He was exquisite, she knew.

Perhaps it was because of the hue of his eyes that allowed her to remember the ocean when it is untamed. Her mind is the boat that tries to weave its way through the clamor of waves and the pouring of the rain. They are insignificant and useless as she tries not to drown into his eyes. She swims up but a pull from underneath prevents her from stealing air on the surface.

The lips he usually connects on the redhead's are plump and slightly chapped. His upper lip curves perfectly and his lower one is full. They are tempting to touch. She wonders if her fingers will ever get a chance to brush them softly.

He glances her way and immediately walks over to where she stands. She marvels the fact that he knows where she is instantly. Like a shot, she shrugs the idea. It wasn't that hard to locate her anyway; she will always be found at the back of the library, where good books and couples who make out may be found.

His strides are long and almost sloppy, emphasizing the jeans he is wearing. They are black and tight around his legs and the boots his feet are snuggled in benefits to his height and kicking power. The book where his hand is wrapped around on flutters open ever so delicately as his arms swing on his sides. His navy blue leather jacket is embedded with logos of bands she was unfamiliar with. The black T-shirt hiding underneath it creases with every step he takes towards her. Their eyes meet again and she purses her lips, looking away.

She took notice of her clenched fingers and heavy breathing. The page of the book she is reading is marked by her nails and regret fills the pool of her stomach. The heel of her foot brushes against the other, causing gray socks and red Chuck Taylors to collide in a clash of color. Her shoulders straighten and she cannot help but bite the inside of her cheek, peeling a thin layer of skin. Horrid it was but by then she was not able to notice, for he now stands beside her, unmindful of her uncommon behavior.

"Hey," he says, voice as soft and smooth as butter and cheese. He is smiling. His close proximity allows her to see the small curve of his perfect lips.

Beautiful.

"Hey," she responds, leveling her voice as the tone of his own. "What's up?"

They are not friends. She knows this for they rarely hang out and she cannot stand his presence. They rarely speak to each other and avoid each other's directions.

It seems today is an exception.

"I need to ask you a favor." Grinning brightly, he flips open the book in his hands, before she can see the cover. Its frayed edges of the object is familiar and the cover is smeared with what seemed as dirt.

She frowns.

"I know we're not friends," he begins, noticing her expression, "like at all, but I need your help."

The grin is gone and she asks "For what, exactly?"

"It's for Rachel's birthday."

Something within her deflates and she sucks in a sharp breath. Her heart pounds in her ears and there is bile that climbs on her throat. Percy does not notice of course; the oblivious enigma he had always been.

She's expected something else, of course. She was never really the outgoing type and barely have friends. Most people only come to her for homework help, being the class Valedictorian and all.

But with Rachel Elizabeth Dare? It's a different story.

"Sure." She closes the book in her hands and walks back to the shelf where she got it, Percy following her. "What do you want me to do?"

The grin is back, brighter than the last one he gave. She nearly squints from the intensity.

He is now talking, his mouth occasionally twitching up and she counts the times he smiles at her.

Because it was rare of Perseus Jackson to acknowledge the existence of Annabeth Chase.