the pillow that falls to the floor.

"Every conversation we've had lately ends like this," she continued. "I say something, you snap at me, and somehow I end up being the one reaching out to fix it. Seriously, what is going on with you lately? You're like a whole different person."

Annabeth watched him for a moment. He was still sat in the same spot, his eyes glued to his lap.

"Maybe we're just not working anymore," he sighed, finally meeting her gaze.

"Because of dinner?" she asked, indignant.

"It's not about the damn dinner." He tugged at his hair, and there's something akin to desperation swimming in his eyes.

"Then tell me what it's about."

She waited, feeling ridiculous standing in the middle of her living room while her boyfriend of two years sits like a chastised child.

For a moment, it seemed like he might actually give her a real answer, but just as quick as that change had come, Connor shut down right before her eyes. He stood quickly, slipping his Crocs on where they were placed near the front door.

"I don't want to keep doing this tonight," he croaked.

Something was wrong. She knew that, but she couldn't help him if he wouldn't let her in.

"Connor—" she tried.

He grabbed his keys from the bowl. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"You're seriously just leaving?" she shouts.

"I need time to think."

And before she could get another word out, the soft click of the door closing behind him marked a finality, though what kind, she's wasn't completely sure.

—

As Annabeth approaches the bar, she makes a conscious effort not to look at Mr. Blue Eyes, but his stare follows her every move. Even when she gets to the counter and rattles off an order, she refuses to look at the man who's sitting only a stool away from where she's standing.

The barista—Grover, as his name tag reads—starts on a few drinks. She watches him pull bottles off the shelf and organize garnishes with ease. He gets a line of shots ready, while keeping the group in front of him entertained with conversation. She thought he was friends with Mr. Blue Eyes, but maybe he's just that personable with all his customers.

Speaking of the man to her left, he still hasn't taken his eyes off her, and when she finally looks over, he does nothing to hide it.

"Has anyone ever told you it's incredibly rude to stare?"

She can't help but smile as she slips onto the stool beside him crossing one leg over the other. The pointed toe of her heel brushes his shin, but she doesn't apologize. Instead, she lets it linger there for a moment.

He lifts an eyebrow and rather than moving away, he shifts his leg closer.

"My mom may have told me that," he says, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Once or twice."

"Well…" she pauses.

"Percy," he offers, picking up his half-full drink.

"Percy," she says, testing out the feel of it on her tongue. "Cute."

"Thanks." His eyes twinkle behind the cup. "So are you."

Her lips purse to control the grin threatening her face. She glances at Grover again, her drink still un-poured.

"Well, Percy. Seems like you didn't pay attention to her lesson."

"That's usually how it goes for me." His finger traces the rim of the glass. Annabeth would think he was bored of the conversation if it wasn't for the grin on his face as he meets her eyes again. "ADHD."

"Oh?" she says. "Me too."

A beat passes. He studies her face like he wants to remember every little detail, and she tries not to squirm under the attention, opting to study him just as carefully.

There's a light dusting of freckles around his nose. In the haze of her mind, she thinks she would enjoy counting every single one.

"Where have I seen you before?" The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. "It's just… you seem so familiar."

"Oh, um…" he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "You took my sword training class a few semesters ago, and you were the TA for my lab with Dr. Brunner."

He says it so casually, but the fact that he didn't even hesitate makes her feel a bit dick-ish for not placing him sooner.

"Wait, yes!" she shouts. "I looked forward to that sword training class every week! So worth it, despite it being only one credit."

"Unfortunately, that part of the course wasn't up to me," he shrugs. "Why'd you take it anyway? Aren't you an architecture student?"

"Okay stalker," Annabeth nudges her foot into his leg playfully. "I needed the credit to meet my scholarship requirements and it sounded better than aerobics at 7am. And yes, I am an architecture student."

"It's not a crime to remember something you said during an ice-breaker."

"And do you memorize everyone's answers from those activities?"

"If they're as beautiful as you, I do."

Her mouth goes dry at his boldness. And as if he's reading her mind, he picks up his glass to take another sip. Annabeth can't help but notice how his lips part or the way the muscles in his neck move with each gulp.

"So," she clears her throat. "What's your major?"

"I'm double majoring in psychology and social work."

"Oh, wow," her eyebrows raise into her hairline. "Not what I expected."

He smiles, clearly not offended by her surprise. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know," she admits. "Business?"

"Ouch," he winces. "And here I thought I had more personality than that."

The clink of a glass hitting the counter draws their attention to Grover. He looks between the pair of them, his gaze lingering on Percy for a beat.

Finally, he greets Annabeth with a grin. "Is this one getting added to your table's tab or is it separate?"

"This one can be separate." She rummages through her purse, taking things out as she does to open the inner pocket where she keeps her cash.

"Hey man, I've got this one," says Percy to Grover.

"Oh no," she gestures. "You don't have to do that."

But she's too late. A few bills are passed, and their bartender leaves with a wink in the other man's direction.

"Thanks. You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to, but you're welcome."

He considers her for a moment.

"Annabeth," she offers. "My name, I mean."

He hums, and like the bass of the music, it makes something behind her ribcage buzz. "I knew that, but you're welcome, Annabeth."

A brief air of cockiness slips it's way back into his smile, and it irks her just as much as it makes her heart leap. It hits her then, that she hasn't been flirted with this boldly in years.

"What are these?" asks Percy as he holds up the stack of cards among the other things she forgot to stuff back into her bag.

"Surely, you've also had the 'don't touch things that aren't yours' lesson."

He ignores the jab, pulls a card from the rubber band, and flips it over to inspect the print.

"Are these personal business cards?"

"No. Well… kind of? My friend made me calling cards to hand out tonight."

He holds the stack up. "A bit desperate, no?"

"Don't be an ass," she scowls.

"I would never," he amends with a hand on his heart. "I'm the most chivalrous man here."

"Oh, wow. That's a big word for Elmo," Annabeth pouts in mocking.

He focuses a deadpan look in her direction.

"Don't be an ass, Annabeth."

She huffs and takes a quick glance at where she left her friends, but they're already looking back at her. It doesn't seem like they've moved, except for the fact that they're all huddled on one side of the booth, clearly very invested in what she's doing at the bar.

The crude gestures and the double thumbs-up from Frank are ignored to see Percy slipping the card back into the stack. Then, he slips the whole thing into his pocket.

"What do you think you're doing?" asks Annabeth. "My friends spent hours on those."

He straightens. His eyes twinkle despite the seriousness set into his features. "I have a proposition for you."

She shakes her head with a laugh. "Nope, elaborate. I don't like the way you've worded that."

"Okay, less a proposition and more a pitch."

"Be grateful you didn't major in marketing because you're losing me."

"Do you have a response to everything?" he replies, clearly amused.

"Yes."

"Right, of course," he chuckles. "Anyway, my pitch."

He takes another swig of his glass, downing the rest of his drink.

"Dance with me."

The offer is so direct, it draws a disbelieving laugh out of her. "Excuse me?"

"One dance. I just need one dance to convince you to go on a date with me. If you're not convinced at the end of it, you can get your cards back."

"And if you do convince me?" she asks with a raise of her brows. "You keep my cards? Why would I agree to that?"

"Because," he smiles. "You won't need them after I take you on the best date you've ever been on."

She hums, considering. "That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Presumptuous or incredibly charming?"

"Lucky for you, I think it's both."

She gets up from her stool, and she didn't notice it before, but even when sitting, he's slightly taller than her. There's something so addictive about being under his gaze and a warm flush spreads down her neck.

His blue eyes are soft and piercing as she empties her glass. A drop trickles down her chin, and she wipes it away with her thumb, brushing her bottom lip in the process. And that does something to him. Annabeth can't help but smile at the way he sits up in his chair, or the way his fingers tap against his thigh.

She holds out a hand to him. "One dance. It better be the best three minutes of my life."

"One dance," he agrees.

—

It was not just one dance.

Annabeth can't even remember how many songs it's been. Every moment since Percy took her hand was a blur of intertwining fingers, an arm around her waist, and the feeling of her hands combing through soft curls.

If she hadn't been drinking, just the scent of him alone would've been enough to make her feel like she was floating.

Truth be told, she would've agreed to a date without the dance, but the offer was too fun to pass up. She's probably a mess of hips and limbs on the dance floor, but when she opens her eyes, Percy's not too far away. He never is when they're not touching, and she thinks she would feel it if he was no longer in her orbit.

The punchy electronic bass in Beyonce's "Blow" reverberates through the room. The lights of the dance floor bathes Percy's blond hair in shades of blue and purple. He's also moving to the beat, shuffling closer as he does. Annabeth hooks a finger through one of his belt loops, and warm hands find their way back to her waist.

She closes her eyes again; her body buzzing with warmth as her mind remains blissfully empty, fully aware that Percy's still watching her.

She turns in his arms, and her shoulders are flush against his chest. His hands guide her hips as they sway together, and she's suddenly grateful for his ability to follow a rhythm. Her hands reach up behind her to hook onto his neck, her head resting comfortably against him.

They stay like that for a while before he leans down until his cheek touches hers; the smell of sea salt and cedar taking over her senses as he does.

"Do you want to take a break?"

A shiver spreads from her neck to the pit of her stomach at the way he whispers it into her ear. He notices the reaction, and his cheek rises with a smile against her own. 

She hums, twisting in his embrace.

"Tired already?" she asks, teasing.

"Just checking," he smiles, pinching her side. "I'm following your lead."

Her breath stutters for a moment.

"From the beginning it was always you who took the reins and I just let you—"

The words weren't exact, but it gave her pause anyway. And like a ghost, she spots a familiar head of brown hair from across the dance floor. It's the first time she's seen Connor in weeks. She takes in how his hair is slightly shorter on the sides and the calmness in his shoulders as he talks to the man in front of him.

Percy notices her stiffen under his hands, a concerned crease forms between his brows.

"Hey, are you okay?"

And once again, timing is not on her side because it's in that moment Connor feels their eyes on him. Those familiar hazel eyes, ones she'd thought would be a constant in her life, were staring back at her. Suddenly, a wave of guilt rises in her throat.

It's almost irrational the way irritation surfaces behind the guilt. She hadn't given him a second thought since she walked over to Percy at the bar, and that makes her feel terrible. But why should she feel terrible for having fun? Why does he get to have any control over how she feels?

"Annabeth?" asks Percy, again.

She loosens the death-grip she's had on his sleeve.

"I—" she tries, but the words die in her throat.

He turns to follow her line of sight, and understanding washes over his features. When he turns back to face her, he shuffles to the right, blocking Connor from her view.

"What do you need?"

His question comes out soft, and that almost feels just as suffocating. Percy barely knows her and yet he's managed to do everything right. He's spent the whole night making her feel wanted, and not in a lustful way either. He pays attention; he asks the right questions.

And isn't that just sickening.

Days after her their fight, Connor wouldn't even pick up her calls. Her messages collecting cob-webs above the 'delivered' tag. It wasn't until she came home from work one day to be handed a box of her things by Piper, that she knew their relationship was over.

"What do I need?" she whispers. A disbelieving laugh bursts through her. She feels manic, and for the first time all night, she realizes she's stone-cold sober. "I need answers."

She glances at him, and there's no judgment in his expression, only an understanding so earnest she has to look away.

"Okay," he nods.

"Can you…" She trails off. It feels selfish to ask anything of him.

He ducks his head down, searching for her eyes again. "Can I…?"

Annabeth bites at the inside of her cheek. "Would you wait at the bar? I just need to take care of something first."

Percy's body is still blocking Connor from sight, but she knows he hasn't moved from his spot along the wall. Suddenly, she feels Percy's thumb caress circles into her hip.

"Do what you need to do."

He steps back and the loss of heat fills her chest with lead. He starts toward the bar, but Annabeth grabs his arm.

"I won't take long," she says quickly. "You still need to tell me the details of our date."

Percy smiles, and it loosens the weight on her chest, if only for a bit.

Just as quickly as it had gone, the heaviness resettles into her bones at the thought of the conversation ahead.

Each step toward Connor feels as if she's wading through wet sand, his energy a repelling force against hers. Even the music, which had felt all-consuming in the best way, seems to dull as she approaches the area where Connor and his friend are standing.

"Hey," Annabeth says when she finally reaches him.

She's never been one to shuffle awkwardly, but she can't stop her hands from fidgeting. Connor doesn't seem to know what to do with himself either. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his cold beer switching hands to quell his obvious unease.

She isn't sure whether his discomfort makes her feel better or worse.

The man standing beside him glances between them before resting a reassuring hand on Connor's shoulder.

"I'll go check on Lou Ellen and Cecil."

Connor gives him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Mitchell."

"Annabeth." Mitchell offers her a cordial, almost apologetic smile as he walks away.

She nods in return, then takes his place against the wall.

"He seemed nice," she says, because apparently she doesn't know how else to begin.

Connor looks down at his drink, the music filling their silence as he bites down on his lip.

"I'm so sorry, Annabeth."

A sharp inhale makes her breath stutter in her chest. She can tell by the look on his face that he's being sincere, but she still can't allow herself to let what happened between them slide.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Connor."

"I—No, I know." He nods, looking down at his bottle again. "It was really shitty, the way I handled things. You deserved better than that—"

"Then why?" she pleads. "You shut me out for two months before our fight even happened. Two months, Connor. We were together for two years, friends for slightly longer, and you didn't have the decency to talk to me like I mattered. Who does that?"

"And I'm sorry for all of it—"

"Yeah, you said that already."

"Look, I can tell I'm already messing things up again, I just… I don't know how to explain."

"Oh, so there is an explanation?" she asks, crossing her arms. Whether it's a defensive stance or a self-soothing one she's not sure.

It almost feels ridiculous to be having this conversation in a crowded club. No one pays them any mind, but it's still weird to be hashing things out on the very night she's dedicated to moving on.

"I started to develop feelings for someone else. I never acted on them, of course, but I couldn't just ignore them either."

Annabeth could do nothing but stare. She was no longer fidgeting.

Feelings he couldn't ignore just sounds insane, but she'd be more pissed off if she hadn't noticed the genuine anxiety coming off him in waves. There's a tremor in the way he rubs the hem of his shirt, an old habit she hasn't seen since their freshman year.

"Do you…" he let out a shaking breath. "Do you remember the lab partner I complained about at the beginning of term?"

Annabeth's brows furrowed. "The pretentious douche-bag who ran through the trials without splitting the work or the data?"

A nervous laugh escapes him. "Yeah. That guy."

She watches the condensation of his beer drip down the bottle, and somewhere deep in her gut she knows where he's going with this story.

"I felt attracted…to him," he continues. "And it confused me. In all twenty-one years of my life, I'd never considered the possibility. Then here come these…feelings that—that were new and terrifying."

The pressure in her chest releases slightly at his admission. Annabeth's arms slowly fall from where she had them crossed. "You could've told me. I would've listened."

"I know. It just felt like something I had to figure out on my own, that I had to understand it completely before I could tell anyone about it."

He places his drink down.

"I thought I knew what I was supposed to want. Who I was supposed to be. And suddenly I'm looking at some guy—the guy I thought I couldn't stand—and I was thinking about him the way I was supposed to think about you."

She looks down at her shoes and bites at the inside of her cheek. She can admit that it still hurts—the death of a relationship, the fact that they'll never be as important to each other in that same way ever again. There's some anger still mixed in there too. Anger for the girl she was all those weeks ago.

"You didn't just shut me out, Connor. You made me feel like I was the problem."

"And I regret it everyday," he replies earnestly. "I kept thinking if I ignored it, it would go away. That eventually I'd feel normal again, and we'd go back to the way things were." He shakes his head. "But every time I looked at you, I felt guilty. And every time I thought of him, I felt even worse. So I shut you out, and I'm sorry."

When she looks at him now, the ache in her chest is still there, but she thinks she's known for a while that her feelings for him are not what they once were. And they probably haven't been for a long time.

If this night has taught her anything, it's that she's never gotten everything she's needed from their relationship.

"Thanks for telling me. I needed to hear that," she takes a deep breath and lets her back hit the wall. "Those last few weeks were hell for me so I might need a minute to not be pissed off whenever I look at you."

A laugh bursts out of him and she can't help but follow suit. It's a weird feeling to mourn a version of herself that no longer exists. Even weirder to mourn it with the person who caused that growth in the first place. A part of her thinks they could've made it, but at the same time the direction they seem to be heading seems more right.

Connor picks his beer up again and rests his back against the wall along side her. She watches him scan the room until his eyes land on his friends.

"That's him isn't it?" asks Annabeth. "Mitchell. He's the lab partner."

There's no judgment or resentment in her question, only the dawning of realization.

"You were always incredibly perceptive," he smiles sadly. "Yeah, that's him."

"So you've figured it out, I assume."

"I've figured out as much as I need to right now," he replies, turning his head to look at her. "I need you to know that none of this was because you weren't enough."

His words land like a sucker-punch to the gut. Annabeth's throat tightens.

"Connor," she sighs.

"No, I know you. And you need to hear it," he says sternly. "You were never the problem."

She looks down at her hands. It's hard hearing her biggest fear vocalized so bluntly. In those days after he returned her stuff in a box, she figured their relationship ending really had been her fault. That maybe she was pestering him about things that didn't matter at the end of the day. She drove herself mad thinking about it.

The lump in her throat makes it hard for words to escape. She can only nod in response.

"Are we good?" asks Connor.

"Yeah, we're good," she says, voice hoarse.

Then after a beat, she adds, "But if you ever ghost me like that again, I'm punching you in the throat."

"Noted," he laughs.

Connor's gaze travels back to his friends. Mitchell is across the room with who Annabeth can only assume are Cecil and Lou Ellen. They're a blur of jubilant movement on the dance floor and Connor smiles at the sight. That familiar dimple she hasn't seen in so long makes an appearance and it feels like she can finally exhale.

The peace blossoming in her chest makes her search the bar. Percy sits alone with his back to her. She watches as he bobs his head to the music, his blond curls dancing under the lights.

"Seems like you've figured something out too."

"Huh?"

He smiles. "You used to look at me like that."

Annabeth stumbles on a reply, somehow feeling exposed. "We just met tonight. Well…officially."

"Still," he shrugs. "It's nice to see you excited about someone."

They let his words linger in the space between them, happy to enjoy being in each other's presence. Eventually, her eyes find their way back to Percy, like she's been reprogrammed to hone in on his location as soon as he comes to mind.

And Percy, like he somehow feels it too, turns in his seat. They stare at each other from across the room and the whole world is at a standstill. There's no one else but them, just Percy and Annabeth, and the magnetizing pull keeping them afloat.

Connor's voice snaps her back into her body, "Go."

They both know that there's nothing left to say. She grasps his free hand and squeezes.

"I'll see you around, Connor."

And without waiting for a reply, she pries herself off the wall. She's a boat out at sea and Percy with his crystal blue eyes, appears through the fog like a beacon.

Annabeth has been adrift for so long, she's unsure whether his coasts are a safe place to land. She doesn't know if he'll let her set an anchor down long enough to feel the sand between her toes, but that's the exciting part too. It's a new adventure all together, and when she's close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body, there's something in his expression that makes her want to be brave.

"Hi," she says breathless.

Percy's smile is boyish and bright. "Hi."

—

By three in the morning, the club has lost whatever magic its managed to hold onto. The music has been turned down, the overhead lights are painfully bright, and Grover is already wiping down the counters.

There's a few stragglers left, most of them lingering like they aren't quite ready to admit the night is over. Annabeth barely notices them. She's too busy listening to Percy, who's halfway through a story about his time as an RA for the freshman dorms.

"But I remember waking up one night to a loud bang. So I open my door, and one by one, heads start popping out of rooms, and we hear a girl scream, 'Octopus! There's an octopus in the toilet!'"

"Where did they get it from?" she asks, invested.

"No one came forward," he frowns. "You wouldn't believe the paperwork I had to fill out for that."

Grover's voice cuts through the conversation.

"Hey Perse, I just gotta take the trash out back and I'll meet you by the door."

Percy glances over his shoulder. "Sounds good."

An unexpected flicker of dread settles in Annabeth's stomach. Like the thinning crowd, she doesn't want the night to end.

He turns to her. "You wanna head there now?"

"Sure," she responds softly.

Annabeth gets to her feet, adjusting the purse strap over her shoulder. Percy stands from the stool and stretches. A sliver of pale skin appears at his waistline and it takes everything in her not to stare.

Instead she says, "You're like a cat."

"I've been told I'm more of a golden retriever," he says, still stretching.

"Ew. Don't do that," she scrunches her nose, laughing. "It's way less endearing when you say it about yourself. And if anything, you give off orange cat energy."

He scowls, "I can't decide whether to be offended so I'll just agree with you."

Percy holds an arm out for her to take.

She lifts a brow as she links her arm with his. "Smart man."

As they wait by the door, Annabeth keeps an eye out for her friends among the groups leaving.

The events of the night are finally catching up with her as she leans against Percy. He doesn't comment on the way her eyes droop or the way she sways slightly on her feet.

When she finally spots Frank above the other heads, she can't help the laugh that bubbles up her throat because on his back is a very drunk Piper.

"Annabear!" shouts Piper, her eyes lighting up.

Frank grunts as he tries to hoist her back up from slipping. Piper pays him no mind as she waves frantically, her other arm keeping him in a headlock as she does.

"Piper!" he yells, smacking her arm. "You're choking me."

His other hand is laced with Hazel's, and he shakes it to get his girlfriend's attention.

"Hazel, do something!" he coughs.

Annabeth feels Percy jostle beside her. "Should we help him?" he asks, concerned.

"No, I think he's got it."

And just as the words leave her mouth, they hear Frank gasp as Piper finally loosens her grip.

"Ow! What the hell, Frank," slurs Piper. She has her neck craned to see his face. "Now my arm's all red."

Hazel covers her mouth as she giggles. "Yeah, Frank. You didn't have to do all that."

"Why are you never on my side?" he moans.

The last of the crowd makes their way through the door. When her friends finally stop in front of them, they each look down at her arm entwined with Percy's.

Frank smirks, but it fades once Piper stretches her arms toward her roommate.

"My sweet Annabear!" she shouts. "Who's that guy?"

When she points, her finger is mere inches from Percy's face.

He blinks. "I'm Percy?" he says, sounding unsure.

Frank huffs. "Mclean, I swear I won't hesitate to drop you right now."

"What happened to her?" asks Annabeth as she turns to Hazel.

"Some guy challenged her to shot roulette."

"And I kicked his ass," adds Piper, smiling.

"Hell yeah, you did!" yells Hazel.

Annabeth raises an eyebrow at her. She immediately mouths, No, she didn't, while Piper beams without a care in the world.

"So, what are we waiting for?" asks Frank.

"My roommate works the bar," replies Percy. "He should be finishing up soon."

"Cool. I gotta make sure the girls make it back to The Minerva."

"Oh, dude! That's where me and my roommate live. We'll walk with you guys."

Percy smiles down at Annabeth, and she hums. On any other night, when she isn't so tired, she'd probably be more self-conscious about clinging to him like this. But none of her friends have said anything, so as far as she's concerned, this is a small mercy she's willing to accept.

Before she can linger too much on it, Grover comes jogging up to them.

"Sorry for the hold up," he smiles, sheepishly.

He juggles his belongings in one hand while trying to shove his arms through his jacket. Percy holds out his free arm, and Grover wordlessly hands him his things just long enough for him to make himself presentable.

"Thanks, Perse."

"No, problem, G-man," Percy gathers his things against his side. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, I miss my bed." Grover finally gets his jacket on and adjusts the collar. "And those cookies Sally sent us are calling my name."

By the time they make it back to The Minerva, Annabeth is barely keeping her eyes open. Her and Percy are no longer arm in arm, but they hang behind the group even as they step into the building.

The lobby is eerily quiet at this hour, the soft yellow glow of the overhead lights blur as her eyes squint through a yawn. Somewhere to her left, Grover says an incoherent goodbye before disappearing toward the elevators, leaving Annabeth and Percy standing near the entrance with the others.

Frank gives her a pointed look. "You good?"

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. I'll meet you up there. Do you need my keys?"

"No, Pipes gave me her bag a while ago," says Hazel through a yawn.

Piper, half-asleep and drooling on Frank's shoulder, lifts her head. "Annabear got a boyfriend? I knew my cards would work." Her thought trails off at the end as she fights off sleep.

"I've known him for six hours," she scowls.

"That's basically marriage," mumbles Piper, her eyes now closed.

Hazel laughs as she walks toward the elevators, Piper's keycard already in hand. Frank follows after her with one last suspicious glance at Percy.

Once they're alone, Annabeth looks at Percy, suddenly aware of how different the silence feels without the music from the club drowning everything out.

"So," Percy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "About that date."

It's nerve wracking how intimate it feels in the empty lobby of their apartment. The yellow light of the lobby buzzes with anticipation. The only other noises are the muffled whizzing of cars on the street and the crickets chirping on the grass outside.

"Ah, yes. The 'best date' I'll ever go on. I remember you mentioning it."

"How about Saturday?" he asks. "There's this new restaurant down the street that I've been wanting to try."

The suggestion almost knocks the air from her lungs. "The Golden Lotus?"

She knows without his having to answer that it's the same restaurant she wanted to try all those weeks ago, and this feels like a sign. A final nail in the coffin of everything that had happened in the past, and the push she needed to fully sink into the present.

"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is that—is it okay? We can go somewhere else. I just thought a sit down dinner might be nice for a first date, but if that's too much pressure, I'm sure we can find something more fun—"

"Percy, it's fine. I've been wanting to try that place too," she laughs. "Is seven okay?"

He breathes out a sigh of relief before smiling, once again boyish and bright. "Seven's perfect."

"Great." She can't help but smile too.

They walk slowly towards the elevators. They're on opposite sides of the building so this is where they'll have to part.

Annabeth presses the button to go up.

"Oh, wait. I should probably get your number," she says.

When she turns around Percy's already typing on his phone. "Don't worry. I just sent you a text."

"What?"

She pulls her phone out of her purse, and he's right. Staring back at her is a text from a New York number.

"But, how?" she asks.

Percy smirks and pulls the stack of calling cards from his pocket. The elevator dings behind her.

"I'm really not getting those back, am I?" she asks, already stepping into the elevator.

He shakes his head. "Nope! Saturday. Seven PM."

She rolls her eyes though there's no heat behind it. "Okay. Saturday. Seven PM."

Once the doors slide shut, she smiles at the reflection staring back at her. She can't remember the last time she looked forward to something this much.