Don't own a dang thing, hon.
They sit together silently, shooting petulant glares and huffing low growls back and forth. Percy had his arms crossed. His gaze could melt even Antarctica. Annabeth tapped her foot, an erratic rhythm that drove her silly boyfriend mad. She knew this and hit the floorboards with her tennis shoe even louder.
This was a regular occurrence.
Often they would fight. Even before they had gotten together, no one in Camp Half-Blood would be surprised to see the two demigods exchanging blows—whether it be with biting quips or angry pouts; it was always childish and came out of thin air. No one was ever sure how these little tiffs started, not even the couple themselves. It was, however, familiar. Like coming home after a new job. Like coming home after a war. Or wars, even. When it'd been so long that faces blurred and inside jokes lay nearly forgotten in the back of your mind. A glint of something shiny in a sea of black.
Familiarity was greatly treasured, delighted in. They grasped at the feeling with all their might, when they could.
Home was when they fought over the last biscuit; home was when one teased the other's under-eye circles and hypocritically ignored their own. They fought all the time, more-often-than-not, and viciously too. After the second war was over and done, every other day not a single camper couldn't hear their loud squabbles echo throughout the area.
Demigods all around the two could notice the way their eyes lightened (the beginnings of a storm to a calm lake, thunderclouds to glinting silver), the upturned quirk to pale lips, a slight joyous ring hidden in harsh tones that arose when they battled. No one said a word. Because when the bystanders were quiet, which everyone was these days, they could sometimes catch it.
Slowly, after the wind in the two warrior's sails dampened, one would start to laugh.
It was soft at first, a slightly hysterical giggle followed by trembling fingers clamping over a grinning mouth. The other would snarl something like "Oh, don't you dare!", but a smile of their own would curve their lips up faster than they could grind out another word, and suddenly, the duo would be absolutely cackling together. Both would grip at the other as though they would vanish any second, grasping for anything they could reach—the collar of a shirt, the other's hand, a quaking shoulder. Eyes would scrunch in relief and amusement and the world would brighten to an astounding degree.
Laughter was contagious, and the entirety of Camp Half-Blood would hide behind their hands and laugh right along with their leaders.
So, I... I don't know what I did. It's incredibly short, probably took me fifteen minutes to think up and type out. No idea where it came from—honestly, not a clue, but I must say that it's my favorite Percabeth shot that I've wrote so far. Have any advice?
Oh, and what did you think of BOO? I enjoyed it well enough, but the ending seemed a bit weak to me. (I'm so proud of Nico.)
