Summary: Percy's a bit superstitious and Annabeth's too busy trying to stay busy. Fate's not always cruel.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, the Heroes of Olympus series, or any characters I borrow from said series'. I don't own any bands, songs, movies, or books I mention.
;;;
Annabeth was sure an anxiety attack was well on its way.
Not only was her hair pinned up haphazardly—a stark contrast to her typically perfected ponytail—but now she was running late.
The four-laned road was so congested with cars that she hadn't moved for the last ten minutes. Living in the city, she was more than used to traffic, but it seemed that today was simply not her day. Annabeth's pressed button up already had a stain on it from slamming on the brakes at the beginning of what she would later note as the most inconvenient traffic jam of her life. She couldn't find her cat this morning. She was nursing three burnt fingertips after taking her bagel straight out of the toaster. With her coffee—which had initially burnt her tastebuds—chilled, Annabeth was sure it couldn't get any worse. That is, until she felt a sharp pain in her foot, alerting her that her body didn't agree with her choice of shoes.
The only good luck she'd had was the fact that she remember the file folder of her next client—attempting to sell a gorgeous four bedroom, two bathroom house—but it would all be in vain if she couldn't make it to the showing in time.
She inched her car forward, simply to feel like she was going somewhere and not wasting her time. Tapping her hands to the beat of a song on her steering wheel entertained her for all of a moment, and Annabeth scowled as she realized her ADHD was acting up. She had mellowed out for the most part, almost as soon as she hit her twenties, but now, she couldn't seem to sit still.
Disinterestedly, she glanced at the older woman on her right nearly dozing off in the morning traffic. Annabeth watched her yawn twice, glancing away sharply when the lady noticed her gaze. Swinging her head to the left, utterly desperate for some source of entertainment before she went absolutely crazy, Annabeth elicited a sharp pain in her upper back, adding to her unfortunate day. Feeling like she wanted to hit something, repeatedly, she watched the car before her's brake lights flick on as they pulled forward.
Cheering sarcastically to herself, Annabeth let off the brake and moved for only a small second before stepping on them again. Groaning in annoyance, she changed the station three times before settling on the news channel and redirecting her gaze to the right once more.
She nearly snorted at the sight of a man—who could no older than his mid-twenties—hitting his head on the wheel of his car, unceasingly. He seemed to be muttering something to himself—probably curses, if he was anything like Annabeth—as he dropped his head a final time. Considering copying his actions, she continued to watch the entertaining man as he bolted upright and fumbled in the backseat for some unknown object.
When he situated himself to face the front again, Annabeth found the will to stop staring at the man (but that didn't stop her from noticing his god-like appearance). Annabeth tuned into the news channel for all of five seconds before unconsciously letting her eyes wander to the man locked in traffic next to her.
He was scribbling manically on a pad of paper, as though his life depended on it. Shoving the pen in his mouth for safekeeping, he ran his hand over the sheet, closed the notebook and—
Oh, dear god. He saw her staring. Wanting to kick herself, Annabeth snapped her head back forwards and changed the radio station again before casting her gaze upon the man once more. He was smiling at her like he knew a secret she didn't, which made her want to ask him everything. He still had a pen in his mouth, and he looked admittedly stupid when he nodded to her in greeting.
Mortified that he'd caught her glance a second time, Annabeth nodded back to him uncomfortably, inching forward into room she probably shouldn't. Her jaw clenched and unclenched with the effort of not looking at the man—who did look like a god, as much as she wished to deny it—and she busied herself by scanning her eyes over the file of her client, which she had more or less memorized.
Asking for at least three bedrooms and two baths. Asking for—
Annabeth inhaled sharply at the noise of something hitting her car window. It didn't sound like a rock, but it was enough to make her jump out of her skin. She turned to the right, the origin of the noise, her expert glare in place. The man, oh, his eyes, was leaning slightly out of his window and waving. Taking a deep breath, Annabeth rolled down the window of the passenger seat.
"What," she asked simply, "did you throw at my car?"
Folding his arms over the windowsill of his car and leaning his chin on his hands, the man let a stupid smile adorn his face. "A piece of paper. Balled up."
Annabeth pursed her lips, examining the man's tanned face. "Why?"
"I needed to tell you something," he answered simply, digging into his pocket. He pulled out a stack of small slips of paper, and Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed as she recognized them.
"Fortunes?"
The man smiled lopsidedly. "Yep." He slipped one out from underneath the rubber band the held them together, glancing up absently as the traffic moved a little. "Progress," he muttered bitterly, slamming on the brakes not a second later. "'A fresh start will put you on your way,'" he read from the paper, thereafter dropping the slip into the foggy morning. "Your lucky numbers were 3, 2 and 83." It swayed down the highway, riding the wind, and Annabeth looked at him as though he were crazy—which he had to be. He grinned, shoving the stack of papers back into his pocket and nodding to himself.
"What was that all about?" Annabeth asked, having to shout a bit over the hum of engines.
He shrugged, tracing the circle of the car wheel. "You looked like you could use a good omen."
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, and started rolling up her window.
"Wait!" the man yelled. "What's your name?"
"Susanna," she answered, deciding to give a false name. Good-looking or not, Annabeth didn't want a stalker. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the window had sealed her car shut. She gave him a pointed look, alerting him that he should roll his window up too, but the green-eyed man shook his head, pulling the same notebook out of his pocket and leaning it against the wheel. When he finally held up what he'd been writing, Annabeth could just barely make out six words.
Your name is so not Susanna.
Annabeth gave him a blank stare when he sent her a look. Facing forward again, and barely restraining from getting out of her car and walking to work, Annabeth created a mental list of her tasks for the day. Show the Robinson's the house. Sell them the house. Report back to the office. Buy her boss a coffee to soften her up. Apologize for being late. Paperwork. Check inbox. More paperwork. Lunch break. Send out e-mails. Ask her boss if she needed anything else. Do whatever she says. More paperwork. Calls. Verify appointments for—
She sucked in a sharp breath when yet another noise startled her. With barely contained fury, she rolled down her window, the slow speed contrasting her hot annoyance. "What do you want?"
"A real name. I'm Percy. Twenty-three. Currently late for work," he introduced easily, waving. "And this traffic would be much more pleasurable with you speaking to me." Annabeth examined the man, taking in the way his hands restlessly tapped at the wheel as his eyes skipped from her face, to her car, to the car in front of her, to the sky above them, and around thirty other places. She saw the way he was jumpy and recognized it, having seen it in herself not ten minutes before.
"Susanna," Annabeth persisted. "Twenty-three, also. Currently in jeopardy of losing a client."
"Lawyer?"
"Real estate agent," Annabeth corrected, scowling. "Stop talking to me. Didn't your parents tell you not to talk to strangers?" She began rolling the window up again, but Percy shook his head simply.
"Your name's not 'Susanna'!" he called. Annabeth rolled her eyes, flipping the radio stations before settling on a song that was vaguely familiar. She was able to accelerate for maybe two seconds in ten minute intervals, if she was lucky. Which, she wasn't. Halfway quoting books in her head and halfway staring at the sky through her sunglasses, Annabeth thought her impatience would be the death of her.
Hearing her phone ring, Annabeth winced as she flipped it open, expecting an irritated call from her employer or her client. "Annabeth Chase."
"I knew that wasn't your real name!"
Annabeth started and dropped her phone, letting off the brakes for a moment and almost hitting the bumper of the minivan in front of her. She glanced over at Percy, astonished, and he smiled, pointing to the side of the car with the phone still pressed to his ear.
Almost copying Percy's action of hitting his head on the wheel, Annabeth recalled the fact that she was in her work car, which just so happened to have her phone number on the side for "All of your real estate needs!"
Percy gestured for her to get her phone, and Annabeth followed directions, promptly hanging up. Now, the man even knew her last name, and her phone number.
When her phone rang a few minutes later she didn't even glance down at it, knowing it would be Percy, the mental man next to her. However, when the first call was followed by a second call, she spared a glance at the screen. Her eyes just about fell out of her head. She picked up her phone at lightning speed, pressing answer with the enthusiasm of a toddler around brightly colored objects.
"Annabeth Chase!" she answered professionally, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Why do I have a client calling me with complaints?"
Annabeth sighed. "I'm running late, Ms. Jensen."
"You should have foresaw the traffic and left your home early. You had an appointment today," Ms. Jensen snapped.
"Had?" she squeaked.
"They left after their twenty minute wait," Ms. Jensen replied in a clipped tone. "And they said they loved the look of the house, too."
"I'm—"
"Ms. Chase," she interjected. "This is not the first time you have committed an infraction."
"I know, Ms. Jensen," Annabeth reasoned. "But it's the traffic; I think there was a wreck on—"
"We are not required to keep unprepared employees, Ms. Chase."
"I understand that," Annabeth hurried to reassure her, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in her throat.
"Then you will understand why I must ask you to not return to work," Ms. Jensen stated simply. "Good day, Ms. Chase."
"Ms. Jen—" The harsh tone alerted her that the she had been hung up on.
This time, Annabeth did drop her head to the wheel, laying on the horn and probably pissing off the minivan driver in front of her. Muttering curses that she wasn't even sure she would say in front of some sailors, Annabeth drank the last sip of her chilled coffee.
When the sound of a paper ball hitting her window reached her ears, she considered homicide. "What do you want?" she ground out, after rolling the window down, just barely enough to hear his voice carry through.
"Are you okay?"
"Jobless, other than that, I'm just peachy," Annabeth answered snarkily. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on suppressing the burning behind her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Percy said, offering his condolences. "'A fresh start will put you on your way.'"
"This isn't a fresh start!" Annabeth snapped. "This is the end of my life!"
Percy raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you're still breathing. You'll be fine."
His tone was light, almost playful, as though he were teasing her. Annabeth scowled deeply, rolling up the window for the last time, and trying to ignore the way Percy yelled the fortune at her just before the window closed him out.
Jobless. Annabeth was jobless. Feeling like scum, horrible, unemployed, low-life scum, she looked over her outfit she'd carefully crafted to please the client. Yellow was Mrs. Robinson's favorite color; Annabeth had bought a hideously pastel yellow shirt for no reason. With spite, she began to unbutton the shirt she hated and ended up ripping half of the buttons off in anger.
Her pale blue tank top was left, which made her feel a bit of freedom as she tossed the abominable shirt into her backseat. Annabeth flipped open a compartment, slid her sunglasses out and took her hair out of the clip she'd had it in. All for nothing. She was in traffic for nothing. She was being harassed by Percy for nothing.
Cautiously, she shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye, only catching the end of his smile as he shook his head. She wanted to ask him what was so funny; why he felt the need to make everyone feel like he knew more than they did, but the van in front of her gave her a smidgen of leeway, distracting her for the moment.
;;
Annabeth sped as she was released from the wrath of Los Angeles traffic. It was ten in the morning, and since she didn't have a job, she didn't have a single thing to do. Tapping her hands unconsciously along the span of her wheel, Annabeth decided she hadn't waited in traffic for an hour and a half simply to go back home and wallow in self-pity.
In fact, she wanted to do exactly the opposite.
Annabeth was going to go to the beach.
;;
A Wal-Mart swimsuit and thirty minutes later, Annabeth was biting into a bagel, which, thankfully, was not burning her fingers. She was walking along the pier, glad that she'd had enough foresight to keep and extra pair of old shoes in her trunk. Unluckily, they were her Converse, and Annabeth could only imagine how much of a sight she was, strutting down the pier in a blue bathing suit and grey Converse, a bagel half-shoved in her mouth. However, most people the beach was either too involved in their own affairs, or even more odd than her, to care.
She finished her breakfast as she walked over the ocean on the wooden boards, stopping once to pull her half-on Converse completely over her heel. After the bagel was done and over with, Annabeth made a U-turn for the sandy beach, humming Michael Buble to herself.
It'd been awhile since she'd been able to be in the atmosphere of sand for miles and waves crashing relentlessly; the smell of salty ocean whirling around her as the wind helped keep her hair out of her face. The closest she'd gotten was selling a beach condo to a filthy rich couple who would never use it the way it deserved to be used. Now that she was here, it was safe to say that she didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Cursing herself for not packing her iPod like instincts had been telling her that morning, Annabeth kicked off her Converse, hanging them from two fingers while letting the water rise to her ankles. Hoping that Thalia was working today, she made her way down the beach with the water kissing her ankles.
The "Breezy Freeze Snowball Truck" had been manned by Thalia Grace, Annabeth's official best friend, for the last three years. She'd started the merchandise when she had seen one on another beach, and noticed that Surfrider Beach lacked shaved ice. A few calls and a lot of paperwork later, Thalia was a proud business owner, racking in customers by the dozens—from sweaty surfers to parched teenagers.
Annabeth's Converse swung leisurely as she tried to avoid getting impaled with a surfboard. As far as she knew, Surfrider Beach was practically a magnet for tan teenage boys with stupid voices and long hair, riding the waves to their heart's content. The water was filled today, the weather absolutely perfect for surfing.
Annabeth considered going and finding a surfboard of her own, but it'd been years. And even when she used to surf, she hadn't been any good.
"Head's up!"
Fast reflexes allowed Annabeth's head to turn at a speed most people wouldn't be able to manage, catching the football that had been hurtling her way with ease. She tried her best to glare at the group of adolescents, but they were just that: adolescents, and surely they didn't know any better.
With a resigned sigh, Annabeth tossed the football back with surprising accuracy and strength. As one of the teenage boys gaped, she felt prideful of her athleticism. A few people called out their thanks, but she was already departing from the water and hiking up the beach to where Breezy Freeze should be.
Not two minutes later, Annabeth was approaching the powder blue truck and already deciding what flavor she'd partake of. The truck, however, was empty as far as she could see, so Annabeth cautiously called out a, "hello?"
"One moment!" a voice that was definitely not Thalia's called back.
"Okay…" Annabeth muttered, craning her neck to see if Thalia was hiding, or—the more likely choice—sleeping on the job.
"What can I get for you?" A mop of black, curly hair ambled around the corner, red sleeves rolled up so that he looked like he was wearing a muscle shirt. Annabeth saw a questionable tattoo, reading "hot stuff" and she assumed it was the result of a night of hard partying. He looked almost elfish, with a grin that almost screamed trouble. "Tiger's Blood is our special of the day!"
"Right," Annabeth answered distractedly. "Where's Thalia?"
The boy shrugged, his lanky frame leaning on the counter. "She asked for a day off. Tiger's Blood, then?"
Annabeth sighed at the luck of missing her best friend; it seemed nothing fortuitous could happen to her today. "No. Pina Colada."
"What size?" he questioned, turning around to find the container of her wish. "Small, medium, large?"
"Medium," she decided, slipping her iPhone out of her pocket and sending Thalia a text. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet, I haven't made you the best shaved ice Pina Colada of your life," he responded swiftly. His teasing wink would have made her brain go into defense mode, but the kid looked at least four years younger than her. He crafted her order with relaxed ease, something that Annabeth lusted after. Her job had never felt "relaxing" in all the three years she'd worked there. "Here you are!" he announced, sliding it over the counter. "One Leo-Supreme shaved ice for the lovely lady!"
She grabbed a spoon and took a bite, relishing the relief from the humid California air. "This really is great," Annabeth praised, smiling when Leo nodded smugly. "Thanks." She slipped a five dollar bill from her pocket, slapping it on the counter and telling him to keep the change, however much that was.
Resuming her task of walking down the beach, Annabeth wondered if it was such a good idea to be here. For one, explaining to her mother that she'd lost her job wouldn't be a fun conversation, especially if she found out that Annabeth simply went to the beach afterwards as opposed to applying for new jobs immediately. It wasn't good "management" or—
This was a nightmare. A really horrible nightmare, and surely, surely Annabeth would wake up soon only to find that all of her bad luck was the result of the pessimistic side of her brain infiltrating her dreams. She would have pinched herself, just to see if she'd wake up, but she was pinned to the ground by a guy when she opened her eyes.
A shirtless guy.
Annabeth probably blushed down to her toes after noticing their compromising position, but her senses came back a few moments later when she abruptly pushed him off. "Excuse you."
"Annabeth Chase?"
"How do you know my—?"
Finally, belatedly, Annabeth looked up to the man's face, seeing the same smile that had thrown paper balls at her car this morning. With a delay, she noted that her shaved ice was lying face down, the waves threatening to take it out to sea.
"Why are you here?" Annabeth snapped, standing up and shielding her barely clothed body with her beach bag.
Percy picked up a shirt off the ground, one that he seemingly had dropped when he fell on Annabeth, and held it by the shoulders to let her see it. "'Animal Rescue Volunteer'?" she read, raising an eyebrow.
Percy nodded. "I'm a saint, what can I say?" He smirked, glancing her up and down and chuckling as she pulled her bag tighter against her body. "Here," he told her, picking up her shoes off of the ground where they'd fallen.
Annabeth almost stuttered, but her strictly business side took over. Holding the bag in place with her elbow, she gathered her shoes into her hands and avoided his gaze. "Well. Okay." She turned on her heel and started walking away from him as quick as humanly possible, but something hit her back. Twisting on her heel, Annabeth let a glare overtake her face.
His shirt laid on the ground in front of her feet, though Percy stood a foot or two away. "Walk with me."
"Stay away from me."
This only made Percy laugh, and he smiled that smile; the one that said he knew something about her that she didn't. It made her scowl deepen. "Fair enough. But wait,"—he pulled the same stack of papers out of his pocket—"'The object of your desire will come closer.'" He grinned, letting the paper catch the wind and fly away. "Sounds good."
"I don't desire anything besides a new snowcone," Annabeth muttered to herself. Percy laughed, an odd laugh too; one that gave her the notion that he hadn't planned on laughing.
"Your lucky numbers are 2, 4, 26 and 23. I'll buy you another. It's my fault," Percy offered, already extracting his wallet from his pocket.
"I can buy it myself," Annabeth told him, her voice a bit cold, but he was harassing her.
"I know." Percy shook his head, chuckling lightly. "No need to get defensive. Look, here's five dollars—"
"Like I want your money—"
"Annabeth Chase," Percy said, making Annabeth clench her teeth. He had no right to use her name, like they were friends, like he knew her. "Just take the money. For everything."
She thought five dollars didn't necessarily cover "everything," but she decided to take it if only to get him off her back. He smiled, opening his mouth to say something else, but Annabeth said a curt goodbye and began her walk towards Breezy Freeze. It looked like she would be needing more shaved ice.
;;
She was tired of staring at the ceiling.
Annabeth knew that life, while with the busy job of a real estate agent, was more than just tiring, but now that she didn't have to be out the door by eight-thirty in the morning, Annabeth was feeling bored. None of her books were interesting enough to keep her interest for more than ten minutes. Thalia had neglected to answer her text. And, to top it all off, Annabeth had yet to call her mom and suffer the embarrassment of admitting she'd lost her job.
Food. Annabeth needed comfort food.
She snatched her phone off of her nightstand, calling up the closest pizzeria and ordering a large pizza with mushrooms and garlic crust. She gave them her name and her address, promising to pay in cash, and thanked them. As soon as she ended the call, she was already regretting it. Annabeth had been on a diet for almost a month, to keep in shape for… Why had she wanted to keep in shape again?
Annabeth scowled at the ceiling, rolling her eyes at herself and slipping a hoodie over her head, padding out of her room at eleven o'clock in the morning. As a luxury, she'd slept in for thirty minutes longer, but her internal alarm clock woke her up, leading to Annabeth attempting to entertain herself for a few hours before giving up and collapsing on her bed. Coffee was brewed on reflex; her caffeine addiction making the beverage like water to her.
When the doorbell rang, she flinched and spilt boiling hot coffee all over her hand, cursing her continuous unlucky streak. Yelping slightly and holding her hand with a firm grip to ease the burn, Annabeth hurried to the door. "Hey, sorry, just give me one moment; I've burnt my hand."
Without even making an attempt to give the person a proper welcome, she rushed back into the kitchen and let cold water from the faucet run over her red hand. "Sorry!" she called out again, already drying her hand on a towel and scrounging the counter for her wallet.
"Don't worry about it," the person called back. Annabeth stopped, mid-search through her bag, and stared into air.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, slowly creeping around the corner and peering into the living room.
Sure enough, there stood the same man from the traffic that morning, and the beach later. His hair was covered by a hat now, one with the logo of the pizzeria she'd ordered from, but the sun was hitting him from the perfect angle so that his eyes were illuminated: definitely green and definitely familiar. Annabeth glanced down at herself, noting that she was wearing shorts. Why did it seem she was always wearing the least amount of clothing when he was around?
Mentally groaning, she returned to her purse and extracted a twenty, letting a glare wash over her face as she approached. "Why won't you leave me alone?" Annabeth demanded.
Percy turned around instantly, laughing when he recognized her. "Well, hey there, Annabeth Chase."
"Here." She shoved the money into his hand and snatched her pizza. "Thank you. Bye."
"Wait!" Percy shoved his foot in between the doorframe and the door before she closed it on him. "You get, like, seven dollars back."
"I don't want it," Annabeth replied. "I get the lurking feeling that you're stalking me. How many jobs do you have, anyways?"
"Two," Percy answered conversationally. "I volunteer for marine animal rescue and deliver pizzas. The volunteering doesn't really count as a job though, since I don't get paid."
"Aren't you colorful?"
"Says the girl wearing a bright green hoodie and rainbow shorts," he teased in amusement. Annabeth considered the pros and cons of slapping the pizza on his face, but she decided she was too hungry to sacrifice her food. Urging the door to close again with all of the strength she could muster, Annabeth slid the pizza box across the floor. Despite all of her best tries, Percy overpowered her and swung it open again. "Wait," he ordered, smiling at her to soften the command. "I have to read you something."
"If it's another fortune—"
"You're catching on!" He grinned at her as he pulled the stack of papers out of his pocket, humming to himself in a carefree manner and slipping a fortune out from underneath the rubber band. Annabeth leaned forward to read it before him, and accidentally hit her forehead against his chest. She immediately took two steps back, and Percy laughed at her, causing her deathly leer to come back. "'Conquer your fears or they will conquer you.'"
He dropped the fortune on the ground, just outside Annabeth's door frame. She cocked her head to the side. "What is this? Why do you keep finding me and giving me fortunes?"
Percy shook his head. "Your lucky numbers are 5, 8 and 25. Do you really think I'd tell you that easily? No way, Miss Annabeth Chase. You're going to figure it out for yourself." His eyes flickered inside her home; the small town house she'd only been able to afford thanks to the amazing salary she had. Or, used to have, anyways. "Nice place."
"Thanks," Annabeth said genuinely. The house had slowly become her making, as she remodeled and painted and customized it to her liking.
"Tell me if I'm intruding," Percy started, "but would you mind if I asked why you're eating pizza alone?"
"Because I live alone," Annabeth replied simply, looking away when she carried on to say, "and I'm single." Her eyes flickered to his face for a moment, and Annabeth caught the end of a poorly concealed smile.
"Well, that's good," Percy told her. "Must be nice to have the peace and quiet. Less of a hassle."
"You're currently the hassle, Percy," Annabeth said sarcastically. He only laughed, and Annabeth couldn't ignore the way his smile probably could have served as a substitute for the sun if it ever decided to burn out.
"I'll get out of your hair then, Miss Annabeth Chase." With those words, he turned on his heel and walked down her driveway, waving to her as he got into his car. She didn't wave back, but he didn't seem to notice.
Annabeth hated when things were a mystery to her. She liked things that were secure and well-known, not things that were an enigma and vague. With an irritated sigh, she fell onto the couch and flipped open the pizza box.
Taped to the top of the box was a sheet of paper, light orange stains from the grease sinking into it.
This'll be weird if you're not my Annabeth, but I think we keep running into each other for a reason.
She raised an eyebrow at the note, scanning the taped paper for any other words and finding none. "That was anticlimactic," Annabeth muttered to herself, sliding a slice with mushrooms and pepperoni dotted on it out of the box. Flicking on the television, she decided to allow herself a lazy day before she went job searching again.
Come to think of it, though, Annabeth didn't really need a job, per se. She had enough savings to last her at least two years, between her leftover college grants and money from her parents. Still, a job would make Annabeth feel like she was getting something done, as opposed to wasting her life away watching the television and eating greasy pizza.
After Annabeth had downed three pieces of pizza, she decided to save the rest for dinner and maybe breakfast the next morning. She had to try several times to close it correctly; for whatever reason her hand-eye coordination was incompetent at the moment. However, the shaking and slamming of the lid brought something to her attention.
There was a back to the note.
And there were ten digits scrawled in messy handwriting that could only belong to her acquaintance, Percy.
;;
It was three days before Annabeth cracked and called.
She'd spent the three days prior explaining to her mom that she was working it out, and planning on getting a new job. She'd tried to pay Thalia another visit, only to be met with the spitfire Leo, offering her a perfected pina colada "snowball." She'd attended multiple interviews for jobs she wasn't given and had even taken to doing her spring cleaning early.
The number sat on the counter, tantalizing Annabeth every time she spared it a glance (her minimum was seven times a day). It wasn't so much that she was interested, exactly, but he was a mystery, and Annabeth was a firm believer in the fact that no mystery should go unsolved. The ten digits had been stared at so intently that she'd unknowingly memorized it; that was a fact she'd only noticed as she dialed it on her cell phone without having to glance at the paper.
Dial tones. Her worst enemy, since they allowed her just the right amount of time to change her mind and—
"Hello?"
Shit, Annabeth thought. Why did I do this? What am I supposed to do? How do I—
"Oh," Percy said, laughing as though he heard the joke of the century. "Hey there, Miss Annabeth Chase, lover of mushroom pizza and pina colada flavored shaved ice. It's also my understanding that you enjoy long walks on the beach. How's life?"
"Annoying," Annabeth admitted, "now that I've finally gone through with calling you."
"So, you were thinking about it?" She could almost picture his smug smile, and it scared her, how well she could manifest the expression in her mind.
"How'd you know it was me?" Annabeth dodged, changing the topic.
"I saved your number in my phone. Had a feeling we'd be talking again," Percy said simply. She heard rustling and pulled the phone away from her ear to escape the static. "So. I'm in my car. Where am I meeting you? You're actually very lucky, Miss Annabeth Chase, it's my day off."
"My name is Annabeth, only," she said in exasperation.
"Of course, Miss Annabeth Chase." His tone was nauseatingly unctuous.
"Who says I'm meeting you anyways?"
"Why else would you have called me? Surely it wasn't just to chat."
Annabeth didn't like how he already seemed to have her figured out. It was disarming, irritating, and so unfair seeing as she knew a very limited amount about Percy.
"Well?"
She scowled. "Why do I have to pick?"
"Because you need to have control."
"What kind of—?"
"Pick a place, Miss Annabeth Chase."
She smiled.
;;
A library.
She wanted to meet him at a library.
Percy didn't know whether that was cute because she had a nerdy side or annoying because it wasn't the friendliest place for a date.
It's not a date, the more thoughtful side of Percy's brain reminded him. He ignored it.
Percy was born superstitious. At the age of six, he was carefully stepping over cracks on the sidewalk (given that he loved his mother dearly), avoiding all black cats, and never, ever walking anywhere near a ladder. His family couldn't figure out where he'd gotten the gene from, seeing as his mother was much too rational to believe in something so silly, and his father could care less about anything besides the ocean. His step-father, Paul, wasn't the least bit superstitious either.
Percy's wish to be a writer was definitely something he'd inherited from Paul, blood-related or not. The way Paul talked about books, shared extravagant stories with him, and showed him how beautiful words could be made Percy fall in love with it. He didn't know what to write, or how to start, or anything, really, but it seemed like a good enough dream. His therapy to help tone down his severe dyslexia had pulled through, leaving Percy with a brain that could in fact recognize the symbols that once looked like gibberish.
So, maybe the library wasn't exactly abhorred by him, seeing as he had a distinct respect for books themselves, he just wasn't all that into reading them. He wanted to write. He wanted to change people's lives, and help them, or inspire them, or make them feel better. Percy knew he was an odd character, what with his superstitiousness and antics, but he was determined to only let it make him an even better writer.
Pulling his pocket size notebook out of his pocket, Percy scribbled a few sentences that he couldn't seem to shake from his mind across the cerulean line.
Why does the same thing happen over and over, like the repetition of the waves crashing on the shore? It lingers for just a bit—just long enough for you to memorize it's presence—but then recedes, disappearing into the deep ocean. It doesn't come back for a while. Your heart sinks as you long for the wave to come back—
"Are you just going to stand there taking notes or are you going to talk to me?"
Jumping slightly, Percy belatedly noticed Annabeth's arrival. With her sinfully tan skin and flawlessly curled hair, a perfect blonde to contrast the color of her skin, he couldn't fathom why such a goddess was single. More so, he couldn't fathom why she'd called. He'd done it half-way on a limb, believing that she would only see the number if fate allowed.
"Hey there, Annabeth Chase," Percy said, clicking his pen and shoving it into his pocket along with his orange notebook. From his other pocket, he extracted a stack of fortunes, slipping a random one out and humming in approval. "'A new adventure is on the horizon.' Convenient that I was planning on asking you to run away with me, no?"
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile and plucked the fortune from his hand. "My lucky numbers are 33, 7, 84, 6 and 9." She dropped the fortune, watching it sail through the air until it rested on the carpeted floor. "What next?"
"You asked for this meeting," Percy accused, his hands raising up in a 'hey, don't look at me!' manner. "I should be asking you what's next."
Annabeth glanced around the spacious library, observing the sections of books; from adults to teenagers to children. "What's with the fortunes?" she asked abruptly, locking her grey eyes on Percy's face. He found himself a little unnerved by her steely gaze, but he stared right back, not willing to be intimidated.
"I'm superstitious."
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, smiling for the first time, and Percy swallowed, trying to quench his suddenly dry throat. She was seriously beautiful, and Percy was seriously nervous. "Are you?"
"I am," he answered, praising whatever god there was for the fact that his voice remained steady despite all.
"As in, breaking mirrors—"
"Seven years of bad luck," Percy finished, glancing around as though he expected someone to break a mirror at that very moment. "Mirrors don't just reflect your image, they keep bits of your soul locked inside. If you break it… things don't go well."
"You believe that?"
"I do."
"That's odd."
"What isn't these days?"
Annabeth narrowed her eyes slightly, giving Percy a once over. "Do you always have an answer for everything?"
He laughed, freely and amused, not caring about the gazes of others in the otherwise silent building. "Usually, yeah." All he got was a neither approving nor disapproving glance before Annabeth abruptly walked away.
Dutifully, he followed her, having to quicken his typical leisurely pace to keep up with her as she winded through bookshelf after bookshelf. "Laugh and I'll murder you."
Percy grinned down at her, though she was too busy running her hands across the spines of wethered books. "I don't doubt it."
"I like odd things," Annabeth started, pulling a book off of the shelf. "Like architecture."
"Architecture," Percy repeated, taking the book from Annabeth. The front was plastered with an image of a familiar place; eight columns holding up a short triangular roof. He could tell the designs were intricate, probably something that aspiring architects went crazy over. "Not something I would have thought from you, but I can see why you'd like it. It's elaborate, complex—"
"Permanent," Annabeth added. He opened to book and flipped through it mindlessly, appreciating the flow of the words rather than what they meant.
"Permanent," he agreed, shutting the book and flicking the cover. "The Parthenon, then?" He'd caught the name somewhere within his scanning, which caused a spark in his mind. "It's in Greece."
"I want to see it. In real life," she admitted, sitting down and leaning her back against the adjacent bookshelf. She had a second book in her hand, this time with some sort of arch on it.
"So…" he said, sitting across from her, leaving respectable space between them; the book shelves left large hallways. "You want to travel?"
"It'd be nice. It would take a lot of time, though."
Percy shrugged. "Why would it matter as long as you were where you wanted to be?"
Annabeth ceased in her turning of the pages, looking to Percy curiously. "I guess… it wouldn't."
He smiled softly, meeting her gaze for a few seconds before fidgeting with the book in his hand. "I think I'd like to travel, too."
"And what do you want to be?" Annabeth's attention was focused on the book in her hand, but she was listening to Percy. This was more or less and interview to see whether or not he was worth keeping around.
"Don't laugh," Percy enjoined. She nodded sincerely. "A writer."
"What do you want to write?" she asked, not missing a beat.
"Something. Anything," he answered. "I mean, just something that'll change someone's perspective, or mean something to them. Just… something that can make a change. Something that matters."
Suppressing the rush of approval, Annabeth kept her nose in her book. "Seems like a good plan."
Percy shrugged. "Until then I'll keep delivering pizzas to cute blondes who are surprisingly single," he teased. It was daring, but he figured he had nothing to lose. Annabeth could walk out of his life right now, and she'd be another "what-if." Plus, Percy's whole being was based on superstition and split-second decisions.
"As long as you're okay with cute blondes turning you down," Annabeth returned in the same tone, light and carefree. Percy turned his head, half-coughing and half-laughing into his shoulder.
"I think I'd find a way to win them over, somehow."
"Maybe they should know your last name before you try that," Annabeth hinted, looking up to him, setting the book aside. She repositioned herself to sit criss-cross, Percy mirroring her actions.
"My name is Percy Jackson. I want to be a writer, but I don't know what I would write, really. I keep a notebook in my pocket so I can write all of the time. I love the beach—water in general, really. I like a lot of music. And I'm currently having the best day of my life talking to a stranger," he introduced himself, properly.
She smiled faintly, interlacing her hands and holding them in front of her crossed legs. "What kind of music?"
"Coldplay, OneRepublic, The Script, The Fray, et cetera. Your turn. Introduce yourself to me, Annabeth Chase. Sell it," Percy indulged.
Annabeth scowled. "I don't know how to say it in a few sentences."
"Then talk for hours, I could care less. I wouldn't mind sitting here all day surrounded by old books hearing your voice," Percy said.
Annabeth made a face. "Your writer side is showing."
"Poetic words?"
"Completely cheesy words," she corrected with a laugh. "I'm Annabeth Chase. I won't appreciate compliments—"
"I'll give them anyway."
"You won't be giving anything if you don't let me finish," she stated simply, shooting him a sarcastic look. Percy smiled, gesturing for her to go on. "I like architecture, and coffee. I hate not being busy. I hate when people throw balled up paper at my car," she continued, giving him a pointed look. "I like green and orange."
"Fascinating," Percy said, not adding a tinge of sarcasm. "You are an interesting person, Miss Annabeth Chase." He smiled at her warmly, and Annabeth had to wonder how one could project such earnest liking towards someone they'd talked to for maybe an hour, adding together all of their meetings.
As quick as Percy's smile waned, he started and pulled out his notebook from his pocket, clicking the pen and writing at lightning speed. Annabeth watched his pen sweep across the paper in messy handwriting, his brain moving faster than his hand could write. He muttered to himself, and Annabeth was honored to see a writer in action.
It's interesting, she'd admit, to see their face light up as inspiration strikes; their eyes bright and shining as they scribble down whatever genius idea that could one day be a best seller. Percy, though, was especially interesting. She felt like she was looking behind the curtain, behind his calm, carefree persona she was already used to from him. His facial expression changed several times along with his emotions, his pen halting or moving even more quickly. Watching Percy write was beautiful.
I think that's the point in which you've met your soulmate. When you get the chance to know them, every small detail is something great. Every small detail makes you feel more connected to them. And maybe you'll argue, or disagree, but that's all part of it. It's all for the sake of finding someone you understand; someone who understands you. Agreeing doesn't mean understanding.
Percy drew a line under his latest rambling (nearly half of his notebook was full of them), and he put his pen and notebook away. "Sorry," he said suddenly, looking utterly disappointed in himself. "I didn't mean to just—you know, do that. It's just… when inspiration comes, you know?"
Annabeth nodded mutely, studying him carefully. I'll keep him around, she decided, already wondering if she'd regret it.
;;
"Good morning, Annabeth Chase," Percy said, speaking into his phone in a suave tone. "I'm outside and ready to go job hunting."
"You are not," she deadpanned, redirecting her attention from the news to the door. "I swear if you are outside my door—"
"You need a job! I'm just here to motivate!" Percy defended. "Now come let me in."
"I barely know you," she answered, already walking towards the door.
"We spent, like, five hours together yesterday! You know my first name and my last name and my phone number and my favorite color and my likes and my dislikes and—"
"But I don't really know you," Annabeth said, completely clearing that up for Percy. "We've just met."
"It doesn't matter how long you've known someone, it matters how much you've connected with them," he pointed out.
She rested her hand on the doorknob, smiling despite herself. "Your inner-writer is showing."
"Open the door, Annabeth Chase."
Never one to take orders from someone like Percy, Annabeth hummed into the phone line. "Should I? Why?"
"Because I'm cute."
"No."
"Because I'm your friend."
"No."
"Because otherwise, I'm just going to sit out here all day serenading you with bad pop songs until someone calls the police and—"
Annabeth swung the door open, rubbing her forehead. "Trying to give me a headache before nine o'clock?"
"You should be lucky I'm up this early," Percy informed her, pushing his jacket sleeves up as he glanced around the house. "Nice place."
"You've said that before," she reminded him easily, changing the channel to a random movie on the Starz channel. "Breakfast?"
"Ate," he answered. "Did you? I'll cook for you, if you want me to."
Annabeth raised an amused eyebrow. "You cook?"
"Guys can cook," Percy said defensively. "A lot of us are good at it, actually." Annabeth gestured for him to let himself into the kitchen and feel free to make anything from the food she had left in the refrigerator and pantry. She needed to go shopping, too. As if he read her mind, Percy yelled, "We'll hit the grocery store today, too!"
"I don't need a keeper!" Annabeth called back, her brow furrowing in annoyance.
Percy grinned, leaning around the corner from the kitchen. "Yeah, but you need me."
"And why is that?" she questioned, carrying her now empty coffee cup into the kitchen. He blocked her entry, staring her down.
"You need me because…" He trailed off, cocking his head to the side. "You need me because you need to chill out."
Shouldering her way past him, Annabeth wondered what had possessed her to let the man, who was virtually a stranger, inside her home. "I'm chill."
"Of course," Percy quipped, "and that's why your shoulders are so tense." He tapped her upper back twice with the pads of his fingers, and Annabeth ignored the way the world seemed a little brighter for such a friendly tap. "Want a massage? Oil, candlelight, maybe some lavender—"
"Please tell me you don't try to pull that on your girlfriend," Annabeth said, holding up a hand. "I'd slap you if I were her."
"You could be her," Percy suggested, artfully pouring milk into a bowl of dry cereal. "I'm single and ready to mingle."
"Oh," she said simply, staring intently at the bowl of cereal he was crafting. She saw him smile out of her peripheral vision as he repeated her one-worded reply. Shying away from meeting his gaze, Annabeth dropped her coffee cup into the sink and accepted her "gourmet" cereal from Percy.
"Eat quick," he told her.
Annabeth scowled. "You, a stranger, are not telling me what to do in my own house." Percy only gave her a smile before helping himself to a bottle of water from the fridge.
"I won't stay a stranger, knock on wood," he answered simply, tapping his knuckles on a cabinet twice. "Do you have any apples?" Annabeth nodded, her expression confused as she gestured to the fresh bowl of apples on the counter. Humming lightly, Percy picked on up and sat at the table next to her, pulling down his jacket sleeve to clean it off. He paused, seemingly thinking to himself, and she curiously took another bite of her cereal before watching the man start twisting the stem of his apple.
A few seconds later, it snapped off, and Percy's face brightened considerably. "Well, that's fortunate."
"I don't get you," Annabeth stated simply, taking a break from her breakfast to lean back in her chair. "You're so… odd."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing. I'd rather be crazy than normal, quite honestly. What's the fun in that, Miss Annabeth Chase?" Percy raised an eyebrow before flicking the short apple stem in her direction. "All you need is some fun."
"The show me some, oh wise stranger in my house," she muttered, eating another bite of her cereal.
"I could take that one of two ways," he admitted, "but I've decided to take the gentlemanly route." Digging his hand in his pocket, Annabeth knew he was reaching for a small bundle of papers with fortunes printed across them; the result of too many nights with Chinese takeout, more likely than not.
"Well, what is it this time, Mister Percy Jackson?" she asked, mocking the way her used prefixes as well as first and last name. "Anything good?"
Smiling lightly at her, he shrugged. "'The time has come to stop listening to what your mind says.' If that's not an omen to date me, I don't know what is."
Annabeth snorted lightly in laughter. "You hardly know me, you flirt."
"That sounded flirtatious."
"Men hear what they want to."
"And women don't?" Percy challenged. "I'm pretty sure women could find a hidden 'fat joke' in every sentence a male says. Tell me I'm right." Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him, because maybe he was right, but no way would she be telling him. Almost as if he understood perfectly, Percy cracked a smile, saying, "Your lucky numbers are 23, 83, 68, 8, 7 and 3," before urging her to finish eating as he consumed the rest of his apple.
It wasn't too long before they were exiting Annabeth's bungalow and jumping into Percy's car, by request. Annabeth tried not to focus so much on the fact that she was getting into a stranger's car, and considered the fact that he didn't seem like a murderer, so far. Maybe a bit strange, but he made it work. In a way.
He was changing the radio channels restlessly, humming for a few beats before moving on to a new station. Finally, he stopped at an older Coldplay song, nodding to himself and tapping his hands along the steering wheel.
Annabeth's rash side was showing as she bluntly asked, "Do you have ADHD?"
Leisurely turning a corner, Percy nodded. "It was worse when I was younger. It's a better now, though. Why?"
"I just, um, noticed. You're kind of restless. Especially when we were in traffic," she explained.
Is traffic really so bad? In the city life, we become accustomed to the fast lane; to the quickness and the need to rush everywhere we go. Traffic, in my eyes, is a blessing. It gives everyone a moment to slow down, and think. To look out at that horizon they passed every day, and notice how underappreciated it is. Life is beautiful, but too many people miss it due to the fact that the world never stops. But in traffic, just for a moment, it seems like it does.
Percy slammed on the brakes, veering over to the side of the road sharply and ignoring the angered drivers now passing him. "What—?" Annabeth stopped abruptly as he slid and orange notebook out of his pocket, leaning it against the steering wheel as he wrote vigorously, the words flowing through his mind faster than he could scribe them on paper. "Is this really the time?"
Percy shushed her, originally reaching out a hand to send her a quieting gesture, but he misjudged the distance and ended up with his fingertips resting on her face, one finger touching the corner of her lips. "Sorry," he said immediately, on reflex, meeting her gaze and belatedly removing his hand. Percy couldn't look away as he said, "When inspiration strikes… I've learned to write it down right when it hits me. If I don't, I lose a world of possibilities."
Annabeth nodded mutely, giving his face a once over before gesturing for him to continue writing or driving, whichever he needed to do. Percy half-coughed, half-blushed furiously, putting the car into drive and merging back onto the road.
He would later examine apart every second of the small happening to determine whether or not it was a moment, but for now, all he could do was drive and pretend his hand wasn't shaking from the skin-on-skin contact.
It wasn't like he'd felt a spark; nothing like the hackneyed "electrical current" bit, but it was more like the world was brighter. Before, it was black and white, yet now he could see every color on the spectrum. He could see himself pressing his lips to the exact same spot, pushing her hair behind her ear and letting his hand fall to rest there, soaking up the feeling of her soft skin.
Superstitious as he was, Percy was a firm believer in soul mates. He should have known that Annabeth would be; the night before he'd met her, he dreamt of a monstrous snake winding it's way around his body choking him. It was a tell-tale sign that his soul mate was on the way according to the article on Thai superstition he'd researched.
The feeling he'd gotten with Annabeth simply couldn't have been anything else besides the stars aligning to let him know that he'd found her. Maybe at twenty-three, with a mildly lousy, low paying job, but finally he found her. Curiously, absorbing the information, he sent Annabeth a sideways glance, watching as her eyes flickered over their surroundings. Her eyes continued glinting from dark grey to silver and back again.
"Where to first, Miss Annabeth Chase?"
;;
"Sorry!" Annabeth yelled in alarm, sticking her foot out at lightning speed to stop the door from slamming into Percy. "I'm just used to closing the door after me."
"It's fine," he assured her. "I wasn't killed in the process, so it doesn't matter to me." Annabeth led him into the kitchen, carrying a large brown paper bag with groceries. (Percy carried the other two, and maybe she could see just how toned his arms were, but that's irrelevant.) "All right," he said, sighing and leaning against the counter, "are we putting this babies away?"
"If you think I want to leave three unsightly brown paper bags on my counter, you're sadly mistaken," was her reply as she started pulling objects out of the bags. "You don't have to help, though."
"Quality time with Miss Annabeth Chase?" Percy said in a suave tone, questioningly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Completely ignoring the comment (locking it away and saving it for a time when she wanted to hear it), Annabeth opened the fridge, storing a two-liter of ginger ale away. "It's so weird that you don't like ginger ale," she mentioned, a moment later.
Percy rolled his eyes, handing her a jar of jelly to add to the fridge. "Most people don't like it as an everyday drink. It's something you drink to settle your stomach."
"But… you don't like the taste of it?" she questioned, accepting the carton of orange juice he was giving to her. "At all?"
"It tastes bland," he told her with a shrug. "I'm more of a fan of ice cream."
His response made her smile; despite the short amount of time she'd known Percy, she knew this response was incredibly him. "I'm never going shopping with you again," Annabeth informed him, storing three tubs of ice cream in the freezer. "I've just bought so many unnecessary items that I'll never eat."
"It was all part of a ploy for you to invite me over again," Percy said, sighing forlornly. "I hopelessly hope for the goddess that is Annabeth Chase to ask me if I would like some strawberry ice cream."
Forcing herself not to blush, or be charmed by the way he could say such a poetic sentence ending in "strawberry ice cream", she smiled. "Percy Jackson, would you like some strawberry ice cream?"
"Of course!" he shouted in delight. "How did you know?"
Annabeth rolled her eyes, their conversation diminishing from purposeful to discursive as they finished putting away the groceries. Annabeth's hunt for a job hadn't gone spectacular, which goes to say that not many places were hiring twenty-three year olds who were overqualified for every job besides their previous job. Percy had made it his personal goal to help her get employed. Under other circumstances, she would have been embarrassed, but this was Percy.
It seemed as though, even if she wanted him to go away, he wouldn't. He reminded her of a puppy; eyes that could pretty much get anyone to say yes to him and a easygoing loyalty about him. And, she got the notion that he would be a cuddler—don't ask why—just like infantile puppies.
As Annabeth put the last item in a cabinet, Percy took it upon himself to twirl one of her curls around his finger with a certain fascination before asking where to find the bowls. She wanted to ask him how in god's name he managed to show affection so easily, but instead she gestured to the cupboard closest to the fridge, her moment of awe dissipating. "There's blue one's, too."
Percy grinned at her over his shoulder. "Look at us! You know my favorite color. We're practically best friends." He set about making two bowls of ice cream, and Annabeth could have told him she could handle it herself, but she wasn't in the mood. All day long, Annabeth had been going from place to place, either getting a fake smile and a "we'll call you!" or an apologetic smile and a "we're afraid we can't hire you." She had suffered enough embarrassment—in front of him—to last her a lifetime. "All right, Miss Annabeth Chase," Percy proclaimed, placing a blue bowl with light rose colored ice cream in her hands, "where to?"
"I want to watch the news, so the living room," she answered, sliding a drawer open to extract two spoons and walking straight to the couch. The news channel was flicked on a moment later, and Annabeth had barely heard about how the weather would be the next day when Percy cleared his throat.
"This is boring," he announced, not unkindly, waving his spoon towards the remote. "You should change it, Miss Annabeth Chase."
"What happens when I get married?" she questioned, holding the remote in her free hand. "Am I still going to be Miss Annabeth Chase?"
Percy laughed to himself, as though sharing an inside joke with himself, and ate another spoonful of strawberry ice cream. "No. You'll be Mrs. Annabeth Jackson."
She almost nodded in agreement until his last word registered. "Jackson?"
"It's already been decided by fate, Miss Annabeth Chase. We're getting married." Percy gave her a simple, content smile, soon after turning his attention back to his dessert.
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, unsure if she should run, since Percy was extremely delusional in thinking they would get married, or smile fondly at the odd man she met in traffic. She decided on neither. "What makes you say that?"
"You're my soul mate," Percy said easily, shrugging as if it were an axiomatic truth.
Annabeth's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Percy corroborated. "I dreamt of a snake choking me. Sure sign."
"How in the world does that symbolize soul mates?" she questioned. "Seems a bit… morbid. Isn't the whole 'soul mates' thing supposed to be a lot happier?"
Percy was quiet for a moment, swirling the remaining, melted ice cream around with his spoon. "Depends on the ending. My mom's soul mate, my dad, he's gone."
Annabeth felt her stomach drop in guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"No!" Percy interjected, smiling. "No, he's not dead. Lost at sea. I imagine he's still sailing; probably thinking of my mom all the time." Despite his optimism, Annabeth could read disappointment in his eyes.
"Sap," she teased, not wishing to pry information from Percy that he didn't wish to give.
Percy shrugged. "Soul mates tend to think of each other. Their story would be an amazing book."
"Write it," Annabeth encouraged.
Percy, almost unconsciously, tapped his notebook through his jeans. "I could never write something that personal; capture something like that. Their story was evanescent, passing, and I think it only exists in their memories and the stories they tell. I don't think it should exist in any other way."
Annabeth was quiet for a moment. "Well, at least my soul mate respects privacy," she finally said, after what had to have been a full, noiseless minute.
Percy smiled at her, standing up. "I better get going. Work in an hour."
Annabeth copied his actions, stretching out her arms. "All right," she answered. "Thanks for putting up with me all day. Or, rather, you should thank me for putting up with you."
He laughed, gathering her into a quick, unexpected hug. It was probably the first hug she'd had in at least a year, and it was enough to make her smile slightly. "Thank you, Miss Annabeth Chase, for having me along."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, pulling back. "See you later."
"Will you?" he asked, walking backwards to the door. "Am I going to be graced with the presence of Annabeth Chase once more?"
She rolled her eyes, moving past him to hold open the door. "Bye, Percy."
He smiled down at her, stepping over the threshold, but turning back to her. "Don't forget about your soul mate," Percy enjoined. His palms were itching, and he couldn't tell if it was from the fact that he sort of wanted to hug Annabeth again, or because good luck was on the way. Itchy palms meant good fortune, usually with money, but Percy hoped maybe it would be Annabeth-related. With a parting smile, he turned on his heel and shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the driveway, getting in his car and driving home to prepare himself for work.
If he's being honest, he never really saw himself working as a pizza delivery boy. Sure, he loved pizza, and sure, he liked driving, but it seemed like more of a job for high school or college students just needing the extra funds. He was twenty-three, supposed to be settling down with a wife, maybe a kid or two, having a steady, well-paying job.
Work was slow. Two other drivers were on the clock that night, for whatever reason, and Percy let them take most of the deliveries. They were younger than him, probably hoping to gather enough tips to go out with their friends the weekend. Percy would probably be home alone in his apartment watching "How I Met Your Mother" non-stop, drinking a cup of coffee and having a panic attack every time he knocked the salt over. (Which was quite often, really, thanks to his clumsy nature; but he always made sure to toss some over his left shoulder.)
Percy was superstitious. He believed in fate. However, as he walked up to his apartment with the moon projecting a silvery light across his door, he couldn't help but wonder why fate had taken so long. And why Annabeth? Why in traffic? Why when he was twenty-three, wondering if he'd be ninety without a soul mate? Why—?
Percy sucked in a huge breath as a blur of black fur darted past him, jumping up lithely on the railing after the metal staircase. He stared at the black cat, wide-eyed, and it returned his gaze with a blank, simple look. With a groan, he turned what he hoped to be counter-clockwise five times, hoping to counter the bad luck in time. The ebony feline seemed wise, knowing what he was attempting, and it hopped down agilely, arching it's back as it walked down the stairs one by one. He rushed to his door, with a renewed sense of 'hurry the fuck up, Percy', and jammed the key inside the lock, shoving his door open and leaned against the cold wood.
The black cat could mean one of two things: an omen of death, or bad luck.
Percy hoped it was bad luck. He would accept a lifetime of bad luck to prevent death. He prayed that the old 'turn counter-clockwise' trick had worked, but fate and superstition were both fragile and contingent. It could be twisted and altered depending on every little circumstance.
He groaned lightly to himself, backing away from the door and falling directly on the couch.
Except, he didn't. In all the years Percy had lived in his home, he'd never rearranged it. The couch was precisely twelve paces from the front door—he'd counted. And yet, here he lay, face down on the floor, having missed the couch but probably a whole foot.
He dropped his face to the floor. Welcome to bad luck.
;;;