Pearly whites. Flawless complexion. Perfect vision. Thick heads of shining black hair.

As Annabeth sat at the dinner table, delicate chin resting in her hands, she took in the minute details of his face, trying to imagine what their hypothetical future offspring would look like.

They would get her nose, though. His was slightly crooked, though just enough to be quirky and charming. Was that from a bad punch to the face, or was he—

"Annabeth?" He asked suddenly, smiling in that adorably vulnerable way, almost like a small child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yes?" She asked eagerly. This was it. He was going to do it! She could see his hand slip underneath the table.

"Would you—"

"Yes!" She exclaimed excitedly, bouncing with joy.

"—Mind passing me some of those potatoes? They look pretty good."

"Yeah, sure," She cleared her throat, glancing down at her lap as she pushed her plate forward, hoping he hadn't noticed. From his continued conversation, he hadn't.

That had been a close one. But really, was it so hard to imagine a marriage proposal when he had brought her to this fancy restaurant for their anniversary?

"—And that's how Marsha, my shift supervisor, lost her wedding ring in the photocopier!" He laughed, finishing yet another work story with a grin. Annabeth laughed along with him, unknowing as to why losing jewelry in an office machine was so funny in the first place.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows furrowing. "What a shame. I hope she got it out."

"What difference does it make, anyway?" He asked, confusion masking his handsome face. "She was cheating on him anyway. If you ask me, she had it coming to her."

Okay, cue major confusion. What they hell was he talking about? Wait, never mind, he was asking her something. What did he just say?

"—Your day?"

"Good," she grinned, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "You know, something funny happened to me as well."

"Oh?" He asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Yes," she affirmed, leaning forward and clasping her hands. "Mrs. Mendelson, a regular at the shop, kept pestering me about when I would announce our engagement, but—"

Her mouth pinched shut, her face scrunching into a pucker as he spit his mouthful of wine into her face. Burgundy droplets ran down her face and into her cleavage.

"What?!" He choked out, horror clouding his eyes.

"If you had let me finish, I would've told you that I corrected her," Annabeth said quietly, bringing a napkin to her face and dabbing at her ruined makeup. She could feel her blonde curls begin to crumple with the additional moisture.

"I…I…you…you know we're not…never…I mean…" He stammered, green eyes flicking about the restaurant hysterically. Probably looking for an escape. His breath was rapid, and he had begun to sweat violently.

"Never?" She asked, now offended. "We've been dating for five years, I wouldn't call marriage impossible."

"I…I just don't think we're…ready. At that stage in our relationship, you know? I need time to think it out."

"What, five years wasn't enough?"

"No, well, I mean, obviously I thought we'd get married eventually, but that's supposed to be in the distant future. Like, when we turn thirty, or something. I…I assumed that you knew that."

"You…you didn't get me a ring," She murmured quietly, her face growing warm.

"I didn't think you were that kind of girl."

"I…" She took a deep breath, hoping to get rid of her pink complexion. "I'm not."

"Good," he said, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. His smile was tight.

Annabeth picked up her fork and pushed the rosemary-laden potatoes around her plate, watching as they left a yellow trail of oil. Gross. Her steak was probably cold now, long forgotten, and her creamed spinach hadn't been that wonderful to begin with. She sighed, trying to think of ways to pass the time between now and whenever it would be that he finished his dinner.

As he cut a piece of steak methodically, stabbing the slab of meat with his fork, she thought about their first anniversary, when he had asked her to meet his parents.

He chewed, smiling at her. She thought about their second anniversary, when he had pulled out a black velvet box. They had been earrings.

He swallowed, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a white linen napkin. She thought to their third anniversary, when they had gone to the pound and gotten a cat together.

He took a sip of wine, and she thought about their last anniversary, when they had spent the entire night roaming the streets for said cat, which had run away. Annabeth hadn't minded too much, since the cat always clawed at her, but he had insisted, and the cat turned up three blocks away from their apartment.

And now? Now, she had just gotten denied. Again. Because even after five years, when they'd lived together and owned a cat together, marriage was still in the far and distant future.

Because even after five years, she wasn't wife material.

Even after five years, the thought of marrying her still made him panic.

After five years—

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said suddenly, rising from the table as her anger boiled over. Her white silk blouse was dotted with purple stains, probably ruined forever. Her mascara was probably smeared around her face. She probably looked like a crazy person to the other diners.

Her life was filled with probabilities: things that had seemed so certain, and yet failed to ever amount to anything.

"I'm leaving."

"What?" He asked, confused and startled. "What do you mean?"

"So long, old buddy, old pal. I'm done," she gathered her coat and purse, storming towards the door.

"Annabeth, what are you saying?" He rose, jogging to catch up to her.

"It means," she spun on her heel, fuming. "I'm done. I want a ring, and a wedding, and a boyfriend who doesn't panic at the thought of commitment." She cried, grimacing as tears prickled her eyes and fell. "A loose promise of the future isn't enough, and I'm lying to both of us if I say it is."

"Annabeth," He frowned, reaching a hand out to console her.

"Don't," She said, backing away from his reach. "I'm done. We're done."

"Annabeth, please."

"Goodbye, Percy," she called as the door slammed shut behind her.